No Regrets

No Regrets

This is the first story I've written in over 20 years and only my second story here. Hopefully, my ability to write and use of grammar have improved. I look at the lack of understanding of grammar in my previous story in horror.

Please leave feedback.

---

It was with a jolt that Zoe woke, her head thumping with the music ... where the fuck was it coming from?

"And I won't run for my life. She's got her jaws now locked down in a smile, but nothing is alright ... alright."

The lyrics seemed to come from all around her, and she realised with a start that it was the radio.

"I want something else to get me through this ... semi-charmed kind of life, baby, baby."

"Holy shit, Mia, turn it off!" Zoe yelled.

Mia groggily opened her eyes. "It's not me, it just came on. It must be an alarm or something."

Zoe shifted her head a little, and a piercing pain shot behind her eyes. Patchy memories of the night before began to surface. Tequila. Many shots of cheap tequila.

The song drew to a close and the DJ's smarmy voice came on. "Yep folks, that was 'Semi-Charmed Life', the break-out hit from Third Eye Blind and their self-titled debut. You're tuned into WSKY ... the sound of Sin City. It's DJ Parsons here to get you started on this lovely Monday morning. And what a morning it is! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and your boss is probably already breathing down your neck.

"We've got a special treat for you today. Our 'Monday Morning Madness' segment is coming up, where we'll be giving away tickets to see the hottest new band in town, Hanson! That's right, you could win tickets to see these teen heartthrobs live and in person.

"But first, let's get to some more music. Up next, we've got the one and only Alanis Morissette. She's got a 'You Oughta Know' attitude, and we're sure you'll be singing along in no time. Stay tuned, folks!"

Mia yawned, stretching her arms above her head. "Fuck no ... I don't oughta know. And I certainly don't oughta be signing along. I oughta be sleeping."

Zoe glanced at her friend. "Mia, last night ... was there a guy?"

Mia's teasing reply was immediate. "Don't you remember? Jarrod. He had a cute arse ... and you jumped him."

Zoe's face went blank. She had no memory of Jarrod or jumping him. "Actually, where is he?" she asked, looking around the room.

Mia shrugged. "Dunno, Zo. You brought him back to the room for a 'wild time'. I had to wander around outside while you guys were ... busy together. He was here when I returned. You were already snoring, and he looked really sheepish. I kinda ignored him and just went straight to sleep."

"Oh, really, Mia, I'm sorry. I hope you weren't locked out for too long."

"It's okay, babe. I'll get over it."

Zoe's memories were hazy, but she vaguely recalled being in a bar with purple and red gel lights, a covers band playing country-pop hits, and dancing with a cute guy in a plaid shirt. But the details were fuzzy.

"Mia, did I ... did I fuck him?" Zoe asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mia nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "I'm pretty sure you did. I mean, look at yourself." She nodded towards Zoe's ample bare chest poking above the bedsheet. "Whether it was wild or not, I have no idea. Hope it was good."

Zoe looked over to her bedside table, seeing an empty condom foil. She felt a wave of panic wash over her. She had no memory of having sex, and the thought made her feel uneasy. As she sat up on her elbows, the strong sun shining through the motel room's cheap curtains hit her like a slap. 'Too much light! Not. Good. For. Head', she thought to herself, covering her eyes. "I feel lousy. Did you drink that tequila too?"

Mia giggled, "No way ... that shit looked nasty. I stayed on beer and only had a couple". She pointed an accusatory finger at Zoe, "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times: never-mix-your-drinks! Anyway, I think we should get up and eat. I'm starving, and we've got a long day of sightseeing ahead of us. The Grand Canyon waits for no-one".

Reluctantly, Zoe arose and headed towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Mia called out, "Don't take too long in there. I want a shower too". She then busied herself with packing and tidying. It didn't take too long for her to notice the envelope was missing. Hadn't it been lying on the bedside table? Her heart jumped a little but she didn't want to be immediately worrisome and jump to any conclusions.

She opened the bedside's drawer, but it wasn't in there. Then in her handbag and backpack ... still no sign.

Mia didn't think Zoe would mind her looking through her stuff either, but still no sign of the envelope. Now she did start to panic.

She called out to Zoe, shouting a little to be heard over the shower. "Ah, Zo!"

"Yeah, what?" she replied.

"Do you know where the money is?"

"What do you mean? It's just in the envelope."

"Yeah, I know. But where's the envelope?"

Mia heard the shower come to a stop.

A few seconds later, Zoe poked her head out of the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping. The towel clung to her skin and her hair curled wetly around her cheeks.

"What do you mean, 'Where's the envelope?'"

"It's not there!"

"Mia, what do you mean it's not there?"

"I mean, it's not fucking there", Mia snapped, holding up her empty handbag like it might explain something. "I've looked everywhere. The table, the drawer, our bags. It's gone."

Zoe's stomach dropped. She stepped out, leaving wet footprints on the carpet and went straight to her backpack. She unzipped it, hands trembling. Then again, faster, like maybe she'd missed something.

"Mia, it has to be here. Maybe it slipped under the bed?"

"I already checked."

They both dropped to their knees, flinging up corners of bed sheets, reaching under furniture. Zoe found a single sock, a hotel pen, and a crumpled napkin with a lipstick kiss on it. But no envelope.

A beat of silence.

"Oh my god", Zoe whispered. "Do you think ... it was him? Jarrod?"

Mia looked up slowly. Her eyes narrowed. "You think he took it?"

Zoe's voice cracked. "He must've. I mean, I remember looking at it before we headed out last night. It was there. Who else could've taken it?"

They stared at each other. The weight of it landed all at once. That envelope held almost all the money they had ... what they didn't carry out partying, anyway. Enough for the rest of their trip. To pay for the day's tickets to the Grand Canyon. Their ride back to LA. Everything.

Zoe's voice was a whisper now. "Mia ... I brought him here. It's my fault."

Mia stood stiffly. "Yeah, well, you did bring a random guy back to the room. That's not exactly peak judgement."

Zoe winced. "I know that", she said, eyes suddenly wet. "I was drunk, I wasn't thinking, I ... God, I can't believe I was that stupid."

Mia turned away, fists clenched. "You weren't stupid", she muttered. "Zo, you were smashed. So was I ... a little."

"But I invited him back."

"Yeah," Mia said, her voice tighter, "and now we're probably screwed for the rest of the trip".

Zoe sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling the towel tighter around her. It was damp and cold against her back. Mia stood a few paces away, unsure whether to sit beside her or keep pacing.

Zoe glanced up. "I didn't even remember if we slept together until you said something. And now this."

Her shoulders started to shake.

Mia stared at her, jaw tight, for a long second. She felt she might shout again. But then her expression shifted. What good would the blame-game gain? She rubbed her face with both hands and let out a long breath.

"Hey", she said more gently. "Zoe. Look at me."

Zoe didn't.

"C'mon, babe. It's not just on you, alright? I should've said something. Or kicked him out. Or... I dunno. Slept with one eye open."

Zoe looked up. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes glassy. "I feel like an idiot."

"You're not", Mia said. She sat beside her. They didn't touch, but the closeness was grounding. "You're emotional. And kind. And yeah, you trust people too easily sometimes. But that's not a crime. It's one of the reasons I love you."

Mia reached out and gently tucked a wet strand of hair behind Zoe's ear, a gesture more sisterly than anything else. "You've got shampoo all over your face", she added softly.

Zoe huffed out a laugh, shaky but real. "You love me, huh?"

Mia nudged her. "Well, most days."

An awful radio song bled through the clock radio's speaker.

Neither one said anything for a while.

Zoe wiped her eyes with the corner of the towel. "What the hell do we do now?"

Mia stared straight ahead. "We figure it out. First, we find that guy ... if we can. He said his name was Jarrod, right?"

Zoe nodded.

"Good. Jarrod, plaid shirt, cowboy wannabe. Vegas isn't that big when you're two broke nursing students with time to kill and vengeance to dish out."

Zoe let out a breath and nodded. "Okay."

Mia stood. "Let's get dressed. And find this thieving asshole."

Now with some sense of purpose, they dressed and packed in quick time.

Zoe looked at the clock. It was almost 8:30. Unless they found Jarrod soon, which was unlikely, there'd be no trip to the Grand Canyon.

Mia kind of sensed what Zoe was thinking.

"Well, at least we've already paid for one more night of accommodation", Mia said in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "That's something."

"Yeah ... but then what?"

"Well, let's just get through the next few hours first", Mia said quietly. She knew they were in trouble.

"Should we take our packs?" Zoe asked.

"Yeah, I guess. We've learnt our lesson already about leaving things unwatched."

As they stepped out of the room, the city's June heat hit them like an open oven. It was not going to be a fun day.

---

The two women started with the motel's clerk ... nothing. That soon led to nearby shopkeepers. No-one had seen anyone matching Jarrod's vague description.

They figured that once last night's bar opened, they could ask the staff if they knew who Jarrod was: where he lived, worked ... anything. They were running on guesses.

They even went to the local police station, despite the fact that they knew they'd been drinking underaged, and made a report. Their hopes low: no ID, no surname, no address. A cowboy shirt and a smirk didn't qualify as actionable intelligence.

By midday, their stomachs were growling. With little money left, they bought two slices of greasy pepperoni pizza and a shared bottle of water from a strip-mall takeaway joint. It was hot, salty, and nowhere near enough. But it was cheap, and it was food.

By mid-afternoon, they were leaving the bar they'd visited the night before with still no leads. No-one recognised Jarrod's name or remembered seeing him. The bartender who'd been on shift shrugged, offered them a free soda and wished them luck.

Walking back in silence, taking in the gravity of it all.

"So ... what do we actually do now?" Zoe asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

Mia didn't answer straight away.

"Well," Zoe offered, "we could try to wire ourselves some money ... if we had any".

Mia scoffed. "Western Union doesn't do charity, babe."

"We could try calling home ..." Zoe said quietly.

Mia looked at her sideways. "You mean your home. You've still got your mom."

Zoe winced. "I'm not calling her. She already didn't want me doing this trip. She'll just say she told me so and expect me to come home. I can't."

Mia nodded. "Yeah. Well. Sean has money, but we're not exactly on speaking terms. Haven't been since I told him to go to hell two Christmases ago. Happy families ..."

"Right."

They walked in silence a little longer, the weight of things now clearly visible in the set of their shoulders.

"We don't have cards. No cheques. No student support this far from campus", Mia muttered. "And if I remember right, we've got what? Twenty-five bucks between us?"

"Thirty-three", Zoe said flatly. "I counted."

"Alright, Zo", Mia said, forcing a breath. "So, not quite rock bottom. But we're definitely walking distance."

They stood at the edge of the sidewalk, sweat beading at their temples, watching a tour bus go past ... air-conditioned, full of laughing passengers. One of them held up a disposable camera and snapped a picture. It was like watching the version of their day that was supposed to happen.

During their day's slog through the heat and disappointment of the Vegas fringe, they'd passed people, men and women, who might've been working girls or boys ... maybe not. They'd nudged each other at the time, said things like "Think she's on the clock?" with forced humour. But the reality of their own circumstances had started to blur the joke.

Mia kicked at the curb with the toe of her runner. "Hell, I guess we sell our wares." She offered a crooked smile, voice bone-dry.

Zoe snorted. After a day in the heat, she knew what they must have looked like ... hot messes.

"What wares?" she countered.

They both laughed. It didn't last long, but it was something.

