She did. It hit her sharp and dirty, thighs locking, cunt pulsing around Owen while she stared at Jude over her shoulder. Owen held her through it, shaking, face buried in her chest.

When it passed, Lena stayed seated on him, breathing hard. Jude’s fingers slipped free. He wiped them on Owen’s stomach without apology.

Nobody spoke for a full minute. The kitchen smelled like sex and broken ceramic and the last of the wine.

Lena lifted off Owen slow. His come and hers ran down together. She looked at the two men: Owen wrecked and open on his own table, Jude standing flushed and still half-hard, watching them both...