All Chapters of SHARED CONFESSION : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The following Thursday the greenhouse felt even hotter. Selene had left the grow-lamps on full and the ventilation low. The air hung heavy and wet, so thick it coated the tongue and made every breath taste of soil and green decay. Condensation poured down the glass in continuous sheets. Outside, the campus was silent. Inside, the heat made skin slick within seconds of entering. Ivy and Kai stepped through the outer door already bare, exactly as ordered. The moment the lock turned behind them the temperature seemed to climb. Selene waited at the central bench, naked except for the gold band on her finger, skin shining under the green-white light. She looked at both of them with the focused intensity she usually reserved for rare specimens. “On the bench,” she said. “Ivy on her back. Legs open. I want her dripping before either of you touches her with anything but mouths.” Ivy climbed onto the damp wood. Kai knelt between her thighs at once and licked her open with long, filthy stro

The storm outside had strengthened by the time they moved deeper into the unfinished floor. Wind hammered the glass in long, irregular gusts, making the entire wall of windows flex and shudder. Red emergency lighting still washed everything in a low, bloody glow. Dust and exposed rebar and the skeletal frames of future offices stretched into the dark. The air smelled of cold concrete, rain forced through imperfect seals, and the sharper musk of what they had already done against the glass. Rina stood bare in the center of the open floor, skin still marked from Victor’s hands, the city glittering behind her in fractured gold. Elena circled her slowly, coat gone, dress already unzipped down the back. Victor watched from a few paces away, shirt open, the red light cutting across his chest. Elena stopped in front of Rina and rested two fingers under her chin, tilting her face up. “You’re still shaking.” Rina’s voice came rough. “The height. The wind. You.” “Good.” Elena’s thumb brus

The control room still smelled of warm electronics, burnt coffee, and the faint metallic tang of overheated amplifiers. It was 1:14 a.m. The session had officially ended at midnight. The band’s other members had left with tired jokes and the promise of tomorrow. Only three people remained behind the heavy soundproof door. Red and green LEDs glowed across the mixing board like a quiet city. Through the large glass window the live room sat dark except for a single practical lamp left on near the vocal booth, throwing a cone of amber across the microphone stand and the worn Persian rug. Dahlia sat in the engineer’s chair, bare feet tucked under her, the wedding band on her left hand tapping once against a fader she was no longer adjusting. Thirty-seven. She had produced three albums in this room. None of them had kept her this late for reasons that had nothing to do with levels. Across from her, Soren leaned against the console, dark hair still damp from the performance sweat he had no

The amber lamp had burned low by the time any of them moved again. The live room felt sealed off from the rest of the world—foam-covered walls drinking every excess sound, the heavy door locked, the control-room glass dark except for the quiet constellation of red and green LEDs. The air was thick, almost humid with the heat of three bodies that had not separated for hours. The Persian rug was a wrecked tangle beneath them. Outside the studio the building slept. Inside, the night still belonged only to them. Dahlia woke to the feeling of two mouths already on her. Soren’s lips closed around one nipple, sucking hard, while Pax’s mouth worked the other, teeth grazing, tongues moving in the same hungry rhythm. Their hands were lower—Soren’s fingers sliding through the wet mess between her thighs, Pax’s hand gripping her hip hard enough to mark. She was already dripping again. Pax lifted his head just far enough to speak, voice rough from the long night. “Last session before the dayt

The cold had settled deeper into the metal by the time they moved again. Every surface on the open platform—the railing, the grated floor, the console edge—bit like ice against bare skin. Breath left their mouths in short white bursts and disappeared. The red-filtered lamps still burned, turning the three of them into sharp-edged silhouettes against the open sky. Meteors continued to streak overhead in irregular intervals, brief white scars across the black. The dome’s tracking motors hummed quietly, indifferent to the heat the three bodies were generating in the freezing air. Aurelia stood with her back to the railing, skin flushed despite the temperature, the wedding band on her finger the only warm-looking thing about her. Liora faced her, equally bare, nipples tight from the cold, eyes dark. Evren moved behind Aurelia, chest to her spine, one arm braced on the metal beside hers to keep them steady against the wind that occasionally gusted across the ridge. Liora’s voice was low