They were thirsty. Zoe had said she could survive on water, but now her mouth felt like paper. Mia admitted, reluctantly, that they had enough for one drink ... a proper drink, if they found a place without a cover charge.

They ducked into a cool, dark sports bar attached to one of the older hotels. Air-conditioning. Cheap beer. Not likely to ask for ID. A few tourists at the bar. Baseball on the TVs overhead, muted with subtitles.

Mia muttered, "We should just ask for ice and suck on it".

But they didn't. They ordered a single Bud and sat quietly near the back, hoping not to get moved on.

"Think the cops will care?" Zoe asked. "Us sharing one beer?"

"They've got bigger problems", Mia said. Her eyes scanned the room. "We're invisible."

They sipped slowly, passing the glass back and forth. Sweat cooled on their backs under the AC vent. They didn't say much ... just quietly calculated what could be sold off. Watch? Backpack? CDs? Hell, their Discmen must be worth something?

----

A few stools down, he heard them.

His name was Richard. Twenty-one. White and upper-middle-class Connecticut, though he told people he was from 'just outside Boston' because it sounded more interesting. He was at ASU on a scholarship and his dad's money, double-majoring in business systems and computer engineering. This was to say, he liked computers and had a rich enough background to bullshit his way through the rest.

He was in Vegas for the week, officially 'housesitting' for his uncle. Unofficially just killing time. Though the heat wasn't that different from Tempe, the city itself sure was.

He'd noticed the two girls as soon as they walked in. They didn't belong in this place. Not quite. Not tourists, not locals, and definitely not professionals. They looked tired, frustrated, broke. But hot. Really hot.

He took another slow sip of his drink and watched them.

The redhead was curvy ... thick in the best possible way. Her top clung like it was half a size too small, especially around her chest. Her breasts looked like they were begging for more space. Her nipples were definitely visible underneath her T-shirt.

She had faint freckles across her face and chest, and a kind of anxious energy that made her shift and bounce her knees in a way that made him stare at her thighs.

The Black girl was smaller, more compact and toned like a dancer. Little boobs, tight arse, and those gorgeous curls falling around her cheekbones like she belonged in a music video. Her T-shirt rode a little up her body, exposing a flat, toned stomach. He figured she probably danced or ran or something. Not gym-obsessed, just naturally lean in that way that made guys look twice.

Both of them were flushed from the heat, skin glistening in that way sweat sometimes does when it makes a woman look hotter, not messy.

And they were broke. He could tell. They were taking polite, tiny sips from a single glass.

Richard, despite everything, fancied himself a gentleman; the kind who opened doors and didn't let girls pay for drinks. Especially not girls who looked like that.

He waited until one of them sighed and slumped a little at the table. Then, smiling to himself like a guy about to deliver a punchline, he slid off his stool and walked over.

He approached slowly, hands visible, tone light.

"Excuse me, ladies ..." he began, flashing the sort of grin that was meant to be charming, but really just shy of goofy in what could be considered cute. "This might sound weird, but you two look like you've had one hell of a day. Mind if I buy your next drink and offer my unsolicited optimism?"

They looked up. Zoe blinked first. Mia tilted her head.

He held up his hands. "I swear I'm not selling anything. Not pitching Jesus. Just figured ... I don't know ... the universe owes you one. And I'm feeling generous."

Mia squinted at him for a moment, then glanced at Zoe. He looked safe enough. Clean. Well-dressed, in a rich-but-clueless way. Khaki shorts, Nike polo, good watch. Probably played tennis with his 'pals'.

Zoe shrugged. "It's your money."

He smiled again. "That it is. Richard, by the way."

"Mia."

"Zoe."

He turned to the bar, raising a finger. "Three of whatever they're having."

He glanced back over his shoulder with that same easy grin. "So, let me ask the obvious question. What brings you two to Vegas?"

Mia shifted in her seat, careful not to let too much show on her face. She didn't trust easily ... especially not today.

"Just two students looking for a break from study", she said with a shrug. It was true. It just left out the part about the stolen envelope, the hangover, and the miles walked in the heat.

Richard nodded. "Ah, sweet escape. I get it."

He turned briefly to accept the drinks from the bartender, then slid one to each of them. "Cheers."

Zoe raised her glass a little. "Thanks ... this is kind of the best thing that's happened today."

He gave her a mock-offended look. "Kind of? Harsh." But he chuckled as he sipped his own. "I'm down at Arizona State. Computer science. Well, technically computer systems engineering. Lotta wires, lotta screens. You ever seen one of those rooms with a hundred blinking monitors and no windows? That's where I'll die, probably."

Zoe smiled. Not because it was especially funny, but because he was trying. She appreciated that.

He leaned back, a little more relaxed now. "So where do you study?"

"Nursing", she replied. "Cal State LA. We just finished first year. Exams are done. We needed a break."

"Let me guess ... you thought Vegas would be fun, cheap and stress-free", Richard said.

"Yeah", Mia muttered, "and we're currently zero for three".

He raised his eyebrows. "Yikes. Bad day?"

Mia hesitated, but answered. "Let's just say we've had a rough patch in the last 24 hours. Not exactly brochure stuff."

Richard sensed the edge in her voice and didn't dig further. He could tell they were dodging the full story ... and he didn't blame them.

Zoe gave a small, tired laugh. "We're kind of operating on faith and fumes at the moment."

"Well," Richard said, pausing for a beat and then glancing toward the window, "I was just about to grab some food before I head back. There's this little diner two blocks down. 'Tommy's'. Total hole in the wall. Ugly menu, ugly booths, amazing burgers. And they do bottomless fries".

Zoe tilted her head. "Bottomless?"

"They just keep refilling the basket. Like, aggressively."

Mia looked at him, then at Zoe, then back again. She didn't move right away.

Richard caught it. "Look, no pressure. Not trying to be weird. Just figured if you're having that kind of day ... maybe it'd be better with food. I'm heading there either way." He leaned back, hands open. "No expectations, no strings, just fries."

Zoe's stomach growled, and she winced. "Jesus."

Mia gave her a look. "We still have like, twenty bucks."

Zoe shrugged. "Yeah ... and seventeen of that is already mentally spent on bus fare."

Mia exhaled and stood. "Alright, tech boy. Fries it is."

"Your arteries are gonna hate me. And hell, what if I said I'm covering it? Let's go."

---

The diner was cool and noisy. They slid into a booth, Mia and Zoe on one side, Richard on the other. He took the lead without being asked. Cheeseburgers, fries and sodas for everyone. Easy. Generous. In control.

As they ate, the tension in their shoulders softened. A few fries, a sip of Coke, and their guardedness started to crack. Mia still had that don't-fuck-with-me look she wore like armour, but it didn't have quite the same bite now. And Zoe practically melted into the vinyl seat after the first mouthful of food, her eyelids fluttering shut in momentary bliss.

Mia didn't look quite so ready to bolt. The wall between them was cracking, and now Richard let himself look. Really look.

Zoe was obscene. Her tits were huge, proper porn-star tits, barely contained in that too-tight tank top that had probably been washed a hundred times. And they weren't the fake kind either. Real, soft, heavy. Perfect. The kind you wanted to bury your face in. Her skin looked touchable, warm and unfiltered, with slight creases where the top dug in and a faint sheen from the heat, like she'd just come in from the sun. Her thighs pressed wide across the seat, her hips spilled from her shorts like her body didn't care to pretend. She looked like the kind of girl you'd imagine when you were 16 and hiding a Playboy under your mattress.

Mia was the opposite: smaller, tauter, carved. Her hair was a cascade of perfect black curls that framed her face like something from a late-night music video. She had those tiny, perky tits that defied gravity and an arse so tight it looked like it had been designed for a Calvin Klein ad. Every part of her looked like it belonged on a stage, dancing under slow, coloured lights.

They weren't doing anything special. There was no pouting, no flirting. They were just tired. Hungry. Broke. But Richard couldn't stop staring.

And yeah, he liked to think he was a player. He could get girls. Hell, half the time he didn't even have to try. He had money, charm, a decent face. He could've probably taken a shot at one of them, pushed for something, and maybe it would've worked.

But there was something else.

A thought that had been living in the back of his brain for years ... teenage years, dorm-room jerk-off fantasies, memories of scrambled porn on a hotel TV during a trip to New York with his parents when he was thirteen. Watching. Two girls. Together. The whole thing. Kissing. Hands on fake tits. Legs spread. Mouths working. Tongues sliding. Moans. Hair. Skin. Watching them eat each other out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He'd never seen it in real life. Not even close. But it was there, living in him like a low-grade fever. And, god, had he fantasised about it since that trip to the Big Apple. He'd even said to himself; if he was a rich man, that's what he'd pay for. He'd go to one of those places in Boston ... clean sheets, classy girls, not like the movies. Just real skin and a show meant only for him. There, he'd handpick two escorts, not hookers, who'd fulfill every lesbian fantasy he'd ever had. They'd kiss, do a little show on themselves and each other ... rub, touch, suck ... culminating in a moment of bliss ... uncontrolled sexual bliss from licking each other's pussies and clits, scissoring ... or whatever it was that women did. (To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure.) He'd be more than happy to not participate, but just watch. He'd be an absolute gentleman about it too ... not interrupting their lust in any way.

And now, across from him, were two absolutely stunning, exhausted, broke girls. They were softening. Laughing, just a little. Sipping their Cokes. Starting to trust him, or at least deciding he wasn't a threat.

Could be a moment? A window? A real chance?

He just wanted to watch. Be there. Burn it into memory like a souvenir no-one else would ever see. He could offer them something ... no tricks, no bullshit. Just money. A safe space. Something they had control over.

Would they hate him for even thinking this? Maybe. But he wasn't asking for anything they couldn't walk away from.

He waited until they'd pushed their plates aside and the edge of hunger had dulled. Then he sat forward slightly, rested his arms on the table, and pitched it ... lightly, like a half-formed joke. Just a 'crazy idea' from a guy who maybe had a little too much cash and a little too much time.

"So ... this might sound insane. Or maybe just Vegas talking", Richard said, trying to sound casual. He rested his arms on the table, lightly steepling his fingers. "But let me float something weird by you both." He gave a sheepish smile. Not predatory. More like a guy about to admit a secret.

Mia raised an eyebrow. Zoe blinked.

"I've ... always had this fantasy", he continued, voice low now, almost drowned out by the clatter of the kitchen. "Two girls. Together. Not even involving me. I just ... watch. That's all. Nothing hands-on. No touching. Just watching."

Zoe's brow furrowed. "Like, porn?"

"No", Richard said quickly. "I mean, yes, but ... not like that. Not a camera. Not some weird hotel room thing. Just you two. Together. However you want. If you even want. I just ... it's been a fantasy. Since I was, like, thirteen."

Mia's body stiffened. She didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed, measuring him. Zoe looked confused, still catching up.

"I'd pay you", he said, quietly but clearly. "Like ... a few hundred. Each."

Zoe immediately shifted, her mouth tightening. "Okay, I think we're done."

Mia reached for her bag. "You said no strings, Richard."

"I did ... and I meant it. This is different", he said quickly, hands raised. "It's a stupid fantasy. You can say no. Totally fine. But I'll be honest, I've been thinking about it all dinner and I ... I had to ask. I had to."

They both stood. Mia paused, watching him with a cold stare. Zoe didn't even look back.

But then Richard, a chance disappearing, panic blooming behind his eyes, said: "A thousand. Total. Five hundred each."

