Midnight Threeway

Gia turns up like a ghost at midnight, heart gutted, bags in hand. Aidra can't shut the door in her face, so she opens it wider. Her husband groans but keeps his mouth shut. Thunder cracks the sky open a week later and Gia bolts into their room, bare feet slapping hardwood. Lightning hits again—bright, mean, blinding. She dives under the covers between them, shaking, clinging to skin wherever she finds it. Nobody laughs. The air changes fast. Aidra watches her husband go still, then watches his hand slide down Gia’s back out of old habit or new hunger, she isn’t sure. Gia doesn’t pull away. Instead she turns into that touch like she’s starving, pressing closer until her ass brushes the hard line already pushing against cotton. Aidra swallows, pulse kicking hard. She reaches for Gia’s face, tilts it, kisses her slow so the yes is clear. Gia moans into her mouth, soft and filthy. Aidra’s hand drifts lower, finds wet heat, slips two fingers inside without asking. Gia rocks down onto them like she’s been waiting. Her husband moves behind Gia, mouth on the back of her neck, teeth grazing. He frees himself, strokes once, twice, then pushes in with one steady thrust that makes Gia choke on a gasp. Aidra keeps working her clit, steady rhythm, watching every twitch, every shiver. Sweat beads. The storm bangs on the windows. Gia comes first—sharp cry, thighs clamping, pussy fluttering around fingers and cock. Her husband fucks through it, grunting, then pulls out, spills hot across Gia’s ass and Aidra’s wrist. Aidra licks her fingers clean, taste sharp and sweet, while lightning paints all three of them in sudden white light. They don’t talk. They just breathe. The rain keeps falling.