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38. The First Night of the Three of Us
Last Updated:
2025-08-05 03:30:02
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Shared Desires 58. Confessions in the Shadows
Dawn refuses to arrive. Or maybe it’s us who refuse to let it come.The room remains in semi-darkness. The air smells of spent desire, of mingled sweat, of something newly born and already dangerous.I’m caught between them. Literally and metaphorically.John is leaning against the headboard. Demon lies at the other end, arms behind his head, watching us with that intense stare of his—sometimes hunger, sometimes threat.And me… I’m sitting on the bed, naked beneath the sheet, my heart pounding like I’ve stolen something.Because, in a way, I have.I’ve stolen them both."This can’t go on like this," John says. His voice is calm, but every word carries tension."Like what?" asks Demon, raising an eyebrow. He toys with the edge of the sheet. Cynical, but not cold. Never cold."With ambiguity. With silences. With half-truths.""You want us to be a happy threesome? With rules, chores, and Sunday brunch?" Demon replies, sarcastic but not amused.John looks at him. Doesn’t answer. He doesn’
Shared Desires 57. Beneath the Same Skin
It’s raining. Not a gentle drizzle, but a dense, persistent rain, as if the entire sky wanted to take part in what’s about to happen tonight. The sound of the water hitting the windows is almost hypnotic, almost obscene. It’s hot—the kind of humid heat that seeps under the skin and turns desire into something sticky, unavoidable.We’re at the lake house. There’s only one room with the fire lit. Only one big bed. Only the three of us.They didn’t plan it. Neither did I. But the universe seems to have decided for us, once again.“Are we sharing the bed?” I ask, with a playful smile, as if it were the most innocent thing in the world.“There’s no other option,” John replies, pulling off his shirt. Demon says nothing, but his eyes scorch me.I slip between them like a sigh. I sink into the sheets, feeling the heat of their bodies on either side. My heart is pounding so hard it aches. I don’t dare move at first. I only listen to their breathing. Slow. As if they were large, restrained beas
Shared Desires 56. What Isn’t Said
Dinner is served. Red wine in thin glasses, dim lights filtered through candles, the scent of rosemary floating in from the kitchen. But the silence weighs heavier than the atmosphere.“Aren’t you going to toast to me?” I ask, flashing a cheeky smile, looking at John to my right and Demon to my left.John forces a smile, raises his glass, and mutters a “belated happy birthday.” Demon laughs, but not like he usually does. His laugh lacks that teasing, provocative spark—it holds a coiled tension that stirs something between my legs and beneath my ribs.“Such enthusiasm,” I say, twirling the glass between my fingers, lips barely grazing the rim. “I should’ve asked you to kiss again. That seemed to turn you both on.”They both fall silent, stiff. Demon stares at John. John doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance, like he’s tired of playing this game.“Aren’t you tired of provoking, Cat?” John mutters, not looking at me.“No,” I reply, sipping my wine. “It gives me life.”Demon leans in, hi
Shared Desires 55. Demon in Flames
The sun barely breaks through the grayish sky when Demon pulls me out of the house without a word. His hand grips mine with restrained fury. I feel the burn of his fingers searing through my skin, like his entire body is a lit fuse and I’m his favorite spark.“Where are we going?” I ask, though I already know he won’t answer.His jaw is clenched, his eyes darker than ever. That shadow in him isn’t new, but today… today there are flames beneath his skin.He takes me into the woods. Not to the clearing where lovers kiss. Not to the secret corner where he once sang to me. No. To an open, wild space, with damp earth and leaves crunching beneath our feet. A place where the world goes silent, where rules don’t exist, where it’s just his body, mine, and this fury growing between us like a wildfire.He stops abruptly, turns me to face him. His breath hits my face.“Did you have fun with him?” he growls, voice rough and raw. Jealousy tears at his throat.“Demon… it’s not that simple.”“Of cour
Shared Desires 54. Between Guilt and Desire
The morning smells of sleeping wine, melted candles, and desire drying on tangled sheets. My head aches, but my chest aches more. Not from a hangover, but from the tension still hanging in the air like expensive perfume—one of those that lingers even after a shower. John isn’t in the room. Neither is Demon. Just me, wrapped in the sheet, with the vivid memory of brushing bodies, shared moans, a candle lit by my own hand… and a stolen kiss between them that wasn’t just a fantasy fulfilled, but a spark tossed into gunpowder we still don’t know how to control.I walk barefoot down to the living room. The remains of the celebration are still there, almost obscene: half-empty glasses, the cake with our names written in chocolate—Demon did it with his finger and laughed like a mischievous child—and the necklace John gave me, forgotten on the table as if he too had wanted to forget everything.I see him on the terrace. He’s alone, shirtless, his gaze lost. A cup of cold coffee in his hands.
Shared Desires 53. Striptease Between Two Fires
There’s something perversely beautiful about having them both at my mercy, squirming to please me. The wine warms my lips, but the real heat climbs up my legs—slow, slippery, like a different kind of fire. They’re standing in front of me. I’m on my improvised throne: the old velvet armchair in Demon’s living room. I cross my legs slowly, letting the dress slide and reveal just a bit more skin.“I want another gift,” I say, voice slow, thick, playful.John looks at me with suspicion. Demon smirks. They both know nothing good ever follows that tone.“More?” John mutters, that blend of tenderness and quiet annoyance curling in his voice.“I want you to dance. For me. Strip out of everything you’re wearing. Slowly. With rhythm. With desire. With purpose.”The silence thickens.“Are you serious?” John asks, raising a brow.“What do you think?” I reply, lifting the glass to my lips, biting it like I’m biting the very idea of what I want to see.“I’d do it,” Demon chimes in, raspy, stepping
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