That stopped them.

Mia didn't move. Zoe froze mid-step, frowning. "You're kidding."

Richard shook his head. "I'm not. And it's just watching. Nothing else. I won't touch ... not even a breath. No pressure. If you say no, I'll still cover your meal. Still wish you luck. You walk out and that's that."

He tried to sound smooth, but a crack slipped through his voice. Desperation. He wasn't as cool as he wanted to be.

Mia looked at Zoe.

Zoe's cheeks were flushed, maybe from embarrassment, maybe from anger, maybe from the sheer weight of the day. She stared at the floor like it might offer a moral compass.

Mia, though ... she wasn't furious. Not really. Just tired. Practical. She did the mental maths, fast.

Five hundred bucks. That was a train ticket, a phone call, more than a week's groceries. It was options. Safety.

She also knew what she'd seen in Zoe's eyes when they realised the envelope was gone: guilt.

'Why was she seriously considering this?' she almost said out aloud.

She also knew Zoe was probably breaking inside, thinking this whole mess was her fault.

Mia knew that feeling, the instinct to fix things, even if it meant crossing a line you didn't want to admit existed.

"I'm not saying yes", Mia said, finally. "But I'm listening."

Zoe glanced at her. "Mia ..."

"Just listening."

Richard leaned in slightly. "I don't expect an answer tonight. I know you've got one night left in town ... I can get you another. Either at your motel, or you can crash at my place. I've got a place just off the strip. Not fancy, but safe. You pick when. Tomorrow morning, tomorrow night. If you don't show up. that's okay. I'll leave you the number or something. No pressure."

He let that hang. Let them breathe. He knew not to push too hard now.

In the back of his mind, Richard was already working the angles. If it didn't pan out, fine ... but fuck, they were fucking gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that made you think the world might just be rigged in your favour. Right there in front of him. He could feel the moment stretching. If not now, when would there be another chance?' He'd make back the money spent working. Worst case, he'd tell his parents he lost his wallet. Or that he covered a hospital bill for a friend. Something vague and noble. They loved that crap.

Across the table, the girls hadn't moved.

Zoe sat again, quietly. Her lips pressed into a line. She didn't speak, but she wasn't bolting either.

Mia followed.

It wasn't a yes.

But it wasn't a no either.

Mia opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Her thoughts tangled fast. She didn't want to promise anything. Not without Zoe. Not without talking first. But five hundred dollars was real. And Zoe looked so damn lost. So guilty.

From the start of first year, Zoe had been her closest friend. The first to show her around campus. The first to crack a joke in their overcrowded dorm area. The first person she'd ever really trusted for a long time. They were nineteen, still trying to figure out how to be adults, and somehow doing it together made it feel less impossible.

But today had cracked something in Zoe. She'd been holding it together with brittle optimism, but now it was raw. Vulnerable.

Mia didn't want to do anything that might make it worse.

But she also couldn't ignore the truth: they were stuck. And Richard, for all his clueless tech-boy privilege, wasn't giving off danger. Just desperation.

She reached over and gently touched Zoe's hand.

Finally, words emerged from Mia. "Look, I'm not sure if you're usually in the business of propositioning a couple of 19-year-old college students, but let's just say this is some fucked-up shit. But ... I'm not saying yes ... or no", she spoke, voice even. "I'm not answering without Zoe."

Zoe looked up at her, surprised by the contact. She felt like she could fall into that warmth and just disappear. It meant something ... that Mia hadn't turned on her. That she wasn't being judged.

Richard blinked back into focus.

"Do you have a number?" Mia asked.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, totally."

He fumbled a napkin from the counter, borrowed a pen, scribbled it down ... name, number. His handwriting leaned rightward, neat and controlled, like he'd practised.

He slid it across the table without a grin, just a quiet kind of hope.

Mia folded it. Stood.

Zoe stood too.

Neither said another word.

They left the restaurant in silence.

It was a longer walk back than they'd thought, close to half an hour in the evening heat. The lights of Vegas flickered on around them.

They didn't speak.

Mia's thoughts twisted. The napkin was in her palm. Five hundred dollars. Each. It still felt surreal. Like someone else's story.

Zoe walked beside her, eyes locked on the pavement, heart tight. She didn't know what she was thinking. She hated that they were even considering this. But she hated more the fact that Mia might have to carry the burden she herself had created.

And yet ... there was a clarity in the silence between them. They weren't broken. They were here. Together.

They reached the motel. Climbed the stairs without a word. The door clicked shut behind them.

Mia dropped the napkin on the bedside table as Zoe sat heavily on the bed.

Without a word, she reached over into her backpack, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out her Discman. She clicked open the lid, pulled out the CD already inside, and replaced it with a favourite: Tidal, Fiona Apple. The one she always turned to when she needed to disappear.

She popped in her earphones, pressed play, then curled up on her side, knees drawn to her chest. Her auburn hair fanned over the pillow.

Mia stood near the door. She looked at Zoe, then at the napkin. It sat where she'd left it. Untouched. But not torn. Not binned. Not even folded shut.

She crossed the room, sat on the edge of her bed. Elbows on her knees. Staring at the carpet.

Zoe was breathing slower now. One hand tucked under her chin. Her Discman slipped a little, earphones barely hanging on. Her lips were parted slightly, not from peace but exhaustion.

Mia stood up quietly and slid the Discman back into a better position on the pillow.

Zoe didn't stir.

Back on her own bed, Mia lay flat, eyes open to the ceiling. The desert night pressed in.

Maybe Zoe would say no. Probably would.

Mia just knew she didn't want to be the one to make the call ... she'd defer to Zo.

Mia didn't remember falling asleep. But when she did, her body curled instinctively to face Zoe's bed, with her hand resting lightly on her flat stomach.

---

Zoe stirred sometime just before dawn.

The room was quiet. She could hear Mia's breathing. Her earphones had slipped out during the night, one still tucked into the edge of her hair. Fiona's voice was long gone.

She blinked, adjusting to the dim motel light. Her body ached ... not from anything in particular, just the weight of the past 24 hours.

Her thoughts drifted to the napkin. The number. The offer.

She had half-hoped the whole situation would feel disgusting by now so that they had an absolute reason to decline the offer. But instead ... it just felt complicated. A bad dream.

She sat up slowly. Her thighs stuck lightly together with sweat.

Five hundred dollars. Each.

She let the words repeat in her mind, like a slow metronome.

Not for sex. Not for him. Money just for being ... watched. Together.

Her and Mia.

Mia. God, Zoe knew she'd fucked this all up.

Zoe had never really been good at asking for help. She always just fell into a well of emotion.

She swallowed with difficulty. Her throat was dry. Her chest ached with that same quiet pressure she got when she'd cried too much the night before.

She scolded herself: 'Don't make this about you, like you always do'.

This isn't about that.

It was about Mia.

Mia, who hadn't yelled when she found the money gone.

Mia, who had spent the day walking while hungry, angry, worn down.

Mia, who'd been holding them both together with string and sheer willpower.

And Zoe had wrecked it.

She stared at the ceiling again, then blinked hard.

A tear slid across her cheek and towards her mouth. She didn't brush it away.

She felt foolish. And selfish. And still unsure.

But what she did know, clearer than anything else, was that she had to do something to make it up to Mia.

She owed Mia a way out.

The idea of Mia. Of Mia with her.

Her lips. Her hands. Her body, warm and close and soft.

It wasn't something Zoe had thought about before ... but it wasn't absolutely the pits either.

With the image hovering, it made her toes curl a little.

Maybe it was the intimacy of the idea.

She thought of Mia that night last semester, the one when Zoe had failed her pathophysiology exam and come apart in the stairwell behind the library. Mia hadn't said much ... just sat beside her, arms around her, rubbing slow circles on her back until she could breathe again.

That closeness, that warmth ... it lived somewhere under her skin now.

It fluttered in her chest.

She turned her head slowly toward Mia's bed. She couldn't see her face, just a shape under the blanket, rising and falling with sleep.

Could they do it?

Could she?

She didn't know. Not really.

But she also knew what she was going to say when Mia woke up.

Yes.

Yes ... if it meant she'd take stock of herself for just once and own up to the responsibility of what she'd got them into.

The word sat on her tongue, hard to swallow.

But it was hers. And she meant it.

---

No radio DJ to wake them today. Instead, Mia woke to the sound of the shower already running.

Despite everything, she'd slept better than she expected.

She sat up ... feeling ... unsure. 'Why hadn't she dismissed the proposition outright?'

Soon, Zoe padded out of the bathroom quietly ... not wanting to wake Mia. Her skin was still glistening from the steam, hair damp around her shoulders. The towel was tight under her arms but gaping a little at the sides. Damp skin peeked through ... the curve of her hip and buttocks, a strip of pale belly, even the faintest glint of auburn where her thighs met. Mia looked up without thinking and then looked away, then back again. Her body registered something. Zoe was beautiful.

She called out gently, "You know ... it's obvious why someone like Richard would throw money at the chance to look at you. You're kind of ridiculous. In the best way".

Zoe jumped slightly at the sound of Mia's voice, then laughed nervously.

"Oh, you're awake!" Zoe said, startled. She paused, then pulled the towel tighter around herself. "You're just saying that. I look like a mess."

But her cheeks coloured. The kind of blush that didn't come from embarrassment alone. There was a flicker behind her eyes; maybe not pride, but not denial either. Something in her had accepted the compliment, even if she didn't know how to hold it yet.

Mia didn't ask the obvious question. Not yet. She didn't want to crowd Zoe.

Instead, she nodded toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower."

Zoe just nodded and busied herself near the table, tidying her things.

The shower was quick. The water helped her think, but it didn't make the decision any clearer. When Mia stepped back into the room, towel around her shoulders, Zoe was already dressed and sitting at the small table, her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked like someone rehearsing a speech she wasn't sure she'd give.

Mia paused. "Do I have time to get dressed first?"

Zoe glanced up, eyes wide for a second. "Yeah. Of course."

Mia crossed the room and pulled on a clean top and jeans ... something simple and practical. As she laced her boots, she kept her eyes on Zoe. There was a weight to her silence. Not panic exactly, but something close.

Was Zoe about to say they needed to find a pawn shop? Trade their watches for bus tickets back to LA?

Or was Zoe about to say something else?

Mia sat down to meet her gaze.

Zoe started, voice unsure. "Uh, so ... yeah. I've been thinking. A lot. And I think if this guy's really willing to pay that much ... then maybe we take it."

That wasn't what Mia had expected. She blinked, unsure how to respond.

Zoe rushed ahead.

"Look, I get how crazy this sounds. I know it's not something to take lightly. And I need to know you're okay with it. Because it's not just about him watching us ... it's about us. Sharing something between us I ... never imagined I'd even consider."

Mia stayed quiet. Still processing.

Zoe swallowed, then kept going.

"And I know I've dragged us into messes before. But this one's different. This one's mine. And ... I don't know. Maybe this is a way to own that. To do something about it. To be ... responsible."

She nearly laughed at herself for saying it. Performing a sex act for money ... how the hell was that 'responsible'? But she pushed on.

"I mean, we could do something with the money. Not just get out of this shitty city, but not be completely broke. For a while, at least."

Mia's voice came softly. "Go on, babe."

Zoe's lips trembled. "And ... you mean the world to me." She reached across the table.

Mia took her hand, folding it gently between both of hers.

