“Triple teamed,” Tarra said, tasting the word. Not a complaint. A statement of intent.
The city was a grid of cold blue light outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of vetiver and unspoken contracts. This wasn't a scene; it was a negotiation. “Triple teamed,” Tarra said, tasting the word
The three men did not rush. They encircled them like a slow tide. One knelt behind Tarra, his hands tracing the ladder of her spine. Another caught Nessa’s wrist as she reached out, redirecting her touch back to Tarra’s hip. The third, the cameraman, circled slowly, capturing the architecture of limbs—the way Tarra’s thigh slotted between Nessa’s, the way Nessa’s free hand fisted the leather. The city was a grid of cold blue
“Same time next week?” Nessa asked, her voice a wrecked whisper. The three men did not rush
