First Time With Her Two Friends
The hotel suite door clicked shut, severing us from the muffled thrum of the convention hallway. Suddenly, the twelfth-floor room became a sealed pocket of stale air conditioning, cheap carpet, and neon city light bleeding through the heavy curtains. Exhaustion had settled deep into my bones. My cape hung loose from one shoulder, the cheap metallic clasp having given way hours ago during the final panel. Beside me, Cassian’s jacket flared open over a rumpled tunic, the fabric bearing the invisible press of a thousand bodies from the dealer hall. A step behind him, Riven’s unlaced boots dragged a soft, rhythmic hush against the low-pile carpet.
For four years, this had been our rhythm. We were three high-school friends turned inseparable con trio, trading plastic bags of indie prints and sharing overpriced room service. Cassian Holt was the anchor, my oldest confidant since a sophomore-year library detention, while Riven Shaw remained the quiet observer, the one who always drove us home through the dead of night. Both of them knew the secret I carried. I had only admitted it once, slurred through exhaustion in the backseat of Riven’s car after last year’s circuit. My virginity wasn’t a taboo subject among us, yet it had remained a hard, uncrossed line—until the words finally clawed their way out of my throat tonight.
Lit by twin bedside lamps, the room offered a single, sprawling king bed wrapped in crisp white linens. A low sofa sat pushed against the far wall, facing a narrow desk cluttered with convention schedules. Dropping my lanyard and the crinkling bag of new issues, I watched the plastic slide across the polished wood. Cassian and Riven followed suit. Their bags landed with heavy, synchronized thuds that somehow amplified the suffocating stillness of the room.
Turning around, the crushed velvet of my cape shifted against my spine, a phantom weight dragging at my posture. When I spoke, my voice lacked its usual tremor. “I want both of you to be my first.”
Those ten words shattered the room’s fragile equilibrium. Across the carpet, our eyes locked in a suspended, crystalline second. The lamplight caught the hard, sudden swallow working down Riven’s throat. Cassian’s knuckles bled white as his grip tightened on the canvas strap of his messenger bag. Neither man breathed. The silence stretched until it threatened to snap, filled entirely by the drone of the air vent and the deafening rush of blood behind my own ears. Leaning back, I felt the cool, unforgiving metal of the door handle pressing through the thin fabric of my costume, a stark reminder that there was nowhere left to retreat.
Moving with deliberate slowness, Cassian set his bag down fully. “Liora,” he murmured, testing the syllables of my name as if he had never spoken it before. “Are you entirely sure?” His dark eyes anchored me, offering the same steady, grounding focus he used whenever a convention crowd triggered my panic. I gave a single, deliberate nod. The oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate, the shadows pooling deeper along the edges of the bed frame.
Leather whispering against the floor, Riven closed the distance. He stopped just outside of arm’s reach. The quiet, predatory intensity he usually reserved for scanning dark highways was now locked entirely on my face. Nobody shifted. The building groaned around us, a faint creak of settling steel, as the ambient heat of their bodies began to suffocate the chilled hotel air. My skin flushed hot beneath my collar.
Reaching up with trembling fingers, I found the remaining clasp at my throat. The fabric gave a soft, yielding sigh as I unfastened it. Slow and fluid, the cape slipped down my arms, pooling into a dark halo of velvet over my scuffed boots. Stripped of the armor, I stood completely exposed. “I trust you both more than anyone,” I breathed, the confession sliding into the space between us like a key turning heavily in a rusted lock.
Cassian let out a fractured exhale, a ragged sound carrying years of suppressed gravity. It was the only signal Riven needed. Stepping into my space, Riven planted a broad palm flat against the doorframe beside my ear. The faint, intoxicating cocktail of convention sweat, stale hotel soap, and the sharp bite of cedar cologne washed over me. Power shifted in the room, heavy and undeniable. Lowering his chin, Riven held my gaze as his thumb slowly drifted upward, coming to rest right over the frantic, fluttering pulse at the base of my throat.