Zoe's voice cracked. "Your friendship is just ... it's everything. And with you, I can do this. I can share myself with you. If Richard really means it ... no touching from him, no bullshit ... and it's just us ... then I can do this. With you."

She couldn't hold it anymore. The tears came, hot and fast.

Mia stood and moved to her. She wrapped her arms around Zoe and held her close ... not just to comfort, but because she meant it. Because something was shifting between them, and it wasn't fear. It was real.

It took a few minutes, but Zoe settled. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm.

"So ... what do you think?"

Mia stepped back slightly but kept her hand on Zoe's shoulder. "I told myself I'd go with your decision. So if you're saying yes ... yeah. That's what we'll do."

A silent beat passed.

"Should I call him?" Zoe asked, her voice quiet.

"I'll do it", Mia said.

She reached for the napkin, then the motel phone. Squinting at the numbers, she slowly punched them in. It rang longer than expected.

"Uh, hi. Richard, it's Mia." She paused. "Yeah, from last night. I've spoken to Zoe. We've decided to go ahead with your proposal." She tried to sound steady.

Zoe leaned forward, trying to catch the other side of the call, but couldn't hear anything.

"Yes," Mia continued, "but only on the exact conditions you laid out last night. Nothing's changed. Understood?"

Another pause.

"And the money, in cash, up front, when we get there."

She nodded at whatever he said next.

Then she shifted her tone and turned slightly from Zoe. "Right. So, I guess I should ask ... what exactly are you expecting from this? What are you paying for?"

Richard replied. Mia's eyebrows lifted slightly at first, then she gave a slow exhale.

"Okay", she said. "I think ... I think we can do that."

She took down the time and address, confirming that it was a private home, not a hotel. That there'd be no video, no-one else involved, and no physical contact from him. When she hung up, she turned to Zoe.

"He'll pay for the cab. Wants us there any time after midday."

Zoe swallowed. "Okay."

Mia sat back at the table.

Zoe fiddled with the corner of the napkin, then glanced up. "So ... you asked what he wants?"

Mia nodded, then hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Not just hand-holding and a polite cuddle."

Zoe blinked at her. "Meaning?"

Mia leaned forward. "Meaning he wants to see everything. Start to finish."

Zoe's brow furrowed. "Like ... kissing?"

"Yeah."

"Touching?"

"Yes."

Zoe's voice dropped. "Mouths?"

Mia held her gaze, then nodded. "Everywhere."

There was a long pause. Zoe sat back, blinking. "And he said that?"

"Pretty much. Not graphic. But clear."

Zoe's face flushed. "So, we're talking... the whole thing? Hands, lips, you know ... there. Him watching us. Not just playing at it."

Mia nodded again. "Yeah. That's the deal."

Zoe's voice wavered. "Jesus ..."

But then Mia grinned, dry. "Hey, we're nursing students. If nothing else, we've studied anatomy. We know where things are."

Zoe let out a surprised laugh ... half-nervous, half-relieved ... and shook her head.

She asked, "So, you ever been with a girl?"

Mia bit her lip. "No. You?"

"Beyond a quick French kiss at the school prom ... no."

"Hmm."

"I had a friend who came out late in high school ... well, at least to me. She was thrilled the day she told me she'd, um ... 'prised' the head cheerleader away from the school jock and had her way with her in the gym showers. Jeez, she was pretty descriptive."

"Get any tips?"

"Not that I remember."

Mia paused, then grew more serious. "I mean, we're doing this for him ... but he's not dictating it. Not really. He's not the director."

Zoe tilted her head. "Then what?"

"We're still ourselves. We can do this in a way that's true to us. Yes, we'll be watched ... but we set the pace. The movements. How far we go and how we get there. It's still ours."

"You mean ... it doesn't have to be fake?"

"Exactly. Even if the body parts are new from what we're familiar with, we lead. I mean ... we're not putting on some act. We just ... I don't know, we stay real. If that means connecting, fine. If not, it's still ours. That's the difference."

Zoe nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think I get it."

They sat in silence for at least a minute. Not tense, exactly, just full of static. Mia glanced at the bedside clock. Just after eight. Still a couple of hours before checkout.

"If we don't move soon," she said, "we'll spiral. Let's get ourselves ready".

Zoe stood, slow and deliberate. Her brain buzzed. This was real now. No more abstract talk. No more ifs.

As she moved toward her bag, she couldn't help the way her thoughts jumped. She knew what men looked for ... what Richard would be hoping to see. She'd heard it often enough. 'Nice tits.' Sometimes shouted, sometimes whispered like it was a compliment. The world made it very clear what had value.

Earlier in the year, she'd come across a Playboy in a guy's dorm room. Cindy Crawford on the cover. Inside ... glossy skin, come-hither smiles, high-arched backs, breasts front and centre, arse out, pubic hair neat and posed. Everything curated. She hadn't paid much attention at the time, but now the images flickered back. It wouldn't have been a stretch to image that Richard was a fan of a publication ... if only for the articles. And that that was what Richard was expecting from the two of them ... the fantasy.

She glanced toward the motel mirror. Pale skin. Wide hips. A generous chest she'd once been teased about, then later ogled for. Her eyes studied the reflection as she adjusted her jeans' waistband, then paused and second-guessed herself. Quickly, she pulled both the waistband and the panties out from her hips and glanced downward at the contents.

Not a jungle. But not exactly manicured either.

She cleared her throat. "So ... what do you think he's expecting from us?"

Mia turned to see Zoe checking herself in the mirror, her posture exaggerated, a little theatrical.

"Look, babe", she said. "You've got nothing to worry about. Richard will think you're a knockout. You are a knockout. No need to dress like a fantasy ... less is more."

Zoe gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I guess. But ... do you think I should shave?"

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Shave?"

Zoe hesitated. "You know. Down there."

Mia snorted. "You're a natural redhead. Guys lose their minds over that. And for what it's worth, I've got a neat little landing strip and no plans for a date with a razor today."

Zoe laughed softly, some of the tension melting.

She turned back to her bag and began changing her clothes for the 'date'. She had nothing fancy, but opted for what would play best: white bikini panties and a simple bra. Nothing glamorous, but it hugged her right. Then tight jeans ... worn, but flattering ... and a low-cut T-shirt, the neckline dipping enough to truly showcase her cleavage. The closest they'd get to the Grand Canyon this trip, she thought, with a dry smirk.

Mia watched as she changed, then turned to her own bag. She was grateful she'd brought one decent set of underwear. Black lace bra and matching cheeky-style panties. The kind that hugged her backside in all the right ways, with a scalloped trim that showed just enough without looking like it tried too hard. True to the name, it left a generous slice of cheek uncovered.

The bra was semi-sheer, the outline of her nipples faint beneath the fabric. She wasn't nearly as curvy as Zoe, but she'd always liked her shape. Tighter, more athletic. Not muscular, but lean. Her best features? Probably her arse. Then maybe her cheekbones, sharp enough to give her an edge. And her hair, all tight curls that framed her face when she let them out.

She chose tight denim shorts which sat low on the abdomen and high on her thighs ... something which required underwear to retain any sense of modesty. She also went for a top with thin straps ... green ... pretty bright, less open at the top than Zoe's but cropped much higher on her stomach ... deliberately showing a gentle, smooth expanse of dark skin, curved slightly as it dipped below the hem of her top, with a small, delicate navel and subtle definition of her abdominal muscles.

As she dressed, Mia caught her reflection. She tugged the straps into place, smoothing her top down.

'This is happening', she thought. 'Whatever it turns into.'

She didn't feel aroused, exactly, but something stirred beneath the nerves. A charge. The anticipation of crossing a line ... not because she'd been forced there, but because she'd chosen to follow Zoe across it.

And Zoe. Her face appeared again in the mirror, adjusting her T-shirt, brushing a lock of hair from her collarbone.

She was beautiful. Not just sexy, but open. Raw. Real.

Their eyes met in the reflection ... Mia's gaze holding a flicker of curiosity. Zoe paused. She felt it, the weight of that look, the way Mia's eyes moved from her face, down her frame, quite deliberately taking in all of Zoe's body, then back again. It wasn't judgement. Just something honest. Something watchful.

A flutter rose in Zoe's chest.

She shifted her stance, half self-conscious, but held the look. Mia's gaze steadied.

Zoe turned to face her directly. "You good?"

Mia nodded. "I'm good. You?"

Zoe took a slow breath. "Ask me again in a few hours."

---

They passed the next couple of hours in a strange blur, lightheaded with nerves but grounded by small decisions: whether to eat, where to go, how to stay upright in the unreality of it all.

In the end, they decided to take the risk and spend a little. Something simple, so their stomachs weren't completely empty. A diner around the corner: coffee, toast, hash browns, eggs they barely touched. They didn't talk about it; not the deal, not what would happen. Just small things. The cooler weather. Whether the coffee tasted like actual coffee. The strange mural in the women's toilet.

Still, the tension lingered. It clung to them in the silence between sentences, in the way Zoe tapped her fork against the plate, and how Mia stared out the window just a little too long.

Neither could quite believe what the afternoon held. That in just a few hours, they'd be undressing each other. Not just that, but having sex together. Not for each other exactly, and not for love ... but for something stranger. More complex. A transaction. A performance. But maybe, just maybe, something more.

Zoe felt it like a stone in her gut. Heavy and stubborn. She tried to keep up with the light conversation but couldn't shake the truth underneath it: this was her fault. She'd been the one who'd lost the envelope. The one who'd tipped them over the edge.

She tried not to dwell on it, but her breath kept catching when she wasn't thinking. Her skin was tight with nerves. The idea of being watched didn't disturb her nearly as much as the idea of being seen, really seen, for who she was, flaws and all.

They used the diner's toilet again, brushed their teeth, checked themselves in the mirror one more time. No changes. Nothing out of place. And yet everything was.

They hailed a cab just before 1:45. The driver didn't ask questions. Mia gave the address. They sat side by side in the back, the occasional bump in the road nudging their knees together. Small talk filled the space between thoughts: a billboard for an all-you-can-eat buffet, the driver's fuzzy dice. Anything to keep the silence from cracking them open.

Then the car slowed. A quiet suburban street. Clean. Bright. Empty.

Richard's house.

White stucco. A low hedge. A modest porch with two faded Adirondack chairs. Nothing alarming. Nothing leering. Just a front door. Waiting.

Mia looked at Zoe.

Zoe looked back.

No words. Just breath.

Then the cab stopped.

"We're here, ladies. That'll be $18.60."

"Uh, just wait a moment. I'll go get the payment", Mia said, opening the door.

Zoe sat frozen for a second, watching Mia walk to the house. Her palms were clammy. Her chest tight. The last few steps of this plan suddenly felt real, like the drop of a rollercoaster that finally arrives.

A moment later, Richard appeared from the front door, blinking in the sun. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a plain navy polo, trying to look casual but clearly fidgeting beneath it.

"How much?" he asked the driver.

"Eighteen-sixty."

He handed over a crisp twenty. "Keep the change."

Zoe stepped out of the cab as the engine purred, then pulled away. The street was suddenly quiet. Cicadas buzzed. Heat rippled across her skin.

The three of them stood in a loose triangle on the path.

"Uh, come on in", Richard said, walking ahead to open the door. "Please."

They followed.

Inside, the house was as ordinary as the outside. Cool beige walls, soft carpet, a few framed photos on a hallway table of some kid, probably a nephew. Maybe Richard himself, at some straighter, tidier time. The air smelled faintly of furniture polish.

