Olivia

Emily held the flannel blanket in both hands, her breath still unsteady, the edges of her vision tinged with firelight and drink. The fabric was soft, warm from the flames, but her skin was already hotter. The eyes on her were near-tangible now, thick with tension, expectation, hunger. She could feel the weight of every gaze—on her chest, her stomach, her parted lips.

She looked across the circle at Olivia—reclining on one elbow, her drink tilted casually in her other hand, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles like she owned the fire and everyone around it. Her smile was lazy but sharp, challenging without being unkind. Her bikini top was a dark wine color, her toned stomach bare, and she hadn’t looked away once since issuing the dare.

Emily’s lips curved.

“Fine,” she said slowly, her voice low and smooth. “But I’m choosing who.”

Olivia’s brow arched, amused.

“And I choose you.”

The whole circle stirred—quiet gasps, low laughter, a faint “holy shit” from Jamie.

For the first time, Olivia blinked.

Then she smiled, slow and wide. “Well then.”

Emily stood, breasts still bare and bouncing softly with each movement, the blanket hanging from one hand like a flag. Olivia shifted upright, handing her cup off to Marcus without a word, and followed.

The two of them stepped out of the ring of light together, toward the edge of the fire's reach where the dunes began. Emily dropped the blanket onto the sand and sat first, her back against a smooth driftwood log. Olivia settled beside her, close—too close to be innocent.

Emily pulled the blanket over both of them, enclosing them in flickering warmth and shadow.

Beneath the cover, their thighs touched.

Olivia’s voice came soft in the dark. “Just touching, huh?”

Emily turned toward her, mouths inches apart, heart hammering in her throat.

“That’s the dare,” she whispered.

“But you can choose where I touch you, right?” Olivia’s hand slid gently up Emily’s stomach, fingers barely grazing the underside of her breast. “Anywhere?”

Emily didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her hand found Olivia’s wrist and guided it upward—slowly, deliberately—until her fingers closed around the stiff, flushed point of Emily’s nipple.

Olivia’s breath caught. Her thumb stroked gently across the peak.

Then circled.

Emily whimpered, quiet and sharp.

Outside the blanket, the circle was silent. No laughter now. No whistles.

Just the crackle of the fire.

And two shadows shifting under the blanket.