A Devil On Both Shoulders

Kenna paced the living room like a junkie without a fix. Her feet slapped the hardwood. She checked her phone. Checked it again. The screen showed a selfie her girlfriend sent an hour ago: tongue out, shirt open, fire and invitation in her eyes. Tonight they were supposed to invite another woman into their bed. The thought sat in Kenna’s gut like a hot stone. She said the words out loud. "Cancel. Just cancel." Before the sentence landed, two shapes filled the hallway—Lacy Lennon and Vanna Bardot—showing up the way rain shows up in a desert. Lacy’s silk robe clung to hard nipples; Vanna’s lace panties were already damp at the crotch. No halo floated between them. "Where’s the angel?" Kenna’s voice cracked. "She bailed," Lacy answered. "Switched teams the second she saw what we had in mind for you." Vanna leaned in close enough that Kenna smelled perfume and skin. "We both agree. You need to fuck. Tonight." Kenna stepped back, palms up. "I don’t know if I can handle it—what if—" Lacy grabbed her wrist and slid a thumb over the racing pulse. "Handle this first." She dragged Kenna’s hand between her legs. Heat soaked through the silk. Wet silk. Kenna’s breath snagged. Vanna circled behind, cupped both breasts, squeezed the nipples until Kenna gasped. Teeth grazed an earlobe. "Relax. You want to do good later, right? Practice on us." Fingers found the front of Kenna’s jeans, popped the button, slid inside. One finger stroked the seam of her panties—slow, teasing, deliberate. Heat flared low. Every worry that had chewed at her melted under the slow stroke. Kenna’s hips tilted without permission. She looked from Lacy’s smirk to Vanna’s parted lips and decided, for one night at least, the devils could have her. The threesome would wait. This one came first.