Zoe's heart thumped as she stepped across the threshold. She felt hot again, flushed from the inside. She couldn't stop remembering that this was something she had said yes to. Not just said yes ... initiated, in a way. She'd offered this up as the only way forward. And now Mia was here too. Following her. Trusting her.

Richard ran over to a small table, picking up an envelope that was reasonably thick. He handed it to the Black woman, who, he guessed, was more in charge.

"I think you'll find it's all in there. The notes are new ... withdrawn this morning."

Mia opened the envelope and glanced inside. The pile looked sizable. She didn't worry about counting it then and there. Instead, she glanced at Zoe to give the okay.

"So, would you like a drink or anything?" Richard asked.

"No, thank you", Mia replied quickly. "Just water, please."

Zoe hesitated. "I might have a little something", she said, forcing calm into her voice. "Maybe wine?"

Mia cut a glance her way. "If there's anything," she added, "we'd prefer it opened in front of us. Just to be safe".

Richard blinked, then nodded. "Of course. Totally understand."

He returned with two glasses: one of water, the other with a single-serve bottle of rosé. He opened it in front of them. Zoe poured herself a little, just enough to take the edge off. The glass trembled slightly in her hand.

Richard made a few stabs at small talk. Something about the weather, or how nice it was to meet them in daylight. Neither girl really responded. Mia nodded politely. Zoe stared at the base of her glass.

Eventually, the silence made itself permanent.

Richard gestured down the hall. "It's this way."

He led them toward a guest room. The door was already open.

It wasn't tacky. There were no rose petals, no silk sheets. Just a neatly made king-size bed, white linens, a side table with a lamp, and a padded armchair set back about five metres from the foot of the bed, positioned squarely, deliberately, facing it.

But the lighting. That was the real giveaway. The overheads were all on, three globes across the ceiling, no dimmers, just flat brightness. Mia immediately understood. No shadows. Richard wanted to see everything.

Zoe didn't step in straight away. She lingered in the doorway, her body suddenly cold despite the heat. Her stomach knotted tight.

'This is for Mia', she told herself. 'This is how I show her I'm not just sorry. I'm strong.'

Richard stepped toward the chair and sat.

"I'll be here", he said quietly, trying for calm. "Take your time. There's no rush."

The chair's fabric gave a sigh as he settled back, a small reminder that he'd remain present all the time the two women were in the room.

Mia and Zoe stood motionless. The silence pulsed.

Zoe couldn't step forward. 'How did we get here?' she thought. 'Not just me ... us.'

There was no shame in sex work. She knew that. But just 48 hours earlier they had been on holiday. Now, somehow, she'd led them to this ... asking her best friend to share her body as a transactional sex act under a stranger's gaze. The guilt crawled like ivy up her throat. She blinked fast. No tears, not now.

Mia saw the storm behind Zoe's eyes and stepped gently toward her. She touched her cheek, letting her fingers linger there, then mouthed: "Okay. I'm going to kiss you".

Zoe gave a tiny nod, one that said 'Please, just get it over with'.

Her face was wet.

Mia wrapped her arms around her, feeling the stiffness in Zoe's shoulders.

Mia leaned forward, remembering a cousin's advice from years ago: 'Close your eyes when you kiss, it's always more romantic'. She still did, even now in these circumstances.

Their lips met in a tentative press. Zoe flinched. Barely, but enough.

From only a few metres away came the faintest click of Richard nervously tapping the armrest. A reminder ...

Mia pulled back slightly, searching Zoe's face. Zoe looked up with a sad, apologetic expression, then took a breath.

Mia tried again, this time a little more forcefully. The kiss lingered. Zoe responded with uncertain movement, her lips parting slightly.

Mia wasn't sure what the sensation was meant to be. She wasn't sure she even felt it. Just the stickiness of Zoe's lip gloss. The muscle memory of what a kiss should feel like.

So she dared a light touch with her tongue ... and hit Zoe's teeth.

Zoe winced, then opened up her mouth just a little more, trying to meet her halfway. Their tongues met, briefly. Mechanical. Familiar steps in unfamiliar shoes.

Zoe pulled away slightly and whispered, "I don't know if I can do this".

"You're not alone", Mia said. "I'm right here. And ... we have to give him something."

A shallow exhale. "I know."

They kissed again, Zoe leaning in more willingly. Still unsure, but not recoiling. The kiss was longer now, their mouths learning each other's rhythms so that it was not quite passionate, not quite empty.

The taste was neutral: Zoe's lip gloss, the faint tang of toothpaste, their breath mingling.

When Mia pulled back, she kept close, watching Zoe's face. Still flushed. Still unsure. But not trembling.

It was a start.

She glanced briefly toward Richard. He didn't react. Just watched, still and unreadable.

'Where to from here?' Mia thought.

Then a spark of memory. She had her moisturising lotion, tucked in her bag.

Mundane, yes. But a way forward.

She reached into her stuff and pulled it out. Just a supermarket brand with a faint citrus scent. But it gave her something to do. A reason to move.

Zoe was uncertain about Mia's intentions.

"Do you want to lie down?" she asked Zoe gently. "I could give you a massage. Might help us find our way into this."

Zoe hesitated but nodded. It was a good idea. Something concrete to move toward. Nevertheless, her hands clutched the hem of her T-shirt.

"Uh, okay. The bed, I guess. Should I, um ... should we undress?" Her voice shook a little. It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't anticipation.

Mia nodded and began undressing first, not slowly to seduce, but carefully. Deliberately. She peeled off her green camisole, folding it and setting it on the side table. Then she unbuttoned her denim shorts, easing them down past her hips, over the swell of her backside, then her thighs. Her black lace underwear remained: matching cheeky briefs and a semi-sheer bra that showed just enough.

Zoe began to follow but immediately got caught in her T-shirt while trying to lift it over her head.

"Fuck." Her voice was muffled inside the shirt. She tugged harder. "I look like a headless chicken", she muttered.

Mia let out a quick laugh as she couldn't help it. Even here, Zoe was still Zoe.

"Do you need some help?"

"No", was the reply, said with audible frustration. "I got this."

Eventually, Zoe pulled free, her hair sticking up at odd angles.

With embarrassed anger, she then yanked her jeans down.

And then they were both there, standing in their underwear.

Behind them, the slow exhale of a male breath seemed to hush even the buzzing light: acknowledgment, appraisal ... who could tell.

Realising that any too-deliberate pause would cause a further rise in anxiety, they pushed on.

Zoe reached behind to unclasp her plain white bra, pausing a moment before letting it fall. Her breasts were full and heavy, naturally shaped, with pale areolas and freckles dusting the upper curve. Her rest of her skin was fair and delicate, with a soft blush on her shoulders and a faint line where her swimsuit had left a mark just days ago.

Then her white bikini panties, the last piece she'd held onto, came off ... a puddle at her feet.

She looked over at Mia. They'd changed in front of each other plenty of times. But this wasn't casual. This was vulnerability on display. And under someone's gaze.

And beneath it, a quiet question: 'Was this courage or just inertia?'

Mia gave Zoe a small nod, then she slipped off her final layers starting by unclasping her bra. She let it slip from her shoulders and drop to the floor.

Her breasts were small and high-set. They weren't flat, but lightly rounded, the kind that barely needed support. There was something almost delicate about them, taut and youthful in shape, with gently puffy areolae the colour of milky coffee, their edges blurring slightly into the surrounding skin. Her small nipples stood faintly out, not in arousal, but as if aware they were now on display and reacting to the cool indoor air.

Then, with a steadying breath, she slid down her underwear. Her pubic hair followed a clean, tidy shape as a dark, narrow triangle just above her sex, trimmed but not styled. Her thighs were slim and toned, tapering into tight calves.

She stood now, fully naked beside Zoe. Not posing. Not shrinking either. Just breathing, exposed under too-harsh light, waiting to see what came next. There was a stillness to her that wasn't confidence so much as resolve.

Zoe glanced over and caught a glimpse of the small curve of Mia's waist, the arch of her spine, the elegant slope where her neck met a shoulder. She wasn't exactly magazine beautiful at this exact moment. She was honest and standing tall in a way that felt unreal.

Zoe's figure was more generous, with rounded curves, full hips, and a natural plushness around her thighs. Her pubic hair was red-gold: natural, untrimmed, but not unruly. Something about it really did catch Mia's curiosity.

Neither reached to cover themselves.

A slight inward arch at Zoe's lower back made her hips appear wider, more pronounced. She tried not to think about how she must look from behind.

Zoe glanced sideways once more at Mia, who looked equally uncertain, equally naked, just as exposed.

Mia spoke softly. "Lie down on your stomach. Let's see if this helps."

Zoe nodded and moved to the bed, her body stiff at first as she climbed on and lowered herself face down. The sheets were cool, and the overhead lights buzzed faintly. She turned her face to the side and closed her eyes.

Mia knelt beside her, warming a dollop of lotion between her hands.

The lotion's subtle citrus scent drifted outward; somewhere past the foot of the bed the padded chair creaked again, as though Richard leaned forward to see better.

There was no seduction in Mia's first touch. Just skin against skin. Her palms moved across Zoe's upper back, sweeping from shoulder to shoulder, then slowly down the spine. Her hands were smooth and firm, the lotion leaving a sheen across Zoe's paleness.

Zoe tried to still her thoughts. She focused on the rhythm, the pressure, the warmth. She told herself this was still a performance. Still something outside of her. But already, the weight in her chest had lessened.

Mia looked down at her, noting the way Zoe's shoulder blades rose with each breath. The trail of freckles that danced across her upper back. The small, sun-kissed bruise on her left hip, maybe from bumping into something at the motel.

She worked lower, her hands massaging the curve of Zoe's lower back, then circling her waist. Her thumbs brushed the outer edge of Zoe's glutes. The movement wasn't deliberately erotic, just exploratory. But the softness there lingered under her hands. She pressed her palms down more firmly, feeling the give, the heat, the subtle shift in her own breathing.

Something she'd always found sensual about massages was how, with the movement of the masseur's hands and thumbs, waves of flesh were formed which rippled like a crest across the body. Even now, she found this to be true.

Zoe fractionally relaxed as she concentrated on Mia's touch, hand moving around her. Her eyes stayed closed, but her body relaxed. Her mind still buzzed with doubt. But the touch wasn't clinical anymore. It was human.

It was Mia.

Then Mia shifted, moving over Zoe, straddling her thighs for leverage. Her pelvis hovered over Zoe's buttocks as her hands worked in slow, deliberate strokes.

Zoe was suddenly aware of every point of contact. Mia's thighs against hers. The slight heat between them. Her own body, no longer just lying still, but registering every moment.

"Sorry", Mia whispered, catching a spot that made Zoe squirm. "Ticklish?"

Zoe gave a quiet laugh. "Just ... wasn't expecting that."

The moment broke the heaviness. They shared a breath. Almost a smile.

And then they resumed.

Mia's hands slid in slow arcs along Zoe's sides. The lotion made everything glide. The light gleamed off her skin. Zoe's muscles shifted beneath each stroke. Her body was slowly waking.

She noticed she was focussing on the smaller details more than she normally would, like the faint marks that Zoe's bra straps had left on her skin. These were everyday things. But here, they looked ... sexy. Was Mia thinking this as a means to block out the idea Richard was watching them 'perform' ... or was she simply more present to herself and to Zoe and ... enjoying herself?

