You Can Screw Her

Jon sat across from his girlfriend and his buddy at the dinner table, making the introductions with that cocky smile he wore when he thought he was in control. Then he excused himself, leaving the shy girl alone with his friend in the kitchen. The moment the door closed, something cracked open. The shyness melted fast. Their eyes met and held. Words stopped mattering. Jon's girlfriend leaned in first, breath hot against the other woman's neck, and then they were kissing like they'd both been starving for it. Hands everywhere—under shirts, gripping thighs, pulling hair. Soft moans filled the space where conversation should have been. When Jon came back carrying wine, he froze in the doorway. His girlfriend was bent over the counter, skirt hiked up, while his friend worked her open with fingers and tongue, both of them lost in it. He watched his buddy's hand disappear between his girl's legs, watched her back arch, heard that whimper she only made when she was close. His glass hit the floor. Neither of them even looked up.