[Reader Discretion Advised]

Chapter Eight (Sea Breeze)

The door clicked shut behind them.

Ari didn’t speak. She leaned against the wood with her eyes on Lena, hands still in the pockets of her coat. Her hair was damp from the night, curls stuck to her jaw. She looked tired—but not distant.

Present.

Lena stood in the middle of the room, heart beating so hard it hurt her ribs. Her hands ached to do something—fix the blanket, smooth her dress, hide.

But instead, she moved.

One step.

Then another.

And then she was there—standing in front of Ari, not touching yet, but close enough to smell her. Clove, cedar, something deeper.

“I want—” Lena started.

But Ari silenced her with a kiss.

This one wasn’t soft.

It was slow.

Mouth open. Tongue deliberate. Like she’d been waiting to taste Lena again under real light, without stairwells or silence between them.

Lena melted.

She reached for Ari’s coat, fingers fumbling with the buttons, but Ari stepped forward and shrugged it off herself. Underneath: a thin black tee, no bra. Skin visible through the fabric, nipples outlined against the cotton.

Lena ran her hands up Ari’s sides, almost shy, until Ari caught her wrists.

“Wait.”

Lena froze.

Ari’s breath tickled her neck.

“Lie down.”

Lena obeyed.

The mattress gave beneath her as she moved onto her back, legs bent, knees parted slightly. She didn’t try to hide it anymore—how badly she wanted this. How ready she was.

Ari crawled on top of her slowly.

She kissed her again—deeper this time—then moved lower.

Her lips brushed Lena’s collarbone, then her shoulder, then down to her stomach, each kiss a question.

Lena’s fingers gripped the sheets.

Ari looked up.

“Tell me to stop.”

Lena didn’t.

Ari smiled.

Then she pulled up Lena’s dress, inch by inch, until the fabric pooled at her hips and the air met her skin.

Lena was already wet.

Ari kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and reverent, and whispered:

“Good girl.”

And then she touched her.

First with fingers.

Then with her mouth.

Lena came before she knew she had.

Body tensed. Breath caught. Her hand tangled in Ari’s hair. No words, just sound—sharp, soft, broken.

When it ended, Ari crawled back up beside her and laid her head on Lena’s chest.

Neither of them spoke.

But Lena’s fingers curled around Ari’s shoulder, holding her there.

Not for possession.

But for gravity.

Sunlight touched the edge of the blanket before it touched their skin.

Lena blinked awake slowly. Her limbs were heavy, slack with sleep, but her nerves were still humming. Not with panic. With something closer to reverence.

Ari lay beside her—half-curled, half-buried beneath the covers. One arm sprawled across Lena’s stomach, loose and unselfconscious. Her breath tickled the underside of Lena’s ribs.

They hadn’t spoken after.

Not because they couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t necessary.

Lena turned slightly, careful not to disturb the balance between them, and let her fingers trail across the inside of Ari’s bicep. A tattoo there—thin black lines, a moth or maybe a flame. It disappeared beneath the sleeve of her shirt.

She followed it with the tip of her finger.

Ari stirred.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. “I like it when you look without asking.”

Lena smiled, faintly. “I wasn’t sure if you were asleep.”

“I’m never asleep when I’m touching you.”

Silence stretched between them again—but it wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Lena pressed her face into the crook of Ari’s neck and inhaled. Clove, again. Skin.

“How did you sleep?” Ari asked after a beat.

Lena hesitated.

“Full.”

Ari pulled back enough to see her. “Full?”

“Like… nothing was missing.”

Ari didn’t smile. But something in her face softened. She pressed a kiss to Lena’s forehead and settled again.

But Lena’s heart had already shifted.

There was a thought sitting behind her ribs now. Small. Sharp.

Cal.

Nico.

Them.

She remembered Cal’s sketchpad. The way Nico looked at her mouth. The quiet understanding that what happened in this world was rarely just between two people.

Ari belonged to all three of them.

And now, so did Lena.

She didn’t feel regret.

But she felt the edges of something bigger than permission.

Ari’s thumb traced lazy circles on her hip.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she whispered.

Lena nodded.

And said nothing.

The text came midafternoon.

Ari: Tonight. Cal’s again. Just us. No rules, just presence. Come if you want to be seen.

No winks. No threats. Just gravity.

Lena didn’t reply right away.

She sat on her bed, legs crossed, her body still sore in quiet, secret places. Last night hadn’t left her—it had settled into her skin like oil. She could still smell Ari in her sheets, still feel the ghost of her mouth on her thigh.

She read the message again.

Then again.

She didn’t ask what “presence” meant.

She already knew.

That evening, when she arrived at Cal’s door, Ari answered barefoot, again. She was wearing something sheer and loose, almost like a robe that couldn’t make up its mind whether to cover or confess. Lena didn’t look away.

Inside, the lights were lower than before. Fewer lamps. More candles.

There were cushions on the floor.

Wine, again.

Cal was sketching already, back against the wall. Nico leaned against the table, shirtless, sipping something amber. His eyes slid over Lena with open amusement. Not greedy. Just curious.

Ari kissed her once at the door. Just a brush.

Then guided her inside.

It wasn’t a Club night.

There was no audience.

But it felt like a ritual.

Ari sat behind Lena on the rug, pulling her gently back to rest against her chest. Her arms circled Lena’s waist, hands resting just above her hips, not moving.

Nico knelt across from them. Cal sat to the side, sketchpad open, already drawing the angles of their limbs.

“This isn’t about showing off,” Ari whispered into Lena’s hair. “It’s about holding still while they look.”

Then—she slid her hand up Lena’s dress.