With each movement of Mia's hands, Zoe started to become aware of a sensation apart from the massage itself ... a kind of tickle. It took a moment to register. Then Zoe realised ... it was Mia's pubic hair, brushing lightly against the curve of her backside. A breath caught in her chest. She hadn't expected that to feel ... like anything. But it did.

Unaware, Mia shifted to sit further down Zoe's body. She then pressed her palms gently into the back of Zoe's thighs, where the muscle was soft.

Zoe let out a quiet, involuntary breath.

Not a moan ... just breath. But Mia heard it.

A muffled cough from Richard clearing his throat made the moment feel at once exposed and strangely defiant. Mia paused. But the energy in the room had shifted. There was less resistance in her mind to the circumstances now.

Mia pressed hard into Zoe's left thigh with both hands. It had taken a little while, but she did start to realise the proximity of her hands to Zoe's crotch. She wasn't going to give any physical response to this ... yet. Any rush might break what they were only just starting to build.

But she was aware of the way the flesh of Zoe's thighs met at a junction, and in the shadows she could glimpse Zoe's folds ... a darker colour than the rest of her skin. And then the subtle curve where her arse-cheeks parted. The sight struck her not just as anatomy, but as something unavoidably intimate. Mia realised this was her first fully erotic thought since their arrival at the house, not just observation but arousal.

And as that thought bloomed, so too did the awareness of her own movement. Of how her hips had been slowly rocking forward with each stroke of the massage. Only now did she notice the light press of her sex against the tauter flesh of Zoe's calf. The rhythm had already begun before she'd named it. With the next motion, she let it settle into something deliberate ... not quite thrusting, but close.

Zoe noticed the increase in pressure against her calf. Was Mia deliberately rubbing her pussy against her? She had to admit, it startled her a little.

As Mia repeated her movements, she felt arousal between her legs. Soon, she felt a dampness forming between her sex and Zoe's firmness that worked as a lubricant and allowed for longer, more fluid strokes.

If she shifted forward just a little and grinded a little more forcefully, she could better concentrate the sensations where she needed them most. The folds of her pussy lips spread a little and glided over Zoe's skin. And as she shoved her hips forward with more purpose, it caused friction against her clit.

Zoe felt the slickness of Mia's fluids on the back of her legs. And when the moisture hit the air-conditioned air with each of Mia's movements, it caused a delicious coolness. There was now no doubt about Mia's actions, they were deliberate. Zoe's breath caught.

Mia started to pick up pace. Zoe could hear her friend's breath sharpen with shorter, deeper intakes ... but otherwise she was quiet.

Mia concentrated on the sensations. She was fully focussed on the present; Richard was not on her mind at all.

The contact built, warm and gliding ... pressure against her clit, sharper now, her folds parting slightly more with each forward push.

It took only a few more thrusts.

And Mia felt a release.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. It hadn't been the most extraordinary orgasm of her life but it had been a small, quiet pick-me-up. A moment that was hers. She smiled.

She leant down to whisper in Zoe's ear, so that she could keep the intimacy between them. "Zoe, I think I just came", she said with almost disbelief.

Zoe turned her head and replied, "Kinda flattered, not gonna lie". She could feel the proof of it too, with Mia's secretions drying faintly on her calf.

They lay in that charged quiet, Zoe still beneath her, Mia catching her breath. Neither moved to break it. Nothing about it felt wrong.

Zoe recognised that, for Mia at least, the dynamic had shifted a little. Yes, they were here at Richard's request ... and in the midst of performing 'their act'. But with Mia's self-pleasure, she had reclaimed a piece of her agency.

'So', Zoe thought to herself, 'what was causing her to not be part of this? The shame? His eyes?' She wanted to shed that.

She didn't want to carry the bitterness of everything so far. Not if something better, something they chose, could overwrite it.

As Mia's thoughts returned to their situation, she remembered the awkward weight of her position and rolled off onto the bed.

"Shit, babe, I'm squashing you."

Zoe turned her head, meeting her friend's eyes. There was a long pause. But then she spoke nervously but steadily with a thought in her mind, "Let me ... try something".

She shifted onto her back, the sheets cool against her shoulders, making rustling sounds. Her legs bent, then spread slowly and with intention until she lay open to the room. The exposure was near-total.

Zoe didn't look toward the chair, but she sensed the shift of attention, the way silence tightens when someone is holding their breath.

She knew exactly what Richard would be seeing, and despite herself, a flush rose to her cheeks. She wished the gaze came from Mia instead. She closed her eyes.

Her hand drifted down her belly, slow at first, pausing just above the edge of her bush. She wanted to be sure Mia understood what she was doing, that it wasn't accidental. That it was, somehow, okay. There was no judgement in the stillness beside her.

Zoe let her fingers run through the hair between her legs. The texture comforted her as familiar, wholly her, and reassuring. She hadn't shaved or trimmed for this. Why would she? It felt natural under her fingertips, cushioning the skin beneath. She pressed lightly into the flesh of her mons, the give of it pleasant. A subtle pleasure that was not just physical, but emotional, too. It reminded her that this wasn't something she did every day. Not like this.

She let her fingers brush along her outer lips. She wasn't fully aroused, but there was moisture which was just enough to notice. A trace that she'd too been aroused when Mia had ground against her.

For Zoe, the act itself didn't carry shame. She'd masturbated before, of course. Had even done so in the company of others ... boyfriends, flings. Sometimes mutual, playful, sometimes with a laugh. And she knew her own rhythms: always quiet, controlled. Growing up in a family home, then a dorm, had trained her. She wouldn't perform here either. No scripted sounds. Just whatever was true.

But still, this was different.

She felt Richard's eyes. Not in the specifics, but in the sense of being seen. It wasn't arousing. Not really. But it also wasn't enough to stop her.

Her thoughts drifted to her body. She'd been told she was beautiful many times. And she knew she could look in the mirror some days and like what she saw in the softness, the full curves. But she also knew the days where she saw too much belly, or her breasts felt too heavy, or her thighs too thick. She wished she worked out more. She envied Mia's flatness. Mia moved like her body never got in her way.

As her fingers teased her outer folds, a darker thought intruded: a crude comment from a guy back in college. Just one. But it stuck. He'd made some dumb remark about how her 'cunt' wasn't 'tidy', comparing her to what he'd seen in magazines, as if he were some authority. Personally, she hated that word, still did, and the memory had clung like a burr ever since. She remembered going to class that day, her mind carrying it all like a weight.

'Why had that comment stayed? Why that moment, out of everything?' She knew better. She'd studied this. Bodies varied. Beauty wasn't about symmetry.

But still. Her thoughts were spiralling in a bad direction.

'No. Not now.'

Zoe inhaled slowly, then she redirected herself.

Her hand stayed at her sex, but the other moved to her stomach. She cupped the gentle curve there not in shame this time, but with something almost like pride. Her body was hers. Tangible. Solid. Worth holding.

Between her legs, she started to press more deliberately, gliding her fingers along the damp seam. The flesh was slippery now, warmer. She could hear it faintly, skin against moist skin. The sound wasn't loud, but it was there. Real.

Her hand moved to her clit, pinching it lightly between two fingers.

A sigh escaped her. Not performative. Not for anyone else.

She dipped her other hand's finger into her belly button, feeling joy from exploring textures of a body part seldom touched. She then let that hand drift to her breast. She grazed her nipple gently, circling the tip, then pressing lightly. The sensation was sharp and electric. Her areola puckered. Goosebumps rose.

Below, her hand worked with more purpose, slipping along her folds, then parting them. She didn't bother hiding the slick string that formed between her fingers and slit ... a pearly strand catching the light. She felt it tacky between her fingertips. Even the wetness matting her pubic hair worked as a visual proof of her arousal.

She thought of the word from her studies ... 'transudate'. The proper name for female lubrication. She nearly laughed, quietly, at the absurdity of thinking academically in a moment like this.

Her hips shifted slightly, adjusting the angle. Her hand moved down from her breast to hold it, grasping its form and bone as a reminder of herself. Flesh she liked. Flesh that was hers.

She was really getting into it now. Something had shifted in her mind that this wasn't just pleasure, it was ownership. She wasn't just enduring the gaze anymore. She was choosing what to show, how to be seen. With two of her fingers, she reached down and deliberately spread her lips apart, opening herself fully ... not coy, but certain. It was unapologetically explicit. A way of saying, 'This is mine'. If Richard was going to watch, he'd see her on her terms.

With that same steadiness, the hand at her hip moved to her mouth. She licked it slowly, then returned it to her chest, dragging the saliva over her nipple and the surrounding skin. She rubbed the moisture in, spreading it across the tingling flesh. The touch felt wonderful. Her nipple stiffened long again beneath her fingertips, a darkened pink now, tingling from the sudden cool.

One finger slipped inside, then another, moving in steady rhythm. She wasn't rough, but she didn't shy away from the wet sound it made. She heard it. Knew Richard would, too. Didn't care.

Her fingers returned to and circled her clit, once, twice, then again and faster now. She let the rhythm build.

Her breath came quicker too. Her lips parted not in words, but in quiet gasps. Her upper body lifted with each wave, spine curving slightly. She was chasing it. Not pretending.

And then, the rush. Not an explosion, but an undeniable crest. Her fingers faltered slightly as the pleasure took over. Her jaw slackened, a quiet sound slipping out.

Then stillness.

Her hand stayed resting at her crotch, glossed with wetness and slow to lift. She took a few steady breaths, trying to settle. For a few long seconds, she wasn't conscious of being seen, or judged, or even of Richard.

Eventually, she brought her knees together and shifted up the bed, stretching out fully. Her thigh left a patch of warmth on the sheet. She rolled to lie lengthwise, facing Mia, who was already on her side to Zoe's right. The two of them created a narrow, secret corridor of space between their bodies. Close, but not touching.

Beyond that breath of space, Richard's presence lingered as reminder that they weren't entirely alone.

Nevertheless, Mia was speechless. She had watched Zoe masturbate, fully and without pretence. And now, Zoe was here. Quiet. Glowing faintly with post-climax calm.

"You okay?" Mia asked, her voice low.

Zoe nodded, slow to answer. "I'm a little less self-conscious. A little more certain."

"So, good things?"

"Yeah. I think so."

They shared a laugh, small and genuine. The kind that eased space.

"I think I give less of a shit about ..." Zoe glanced toward the foot of the bed where Richard sat. Her legs curled inward, towards her chest, instinctively creating a cocoon around her body. The intimacy was theirs now, even if his gaze still lingered.

Mia followed Zoe's look for a moment, then turned back, thinking: 'We're being watched, sure. But we're also choosing how. Let that be the difference'.

And still, she realised, they hadn't truly touched yet. Not like lovers. Not yet 'had sex'. And now they could.

The realisation made her head spin a little.

She looked over at Zoe, who lay half-curled, skin still rosy in places, the arousal fading. The way her stomach folded in some places as her knees pressed upward, gentle peaks and shallow crevices, drew Mia's eyes. It was an unposed beauty. Looking at Zoe in that way, desire caught in Mia. Something swelled low in her belly. A heated heaviness between her legs. A pull that made her hips want to tilt, want to open. Her clit throbbed a little, and slickness became greater between her legs.

"So ..." Mia's voice tilted into mischief. "What now? What do you like to do in bed?"

Zoe didn't miss a beat. "Really? Sleep."

They both laughed. Loud this time. The kind of release that made them feel more like themselves.

But Mia wasn't letting it drop. "No, really."

