Some practice

Adam carries Lana into the bedroom and puts her on the bed.

She bounces once on the mattress. The half-packed bag is still on the chair. Mia stops in the doorway. Lana looks up at Adam with her mouth parted, the lust already naked on her face, the glasses plan forgotten for the length of a breath.

“Clothes off,” he says.

Lana does not ask Mia. She pulls the sweater over her head. No bra. Her tits fall free, nipples tight. She shoves the jeans down, underwear with them, and kicks them off the side of the bed. She lies back, naked, one knee bent, looking at him like the living-room sentence has already put her somewhere she has wanted to be.

Adam does not touch her yet.

He walks behind Mia. His chest meets her back. His mouth is at her ear, loud enough that Lana hears every word from the bed.

“You think she’s sexy?”

Mia’s eyes are on Lana. The body on their sheets. The tits. The stomach. The way Lana’s thighs have already started to open without being told.

“Yes,” Mia says.

Lana hears it. Color hits her chest. She finishes the last of the undressing by simply lying there, fully naked, one arm above her head, waiting.

“Spread,” Adam says. “Show Mia your cunt.”

Lana opens her legs.

She is dripping. The shine is obvious in the bedroom light, lips swollen, a string of wetness already at her entrance. She holds herself open with two fingers so Mia can see, and she does not look ashamed of it.

Adam’s hand settles on Mia’s hip.

“Are you as wet as she is?”

Mia swallows. “Yes.”

Lana’s smile is small and wrecked. She keeps her fingers there, presenting, dripping onto their sheet.

Adam looks at her over Mia’s shoulder.

“Who are you?”

Lana blinks. The lust stutters.

“What?”

“Who are you?” he says again. “What did you agree to in the living room?”

Lana’s throat moves. Her fingers are still holding her cunt open. Mia can see the pulse of it.

“I agreed to wear the glasses,” Lana says. “To sit where Mia sits. To record.”

“And what did I call you?”

Lana looks at him. Then at Mia. Then at him.

“Your wife,” she says. “You said you wanted me to be your wife.”

“Say it properly.”

Her voice is thinner and filthier at once.

“I’m your wife.”

Adam walks to the bed.

He looks down at her, spread, wet, waiting, and he smiles. Lana smiles back, shaky, hungry. He bends and kisses her.

It is not a peck. It is not the corner of a mouth. It is a real kiss, mouth open, his hand in her hair, her answering it like she has been starving for exactly this and not only the cock. She moans into it. Her fingers slip off her cunt. She kisses him back, passionate, messy, the kind of kiss Mia has watched him give to no one else in this room.

He breaks it just enough to speak against her lips.

“You’re my wife,” he says. “Tonight. Say it again.”

“I’m your wife.”

Mia stands where he left her.

Her face is slutty and angry at the same time. Heat in her cheeks. Wet between her legs. A hard line in her mouth. He has fucked Lana. He has fucked Remy. He has fucked Danielle in front of her husband. He has never kissed any of them. Not like that. Not like a claim.

Adam straightens. He looks at Mia. Lana is still breathless on the bed, lips swollen from his mouth, cunt still shining.

“Do you know what my wife loves?” he asks.

Mia looks at the kiss. Looks at Lana’s open legs. Looks at the man who just called another woman his wife in their bedroom and put his mouth on her like it belonged there.

The anger shifts.

The understanding hits, and her expression changes completely.