Is there any other answer than yes

Susan found herself pinned between solid muscle and quicksilver, Adam's calloused hands sliding under her shirt while Eris's fingers worked her flight suit's fastenings with inhuman precision. The contrast was dizzying—Adam's rough grip leaving bruises even as he kissed her, while Eris's touch remained calculated, adjusting pressure and angle based on Susan's pupil dilation and respiratory rate.

Eris's fingers worked Susan's flight suit clasps with surgical precision, each release timed to the hitch of Susan's breath as Adam's teeth found her pulse point. The AI's touch was clinical yet devastating—every brush of her mercury-slick hands calibrated to maximize nerve response. Susan shuddered as the suit pooled around her waist, leaving her bare except for the vibro-blade strapped to her thigh and the neural port glowing faintly at the base of her spine.

Adam growled approval against her throat, his calloused palm sliding up her ribs to thumb a peaked nipple. "Still tight," he murmured, echoing their shower stall taunt—but this time Eris answered by materializing a third hand from the ship's bulkhead to mirror his movements on Susan's other breast. The sensation was uncanny—Adam's rough warmth on one side, Eris's liquid-metal coolness on the other, both pulling identical rhythms from her body until Susan couldn't tell whose fingerprints would bruise her skin.