Zoe hesitated. "Oh, I don't know ..." Her voice softened again, a note of bashfulness still clinging.

"Well then," Mia said gently, "why don't you touch me? Touch my legs".

She then shifted her body a little, drawing her top leg along her lower one to fold it towards her hip, a little like she used to in ballet classes ... where grace meant control. The movement opened her thighs just enough to offer a glimpse of her sex: her outer lips, darker than the rest of her skin, glossy and slightly puffed. A deep pink peeking through the cleft. The light hit the wetness for a second before she brought her leg back down. The intimate view was gone.

Mia caught the shift in Zoe's face as a response to her momentary explicitness: a flicker of hunger, maybe.

It prompted Zoe to take on Mia's suggestion to touch her legs. She moved a little closer, then reached out ... carefully, perhaps a touch shyly ... and placed her fingers on her friend's ... knee.

An interesting opening gambit.

But Zoe had always found knees oddly intimate; overlooked, but full of quiet nerve endings. She traced the round bone with slight circles with the faintest shush of fingertip on skin.

"That," Mia admitted to the touch, "feels good".

It worked. Zoe smiled.

Her fingers glided upward, stroking across Mia's thigh in smooth arcs.

"How's that?"

"Good ..." Mia's breath caught. "A little ticklish."

Zoe brushed again; this time slower.

Mia let out a sound through her nose, pleasure diffused with restraint. "Actually, Zo ... that's lovely."

Zoe made a long, gliding sweep with her palm, cupping the upper thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. The muscle underneath was dense, toned.

"Mia, you're so firm", she said, surprised by her own reaction.

A soft laugh. "Thank you."

Zoe's eyes then followed the length of Mia's body: along her waist, over the ripple of her stomach, up the subtle slopes of her chest, finally landing on her face. Mia looked peaceful. Focused. Wanting.

Zoe's left hand kept moving in lazy circles along Mia's thigh.

She also looked at the fine features of Mia's face and she reached with her right hand to stroke Mia's left cheek.

"How, with looks like yours, hasn't someone snapped you up for a modelling contract? You're fucking beautiful."

"Ha, you kid."

Zoe slid her hand down from Mia's cheek, 'til it came to rest on her collarbone.

On her part, Mia's eyes trailed across Zoe's body ... the rise and fall of her chest, the shallow dimple just beneath her navel, the way her skin stood against the harsh light. Her red bush was untamed, vivid, curling over her pubic mound. And her breasts: Jesus ... she needed to touch her.

She couldn't help but voice the next thought: "So, what do you like to be touched?"

Zoe hesitated, then admitted, "My ears".

"Ears, huh? You don't go for the obvious. Just touched?"

"Touched ... maybe nibbled a bit."

"Okay then," Mia whispered, "lie back for me".

Zoe did, her back resting on the cool sheet.

Mia leaned over and brushed a few loose strands of hair away from Zoe's cheek, exposing the gentle curve of her earlobe. With two fingers, she began to trace; light circles at first, then a soft pinch.

"Like that?"

"That's ... really nice."

"Scratched or just rubbed? Circles or pulled?"

Zoe relaxed and sighed a little into incomprehensibility. "All of it. Just ... all of it."

Mia guided Zoe's head to the side, gently turning her face to expose the line of her neck. "Then face this way ..."

Zoe soon felt warm breath near her neck, a subtle hush of movement of lips, and soon a slight dampness brought about by a flick of tongue along the lobe. Then little nibbles that tugged.

Zoe swooned a little, enjoying how sensitive it made her.

"Yeah ..." she whispered.

Mia continued, lips tracing the outer shell of Zoe's ear, then moving lower, slow and sure, to the warm place where her neck met her shoulder. Mia nuzzled there with persistence; her mouth half-hidden now in the crook of Zoe's neck. Her face half-buried in Zoe's auburn hair, strands brushing her cheeks, catching on her lashes. She closed her eyes, inhaled.

She smelled the citrusy lotion, softened by sweat, musky and real. Not unpleasant. Mia loved smells like this. They reminded her of something carnal and lived-in: gym sweat, skin after a run, bodies tangled post-sex.

They lingered like that, pressed close. Breathing. Letting the quiet hold.

Eventually, Zoe turned her head slowly back toward Mia. Their eyes locked. A pause.

And then she leaned forward.

Their lips met.

At first, it was tentative, like testing the temperature of something precious. Then came more: parted mouths, warm breath, tongues brushing softly, then deeper. They kissed with hunger now, lips moving in rhythm, mouths opening and closing, tasting one another. A smacking sound each time they separated, only to come back together. The kiss wasn't careful anymore and certainly not like their hesitant attempt when they first started their 'performance'.

Zoe reached for Mia's hand, fingers fumbling for a moment before interlocking. Their grip was tight, anchoring. Their hands moved together almost imperceptibly, mirroring the rhythm of their mouths as a small duet of skin and want.

Then Zoe broke the hold and pulled Mia in by the neck. She was a little more forceful than she realised. Their foreheads ... bumped in a clunk.

"Sorry ..."

"It's okay."

Despite the mishap, Mia's need, hunger now, pulsed steady. Her right hand slid down across Zoe's chest, then lower, fanning over her stomach. Her fingers spread wide, covering as much skin as they could. It was warm, soft, pliant under her palm. She gave it a gentle squeeze. Not quite groping. But close. Testing its give, feeling how much of Zoe she could take in one hand.

Zoe let out a quiet moan ... a breathy, unconscious sound that only spurred Mia on.

Mia's hand rose again, cupping one of Zoe's breasts without hesitation.

Since that morning ... and even before, in admiring glances she'd never thought much about ... Mia had felt the draw of Zoe's breasts. The way they moved when Zoe shifted. How her nipples had poked proudly through layers of clothes. Mia had never touched another woman's breasts before. And now she was here, fingers splayed wide, palm completely full, and it felt wonderful.

The weight of it made her hand feel small. The nipple pressed into the centre of her palm, a peak of heat. Mia lifted slightly, then let the flesh settle again. Then she began to circle in slow, deliberate movements, dragging her palm over the nipple's curve and back again, causing tingling sensations for both women.

In response, Zoe inhaled sharply. Her breath caught at the top, held.

Mia could feel her pussy throb, a pulse that synchronised with the weight in her hand. Encouraged, she shifted downward, lowering her head toward Zoe's chest. As she did, she noticed Zoe's body's scent was thicker now: a salty, feral smell of arousal. Her hand grazed across to the other breast, sweeping upward from the base to cup and lift. Her fingers spread instinctively, claiming it. Zoe arched into the touch.

As Mia's lips neared her breasts, she noted that the freckles across Zoe's upper chest faded in a gradual gradient. 'She doesn't sunbathe topless', Mia thought.

Her eyes were also drawn by how Zoe's nipples were large and pronounced, a deep pink, and stiff from stimulation.

Mia exclaimed, "Your nipples are so hard!" She smiled faintly, eyes flicking up to Zoe's. "You are excited."

Zoe gave a soft, needy sound in reply. It was a cross between a gasp and a hum, thick with want.

Mia leaned in and brought her mouth to one of them. She kissed it first, a press of lips to trap the nipple between them. Then teased it with the flat of her tongue. It was warm, harder to the touch and more textured than she expected. A dome edged with tiny ridges. She flicked slowly, then circled, letting the nipple grow slippery with saliva before she sucked gently; the faint, rhythmic slurp unashamed and warm in the quiet.

Zoe's hands gripped Mia's shoulders. Her breath shivered out of her. "Jesus ..." she whispered.

Mia's other hand pressed into Zoe's side, steadying her. She shifted the weight of her body slightly to keep the rhythm ... her mouth now fully latched to Zoe's chest, tugging lightly, then releasing.

"Tell me if I'm too rough", she murmured against the skin, then gave the nipple a delicate bite.

Zoe gasped. Her hips shifted. "No. That's ... that's really good."

Mia smiled into the flesh.

She moved between both breasts, working them evenly: cupping, squeezing, alternating among fingers, lips and tongue, between teasing and taking. Sometimes she pressed her full face between them, feeling their warmth on her cheeks.

"I just want to stay between your tits forever."

The way Zoe's body responded, from the arch of her back to the tightening of her thighs, told Mia everything she was doing was right.

And Zoe could feel it building again between her legs. An aching need. She shifted one hand against the bed for leverage, another to her soaking sex, dipping a finger into herself with a barely audible squelch.

For Mia, her groping of Zoe continued ... tongue, lips, hand ... until she noticed Zoe's touch was no longer on her shoulder. It was between her own legs. Moving in a tell-tale fashion.

"Here", Mia said, lifting her head. "Let me do that for you."

She ran her hand slowly down Zoe's stomach, catching the warmth in the skin beneath. On her way, she ran her fingers through Zoe's bush, combing it with her fingers. She then gently pulled Zoe's hand away and pressed her own flat palm long against the wetness.

She met slippery flesh. Mia ground the base of her hand against Zoe's clit in slow, deliberate circles.

"That feels ..." Zoe couldn't finish the thought.

Mia continued, brushing her fingers left and right on Zoe's moistened lips. She could feel Zoe's stringy, damp hair on them. She pinched lightly on the tufts, peeling Zoe apart slightly, then letting her close again.

She then drifted up again to rub the clit with the soft pad of a fingertip. Then back down to finger her slit further, finding rhythm and alternating pressure, gliding using Zoe's thick arousal.

Zoe's hips arched sharper. Her hand came up to squeeze her own breast.

They kissed hard, messy and urgent. When they parted, Zoe whispered, "Mia, finger me. Fuck me hard".

Mia slipped one finger in, heat and smooth muscle surrounding her.

Then a second ... and pumped.

Zoe groaned aloud. Her hips began to roll and thrust to meet the movement.

Mia tried a third.

Zoe winced. "Mia, hold off. It stretches me a little too much."

Mia nodded, keeping the rhythm steady with two.

Zoe grabbed Mia's wrist, pressing her deeper, anchoring the pace. Then harder, faster.

"If I go too fast ... tell me."

Zoe responded quickly and definitively, "It's not a problem". She paused a second. "Fuck," she gasped, "you're gonna make me come".

Mia kept her eyes on Zoe's: watching the build, the breathlessness, the surrender.

And when she came, Zoe's whole body jerked, back arched, mouth open. A moan, quite loud this time.

Mia rubbed more, gently though, trying to draw another swell from her, another shiver.

But Zoe exhaled. "Stop. I'm too sensitive now."

Mia withdrew slowly. She lifted her hand to her face and inhaled Zoe's fleshy and raw scent. Her own arousal was an aching, urgent pulse between her legs. She smiled, almost in disbelief. Then lay beside Zoe in the quiet that followed, heart pounding in her ears.

Then both leaned in for a deep, unhurried kiss.

Zoe felt such connection over the pleasure her friend had given her.

Tongues brushed, searching, then pressed in a slow, molten rhythm. The kiss tasted faintly of salt and sweat. And something further behind it: gratitude ... and want still unspent.

When they finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, Zoe spoke, her voice low and dazed. "I don't think I've ever done that."

"Done what? Come?"

"No ... not like that. Not twice in a row. Not like that."

As they lay in the quiet, Zoe let her gaze settle on Mia's profile: the softened shape of her cheek, the way her chest rose a little quicker than normal. But beneath the warmth, a thought stirred: 'Mia ... hadn't come yet. Well, not a second time like she had'.

Zoe shifted a little closer, brushing a strand of hair from Mia's temple. She felt a warm surge of affection, threaded now with something more electric.