Lena gasped—soft, involuntary.

Ari didn’t go fast. Just fingers tracing circles at the edge of wetness, slipping lower only when Lena pressed back into her.

Nico didn’t blink.

Cal kept sketching.

Lena’s eyes fluttered closed—but Ari’s voice stopped her.

“No,” she said gently. “Look at them.”

Lena opened her eyes.

Met Nico’s gaze.

Saw the hunger behind it. Not cruel. Not demanding.

Just devoted.

She didn’t look away.

Not when Ari slid two fingers inside her.

Not when Cal shifted slightly to get a better angle.

Not when she started to come, shaking and flushed and visible.

Ari held her through it.

Nico exhaled, slow and deliberate, like he’d just watched a sunrise no one else knew about.

And Lena—

Lena didn’t feel ashamed.

She felt welcomed.

Lena was still straddling Ari’s lap, legs slack, her cheek pressed against Ari’s shoulder. Her dress had ridden up to her waist, skin flushed, knees burning from the rug beneath her. But she didn’t move.

She didn’t want to move.

Cal flipped a page in his sketchbook and began again.

He hadn’t stopped during. Not once. His hands moved with the same calm hunger he used to sketch waves, strangers, ruins—like this was no different. Like Lena’s body had simply joined the gallery of things worth documenting.

“Stay like that,” he murmured. “Don’t fix your hair.”

Lena flushed deeper.

She didn’t.

Nico sipped from his glass and sat cross-legged in front of them, shirt off, torso lit with the flicker of candlelight.

“You’re loud,” he said softly, eyes on her mouth. “But only when you forget we’re listening.”

Lena didn’t answer.

He leaned forward slightly. “Do you remember what you said just before you came?”

She looked away.

Ari’s voice behind her: “Don’t hide now.”

Nico’s smile was lazy. Patient. “Try saying it again.”

Lena swallowed.

Her lips parted. Nothing came out.

Ari kissed her neck, softly. Encouragement without pressure.

Lena tried again.

“Please…” she whispered.

“Please what?” Nico asked.

She hesitated. Heat rose in her throat. “Please… don’t stop.”

He grinned.

“There she is.”

Cal’s pencil scratched faster.

“You know what that makes me think of?” Nico said, voice almost tender. “How many times you probably said ‘I’m fine’ when you didn’t mean it. How you’ve always known the difference between what you say and what your body wants.”

Lena’s fingers curled against Ari’s thigh.

“You like being asked to speak,” Nico said. “Even when it breaks you a little.”

Lena opened her mouth to argue.

But she didn’t.

Because he was right.

And the part that scared her most—was how much she liked that he was.

They didn’t speak on the walk back.

Ari’s fingers brushed Lena’s once, but she didn’t reach for her hand. Didn’t guide her. She just walked slightly ahead, coat unzipped, mouth set in that sharp, unreadable line Lena was starting to fear more than she feared silence.

Inside Kett House, Lena shut the door behind them too loudly.

Ari turned.

“So,” she said.

Lena didn’t answer.

“You didn’t like it?”

Lena’s voice came hard. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Ari took a step closer. Her eyes gleamed—not cruel, but focused. Like she was deciding whether to cut or cradle.

“You let them look,” Ari said. “You came in front of them. But the second we left, you curled in like I made you bleed.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.”

Lena’s mouth snapped shut.

Ari crossed her arms. “You want the ritual, the attention, the heat—but you still act like you’re separate. Like you can have me without them. Like you can belong without being taken.”

Lena’s fists clenched.

“I’m trying,” she hissed.

“Try harder.”

That landed.

Too hard. Too precise.

Lena stepped back—but Ari followed.

And then, suddenly—Lena surged forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t slow.

Their teeth bumped. Their hands pulled too hard—Ari’s at Lena’s hips, Lena’s at Ari’s jaw, clutching like she meant to bruise.

Ari shoved her back against the door, pressing their bodies flush.

“You want ownership?” Lena growled against her mouth.

Ari bit her bottom lip and pulled it gently between her teeth.

“No,” she said. “I want you to offer it.”

Lena kissed her again.

Rough. Deep. No air between them now.

And when Ari finally broke the kiss, breathless, she whispered:

“That’s better.”

The room was too quiet after Ari left.

She hadn’t stormed out—just slipped her coat back on without a word and walked into the dark like she was part of it. Lena hadn’t stopped her. She hadn’t followed, either.

Now she lay on her back, the covers twisted around her legs, the taste of wine and Ari’s mouth still clinging to her tongue.

Her body still ached—but not from sex.

From everything around it.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It pulsed. Like a second heartbeat just under her skin. Like the memory of hands still imprinting long after they’d gone.

She tried to breathe slow.

Tried to organize it all: Ari’s anger. Her own guilt. Nico’s words. Cal’s drawings. Her own reflection—naked, open, willing.

It didn’t line up.

It spiraled.

Her hands drifted beneath the sheets but she stopped them halfway. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t touch what needed touching.

She closed her eyes.

Didn’t sleep.

Didn’t even drift.

Then—

The door opened.

No knock. No sound. Just a creak and the faint rush of cold hallway air against her face.

Ari.

She didn’t say a word.

She crossed the room, climbed into bed fully dressed, and curled around Lena like nothing had happened. Her arm slid across Lena’s waist, her forehead pressed between Lena’s shoulder blades.

Still no words.

No apologies.

No explanation.

Just breath.

Just heat.

Lena exhaled, shaky.

Her fingers found Ari’s and laced through them.

They didn’t speak.

But they didn’t need to.

Because this time—

They were both unraveling.

And neither one wanted to stop.