Crossing The Finish Line

Nicole and Olivia invited Destiny back to their place after the marathon. Destiny had been dying out there, legs cramping, sun beating down, and the couple had slowed to match her pace. She made it to the line because they stayed with her. Now she's slumped on their couch, sweat-soaked and flushed, still breathing hard. They fetch a damp cloth and start wiping her down, gentle passes across her neck and collarbone. The cool fabric drags over skin that is still hot from the run. Their hands linger longer than necessary. The air shifts. Destiny feels it first, that low pulse starting between her legs. She reaches up, catches Olivia's wrist, pulls her closer. "You helped me finish," she says, voice thick. "Let me return the favor." Nicole's hand slides under the hem of Destiny's shirt, fingertips brushing damp skin. Olivia leans in, mouth close to her ear. The cloth drops to the floor. Three bodies press together on the couch, tongues meeting, hands roaming, clothes coming off in the heat of it. Destiny finds herself on her back with Olivia's mouth between her thighs and Nicole's breasts brushing her lips, the marathon long forgotten, a different kind of finish line waiting.