"Well," she murmured, leaning in to kiss her once again, "I think it's time for me to ... taste you".

Her hand moved lower, slow and certain, fingertips grazing Mia's hip.

"So, if you'll let me ...?" she asked. Not for permission, but for closeness. To bring arousal to Mia.

It worked. "You go, girl!" came the warm reply.

Both women sat up, kissed hard one more time.

Zoe's voice rose with excitement. "God, you're a fox. You're so fucking beautiful."

Mia's mouth curled into a crooked grin. "Careful. Flattery might get you laid."

Zoe then leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss at the base of Mia's throat. From there, Zoe's lips began their slow descent as a warm, open-mouthed trail, each press a little wetter than the last, moving down the centre of Mia's chest.

When she reached Mia's breasts, Zoe paused. Her breath hitched slightly, taken in again by how much she wanted this ... how much she wanted her.

Mia's breasts weren't large, but they were impossibly inviting: pert and tight, lifting slightly with each breath. The skin there looked impossibly smooth, with nipples that had darkened slightly, her areolae full, tight with sensation.

Zoe brought her mouth to the underside of one of Mia's breasts, placing a slow, anchoring kiss. Then another, higher this time. Her tongue followed, warm and steady, drawing a line up to the tip before circling the nipple in a widening spiral.

Mia's breath left her in a low hum.

Zoe closed her lips around the nipple and sucked; not hard but just enough to pull heat between them. Her hand came up to the other breast, stroking the curve with her knuckles, letting her fingers settle softly across its tautness. Her touch wasn't practised. It was exploratory, reverent, almost greedy in its care.

Soon, the sounds of her mouth, slurping softly and rhythmically, filled the quiet between them, layered with the hitch of Mia's breath and the rustle of hair against skin. Zoe sucked harder now, then let go with a slick pop, only to drag her tongue across to the other side and begin again.

Somewhere to their right, a shoe scraped softly on hardwood; an involuntary shift in the watcher's seat. The sound was ignored by both women.

Mia's hands threaded through Zoe's hair. Not pushing. Just holding her there. Staying close.

Zoe murmured something into the skin. The words were too soft to carry. She then dipped her head again, now fully in her rhythm, lips and tongue and fingers working in time.

She wanted to make Mia melt. Completely. She looked up and met her friend's gaze.

Mia's eyes were half-lidded, hazy with heat. Her mouth was smiling: crooked, inviting.

Zoe exhaled and rested her forehead lightly against Mia's sternum. "Well," she murmured with a half-grin, "here goes nothing".

Mia gave a husky laugh. "No pressure."

Zoe tilted her head to glance up again. "Just my entire erotic reputation resting on this."

She then placed a kiss just beneath Mia's breast, then another a few inches lower, and began to trail her way downward.

Her lips moved in slow progress, mapping each shift of Mia's torso. When she reached her stomach, Zoe paused, drawn by the tautness beneath her mouth. She brushed her cheek along the plane of it, feeling the gentle give of skin stretched tight over muscle. It wasn't the kind of six-pack you flexed at the gym; it was something more subtle. Toned from use, from movement, from living in her body fully. It felt strong. Real.

She kissed the centre of it, then dragged her mouth to the side, letting her lips skim over the little rises and dips; the slight hollow beneath Mia's ribs, the curve toward her hips. Her tongue darted out briefly, tracing the shallow indentation of her navel. She loved how it tensed in response as a soft flinch under her mouth, then followed by a sigh from above.

Zoe smiled to herself. She loved this stomach. Its quiet strength.

And then, as she continued lower, her thoughts flickered about past memories of receiving head.

There had been the bad ones. Men who rushed. Who acted like going down on her was either an obstacle course or a chore; something to complete, not explore. Some were tentative to the point of uselessness. Others, weirdly overconfident, like they thought porn had given them a roadmap.

But there had been one, a guy she'd hooked up with casually for a few weeks. It hadn't meant much, not emotionally. But he'd listened. Asked. Fumbled. Tried. She'd taught him what she liked, and he actually paid attention: 'Yes, up a little.' 'Stay there.' 'Use your whole mouth.' Once, with her encouragement, he'd slipped a finger into her arse while his tongue was still deep inside her. She remembered the way she'd gasped, how surprised she was by how much she liked it, how hard she came.

There'd been no ego. No obligation. Just a genuine interest in making her feel good. And eventually, he had.

She'd never forgotten what that had felt like: that gradual build, the absolute unravelling.

And now, she wanted to give that understanding to Mia.

Zoe reached Mia's hips and cupped them lightly, anchoring herself. Her thumbs swept softly across the crest of each bone, then dipped lower. She brushed her cheek against the short, cropped hair just above Mia's sex, loving the texture: clean, soft, unobtrusive. Just enough to catch slightly against her skin as she descended.

She slid her hands down to Mia's thighs and gripped both with absolute possession. The skin there was flawless: firm, warm, and impossibly smooth beneath her palms.

Zoe looked up.

Mia nodded, eyes wide, voice low: "I'm yours".

Zoe's breath caught.

She spread Mia's thighs wide. Then she dipped her head.

Everything between Mia's legs was wet.

The scent reached her first: sharp and earthy. Zoe took a breath and let it fill her. It wasn't something to be masked or downplayed. It was part of Mia. Part of now.

She started with warmth; a slow exhale against the swollen skin, just enough to make Mia twitch.

Then a single lick, tracing a path along her slit. Testing the heat there. Testing Mia. She felt a slight shift in Mia's hips, a subtle offering.

Zoe then pressed in with more intent, closing her lips around one of the gleaming folds. The taste was sour, briny, unmistakably aroused. As she pulled back slightly, a strand of wetness bridged between her lips and Mia's pussy ... stretching, clinging, then breaking against her chin.

With both hands, she spread Mia's folds open, thumbs pressing gently into the crease above each thigh. Mia's flesh parted under her fingers, glossy and swollen. The view made Zoe's breath catch.

Then she continued, unreserved. Flattening her tongue, she dragged it from the deepest part of Mia ... that warm, delicate stretch of skin between her sex and rear, where the scent was heaviest, raw and intimate ... all the way up through the slippery heat, over the ridge of her clit.

She felt Mia jolt, a gasp escaping.

Zoe sucked lightly at the tip, careful not to overdo it too soon. Her jaw was already tightening, tongue flicking slow and persistent, then resting. She needed to pace herself. But she wasn't stopping.

Not until Mia broke apart. Not until she gave her that.

She pulled back slightly, catching Mia's eye.

"Do you want to be tongue-fucked?" she asked, the words low, burning with intent.

Mia's nod was all the answer she needed.

Zoe leaned in again, angling herself lower. She opened her mouth and slowly pressed the tip of her tongue to Mia's opening, then eased it in with care. Not thrusting, just pressing and exploring. The heat there was deeper, the texture soft, the taste stronger. She rolled her tongue in slow circles, trying to get a rhythm, to push in enough so Mia could feel her.

But she wasn't sure. The pressure felt shallow. She couldn't tell if she was giving enough, if what she was doing was even working. There was no porn logic to rely on here, no clear script, just her own guesswork and the shifts in Mia's hips.

She stayed there a moment longer, tongue tracing along the tender rim, tasting the slickness pooled there, feeling the gentle flutter of Mia's body against her mouth. It was intimate in a way she hadn't quite expected: vulnerable, a little awkward ... but was it working?

Eventually, she pulled back. She rested her cheek lightly against Mia's thigh for a beat, caught her breath, then moved in again. She noticed how swollen Mia's clit was. Zoe placed her lips in a soft bracket around it, her upper lip resting just above, her lower pressing down near her entrance, creating pressure as she began to ... eat. 'This,' she thought, 'was more effective'.

Mia looked down at Zoe's ginger hair bobbing between her legs. She one of her hands to hold Zoe's head a little, partly to steady herself, partly as encouragement, partly as guide. Her fingers tangled in Zoe's hair. Her hips lifted with need, grinding into Zoe's mouth.

"Oh, babe," Mia stuttered, "that feels ... so ... fucking ... good".

Zoe focused now. Mouth and tongue working in tandem. Her hands gripped Mia's thighs, grounding them both. She shifted the angle slightly, drawing patterns she remembered liking herself ... then improvising ... adjusting to every breath and shudder Mia gave in return.

Zoe wanted to say something particularly intimate to help give Mia that final release. So she paused her movements for a second and spoke, "Come ... I want you to come in my mouth". Then returned to her work.

Those few words were enough.

Mia gasped ... sharp, startled ... then arched upward. Her whole body trembled, thighs tightening around Zoe's head, fingers fisting. Her hips rocked as one last urgent push against Zoe's mouth, and then she let go ... entirely. A full-body release, messy and real. The world fractured for a moment. Her muscles clenched, then softened. A tremor passed through her chest. She barely remembered breathing.

A loud cry of pleasure slipped out, unfiltered.

Across the room something thudded. Maybe Richard's hand against the armrest, maybe just his heart finding purchase. Was this the ultimate moment he'd paid in hope to see?

Zoe held Mia through her climax. Her lips stayed soft, her touch gentle now. She only pulled back when she felt Mia's legs loosen.

A beat passed.

Mia laughed softly. "That was ..."

Zoe tilted her head to look up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mia breathed. "You just ... absolutely ruined me."

Zoe grinned and dropped her head to Mia's chest for a moment. "Good."

They lay there in the quiet. Neither rushed to get up, but they weren't tangled either. It didn't feel awkward. Just settled.

After a while, they sat up and started to get dressed: slowly, without much talking. Clothes were picked up. Underwear, shirts, jeans. A few glances. A shared smirk. No regrets.

Richard stayed quiet, still seated, watching. When the women were ready, he stood and walked them to the door. He looked satisfied, but there was something more subdued in his expression now, like he understood he'd been witness to something private.

At the door, he gave a small nod. "Thanks for trusting me."

Zoe raised an eyebrow, hoisting her backpack up. "Don't get used to it."

He smiled. "Fair enough."

Mia gave a quick, dry laugh. "Bye, Richard."

They stepped outside into the late afternoon warmth of Las Vegas. The door shut quietly behind them.

---

The bus back to LA was half-full and quiet, just the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of a passenger changing position. Outside, the desert rolled by in darkness.

Zoe had her headphones in, head leaned against the window, eyes half-closed. Across the aisle, Mia flicked through a magazine without really reading it.

They hadn't said much since leaving Richard's house. Not out of discomfort, just a kind of natural calm. No need to talk everything to death.

Plus, they were tired. Truly so.

Eventually, Mia looked across and nudged Zoe's foot with hers. "You want a mint?"

Zoe pulled out one earbud. "Sure." She caught the one Mia tossed and popped it in her mouth.

A few more minutes passed.

"Zo, that guy you were speaking to at the photocopiers last week at the library. You looked pretty caught up in conversation. He looked caught up in you. You gonna pursue it? He was pretty cute."

Mia kept her voice casual, but there was a purpose to the question. Not teasing, not pointed. Just confirming something she already sensed: that what happened earlier didn't have to change who they were.

Zoe took a second. "Hmm. Yeah, I might. His name's Steve. Second-year med."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Ooooh. Med student."

Zoe smiled, eyes still on the window. "Good with hearts, apparently."

They both laughed quietly. No tension. Just ease.

Mia leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "You're alright, you know."

Zoe didn't look over. She just replied, "Yeah. You too".

The bus rolled on.