Anna Knocks On The Door

The morning light bled through Anna’s basement curtains in hazy stripes, painting Dan’s sleeping face gold. Michelle watched his eyelashes flutter—watched the way his fingers twitched against Bailey’s hip like even unconscious, he needed to claim her.

Bailey stirred first, her back pressed flush against Michelle’s front. The warmth between them was sticky with sweat and the ghost of last night’s sins. Michelle’s breath hitched when Bailey shifted, the curve of her ass pressing into Michelle’s bare thighs. The memory of Dan’s hands gripping her hips—of Bailey’s tongue forcing his cum down her throat—flooded Michelle’s senses. She swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against the inside of her ribs.

How the fuck did I end up here? Michelle's fingers twitched against the couch cushion, still damp with sweat. The question slithered through her hazy post-orgasm brain like a live wire. Her. Michelle—queen of stolen boyfriends, architect of chaos, the girl who'd once made her friends let her suck their boyfriends cocks—spread out naked on Anna's sectional like some fucking conquest.

Dan's shirt was bunched under her cheek. His scent—that stupid fucking Dolce & Gabanna cologne Bailey always bought him—clung to the fabric. Michelle inhaled sharply, then immediately hated herself for it. Across the room, Dan stretched like a satisfied cat, his bare skin catching the dim light. The bite marks Michelle had left on his shoulder stood out purple against his pale skin.

Just then, Anna knocked on the locked door.

Michelle froze—her fingers still tangled in the damp fabric of Dan’s shirt—as the sound echoed through the cellar. Three sharp raps, followed by Anna’s muffled, sleep-thick voice: "Why the fuck is this locked?"

Bailey’s smirk was instantaneous, her bare foot nudging Michelle’s thigh under the blanket. "Guess we’re not the only ones up early," she murmured, voice dripping with amusement. Michelle’s stomach dropped. No one else saw me, she thought wildly, her pulse stuttering. No one saw how I—

Another knock. Harder. "Seriously, assholes, open up," Anna barked.

Michelle's legs tangled in the blanket as she stumbled toward the door—naked except for Dan's t shirt. Her fingers trembled on the latch. The metal was cold. Everything felt too sharp suddenly—the click of the lock disengaging, the squeak of hinges, the way Anna's bleary-eyed gaze met Michelle's gaze.

Anna stopped mid-step. Her eyes traveled from Michelle’s flushed face down to her legs and the way the t-shirt clung to her curves, then flicked to Dan on one section and Bailey, who were sprawled on a different part of the sectional.

The room smelled like sweat, sex, and Dan's come. Anna’s gaze landed on Bailey, specifically Bailey's absence of jealousy. .

"What the fuck happened in here?" Anna asked, her voice flat, eyes narrowing as she looked at the sectional. She looked at Michelle, who was in Dan's shirt, then back at all three.

The silence was all consuming with the scent of sex. Michelle felt exposed, from the memory of being used and owned. She wanted to smirk, to make a joke about how Dan was a better fuck than he looked.

Bailey wasn't just calm; she looked satisfied. She looked like a woman who had just finished a puzzle and liked the picture it made.

The old Bailey—the one who had been treating Dan like a prized piece of jewelry—would have been screaming by now. That Bailey was a territorial bitch; if another girl so much as breathed in Dan’s general direction, she’d turn into a jagged shard of glass. If Dan’s gaze lingered too long on a classmates’s chest or hips, Bailey’s anger wasn't slow—it was an explosion of "Who the fuck is that?" and "Why are you looking at her?"

But the woman leaning back on the sectional, her legs draped casually over the edge. That wasn't that girl. She looked like she’d just been sexually satisfied.

"We had a little experiment," Bailey said, her voice low, that made Michelle’s pulse beat harder.

Anna didn’t blink. She just stepped back, leaving the door open wide enough for the smell of sizzling bacon to battle the scent of sex. "Whatever the fuck you're experimenting with, do it at your own house. Pancakes are getting cold, and I’m not reheating them for a bunch of sexual weirdos."

Michelle didn’t wait for a response. She scrambled out of the room, the oversized t-shirt fluttering around her thighs, her skin still tingling from the ghost of Bailey’s fingertips and Dan’s cock. As she stepped into the sun-drenched kitchen, the atmosphere shifted from the claustrophobic heat of the basement to a bright, airy morning. And there, perched on a barstool at the marble island, was her boyfriend Jareth.