#sluts!!

as a bonus, a pic i wish to Unsee :)

my bros my dudes the moustaches ain't it...

EDA! you’re so early today :’)) happy shiraz lane sunday!

i love them 🥺 snuggly string himbos <3 i want to hug them 😤😔

YOURE RIGHT THE MOUSTACHES JUST ARENT IT thanks for making me see it too 😀 was that revenge for the fact that you had to see the middy and joel pic under the shiraz lane and santa cruz tags LMAO:’))

thank you for sending me joel today 🥺 the brainrot has been sufficiently real

she supposes this is really a mess of her own making, pun intended. after all, a kiss blown across the room leading to a bathroom tryst — emil's easy to seduce at best, and downright desperate for her most commonly, and who is bobbi if not to indulge in that for her own benefit?

so this — bent over the bathroom counter, panties set aside for safekeeping, dress rucked up around her hips as he pounds into her the way she likes — is absolutely a mess of her own making, one she's all too happy to have created. and bobbi is a mess. she's slick halfway down her thighs from the orgasm his hands had pulled from her, getting wetter by the second she thinks.

there's a knock on the door, and emil's only response is a smirk into the back of her neck that bobbi feels more than sees. a hand trails up the inside of her thigh, and bobbi's gut curls in anticipation. the three fingers he gets on her clit nearly take her breath away, make her fingertips press even harder into the countertop as her eyes close and her chin drops to her chest.

that won't do, for him — the grip he's got on her breast over her dress bodice lightens up, and a hand trails up her clavicle, around her throat, just high enough that his index finger can press underneath her jaw. it urges her chin up, up, up, and bobbi drags her eyes open. he likes to watch, and she's nothing if not gracious enough to oblige — she finds her own appearance, fucked out and half-possessed by the hand wrapped around her throat.

how's the wine — she grins, a little dazed, shit-eating, warm and wanting. it's uttered into the curve of her neck, straight into the pulse point he's spent the last several minutes biting a line of hickeys into. she's been playing it cool, she thinks, sips at what has to be a gloriously expensive glass of malbec.

"rich... full-bodied...bold..." she breaks off, grin interrupted by a choked-off moan as he finds the spot that makes her see stars. it takes bobbi a second to get back on track, pushes a bit at his shoulder until he's got enough room to watch what she does next.

bobbi takes another sip, doesn't break eye contact, and then raises the glass over her chest. the tension in the room feels like something she could slice with a knife. she turns the glass just a bit, just enough for a small stream of wine to spill out of the glass and down her chest, over her breasts, making her nipples pebble even harder.

avery feels a little unhinged. not in a bad way, just sort of insane. six months ago, she would've balked at the idea of being here — in a three-way sort of relationship, in a hotel room on their weekly off day with tristan, in tristan's lap while a mindless nature documentary plays in the background.

and she really, really couldn't imagine that they'd wind up making out for the hell of it either. but here she is. something, something, something about max reminding her that life is too short to not do things that feel good. and idly grinding on tristan's thigh while he seemingly commits the column of her neck to memory feels really good.

even when he gets tired of that, eventually, and puts his teeth, real gentle, into the underside of her jawline, that feels good too. a stuttering little noise works its way out of avery's throat, and the hand she's got in the back of his hair pulls, just a bit. she can't tell if it's a question, or a tease, but what she can tell is that it's not enough, and if he's gonna do that, she wants more —