Cassian’s fingers found the zipper at my side next, the teeth catching on damp fabric from the long day. He worked it down inch by inch, the pull snagging twice before it gave, the costume top peeling away with a sticky drag across my ribs. Cool air from the vent hit bare skin and raised tight gooseflesh. Riven’s free hand dropped to my waist, tugging at the heavy belt of my skirt until the buckle fought back and finally released. The skirt slid lower but caught on my hips; he had to hook his thumbs inside and work it down with short, awkward tugs that left me shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
Boots came off last. Cassian bent to wrestle with mine first, the laces knotted from hours of walking, forcing him to yank hard enough that I had to grab his shoulder for balance. One heel stuck on the carpet and he swore under his breath, finally freeing it with a grunt. Riven toed his own boots aside while Cassian stripped his jacket and tunic in layers, the fabric clinging to his back before it peeled free. My bra clasp resisted Riven’s fingers, the hooks scraping before they popped; the straps slid down my arms and the cups dropped away, leaving my nipples tight in the chilled air. Their remaining clothes followed in a slow scatter across the carpet, zippers rasping, pants shoved down with stiff legs and muttered curses until every layer lay crumpled and the three of us stood bare.
Riven guided me backward until my calves hit the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight as I sat. Cassian dropped to his knees between my spread thighs while Riven climbed behind me, chest pressed to my spine, his breath hot against my neck. Cassian’s palms slid up my inner thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh until my legs opened wider. His mouth followed, lips dragging slow and open-mouthed along the same path, tongue flicking out to taste salt and heat. My hips twitched at the first broad lick that dragged over my clit; he did it again, slower, until my thighs started shaking around his shoulders.
Riven’s hands covered my breasts from behind, fingers rolling and pinching until the peaks ached. One hand slid lower, two fingers parting my folds and circling the slick entrance without pushing in. “Fuck, you’re dripping on my hand already,” he muttered against my ear, voice rough. Cassian’s tongue pressed firmer, lapping in steady strokes that made my stomach jump. Every few breaths he sucked lightly at my clit, the wet pull sending sparks up my spine. I reached down blindly, found Cassian’s cock heavy and hot against his stomach, and wrapped my fingers around it. He groaned into me, the vibration traveling straight through my core while I stroked him in clumsy time with his tongue.
Minutes dragged. My thighs trembled harder, muscles locking and releasing. Riven’s fingers finally slid inside, two thick digits working deep with a steady pump that matched the rhythm of Cassian’s mouth. The stretch burned at first, then eased into a hot, slippery glide. “Look at you taking my fingers,” Riven said, low and broken. “Gonna feel even tighter around a cock.” Cassian pulled back only long enough to mutter, “She’s shaking so hard already,” before his tongue returned, flicking faster until my hips jerked against his face.
They shifted me higher onto the bed. Riven lay back and pulled me over him so I straddled his hips. Cassian stayed at my side, one knee on the mattress. Riven’s cock nudged up between my folds, thick and blunt, the head sliding through the mess Cassian’s mouth had made. He gripped my hips and held me still while Cassian reached down to rub tight circles over my clit again. “Slow,” Riven warned, voice strained. “Take it slow.” I sank down an inch at a time, the blunt pressure forcing my body open, the sting of stretch giving way to a deep, hot fullness that made my breath catch. My palms braced on his chest, nails digging in.
Cassian kept working my clit while Riven thrust up in short, careful strokes. Each rock forward dragged friction across that sensitive spot inside until my arms started to shake. Sweat slicked the space between my shoulder blades and slid down my spine. Riven’s grip tightened. “Christ—squeezing me so fucking hard,” he ground out. I reached for Cassian’s cock again, stroking him fast and messy. The bed frame creaked under us, sheets twisting under Riven’s back.
The snap came without warning. My thighs locked, muscles pulsing hard around Riven’s cock as the orgasm ripped through me in tight, rhythmic clenches. A raw cry tore out of my throat. Riven’s hips jerked up once, twice, his cock throbbing deep as he spilled inside, hot pulses flooding me while his head slammed back against the pillows and a guttural sound ripped from his chest. Cassian’s release hit seconds later; his cock jerked in my fist, thick ropes spilling across my hip and down my fingers while his whole body shuddered and his forehead dropped to my shoulder.
We stayed locked together, breathing in ragged bursts. Riven’s hands loosened their bruising hold on my waist but didn’t let go. Cassian eased back first, his softening cock leaving a sticky trail. I slid sideways off Riven, his come leaking warm and thick down my thigh. The sheets beneath us felt damp and tangled. Cassian grabbed the corner of the sheet and wiped roughly across my hip and between my legs, the fabric catching on skin. Riven shifted onto his side, one heavy arm still under my shoulders, his chest rising and falling hard against my back. No one spoke. The only sounds were three sets of lungs working to catch air and the faint, steady drone of the vent pushing cold air over sweat-slick bodies. Cassian’s fingers brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead, then dropped away, his own breath still uneven. The neon glow from the curtains painted faint rectangles across the ceiling while the room stayed sealed around the weight of three exhausted bodies.