#step-cest

Your step-mom had been adamant about Connie staying clean after a rather hilarious call she received from him at three in the morning, begging her to come pick him up from the side of the road. He'd gotten away with just a warning from a "generous" officer that night, meanwhile you had gotten plenty to make fun of him for and his mom gained a bargaining chip she'd been putting to good use. The house had never been more bleach-and-lemon scented.

"Oh, boo hoo," you fake cry, jutting your bottom lip out in a pouty fashion, "maybe don't get pulled over with your dumbass friends next time, Con."

"Hey," Jean pipes up from his stationary position at the door, seemingly offended but grinning all the while. Connie tosses the jar from hand to hand casually, trying to ignore the big doe eyes you shoot him in your little mockery scene. "Not my fault Sasha drives like a menace," he replies, twisting open the lid and taking a deep sniff of the flowery contents. Lost in an overdramatized state of bliss, he fails to notice you sitting up and snatching your weed jar right out of his hand. Connie whines at the loss. "C'mon, just smoke us up one time." he begs much like a puppy, even going so far as to clasp his hands together in a cartoony fashion.

Your lip twitches.

"Just me and Jean," he continues, "Sasha's on house arrest until further notice. Her dad was pretty pissed, won't let her leave."

A conniving and dark chuckle surprises your step-brother and his oddly quiet friend, coming straight from your chest. The little jar suddenly feels so heavy in your hand, weighed down like a giant golden poker chip. "So, you come to me in your time of need," you slur out dramatically, "on the day of my daughter's wedding--"

"Alright alright, cut the shit, you're weirding me out. What do you want? I already have to clean the damn house for two months."

Connie almost looks nervous before you, switching his weight between his feet. This is a strange sight for you; he's usually boisterous, carefree, charismatic. You pull your feet up to sit criss-cross on the bed. A thoughtful look passes over your face. "You gotta walk Scout--"

"Done."

"Okay, fiend, I wasn't done."

"Whatever you want, I don't caaaaare. Just smoke with us."

Jean was easy to forget about in the moment, sitting as a hopeful but cautious observer a ways away. You blink at him, off-color thoughts dripping into your sleepy brain like a shoddy faucet.

"Fine. Garage."

Okay, so maybe your mind wasn't pure and fluffy and wholesome, and maybe some would label you a dog for these fleeting thoughts that came to you in the strangest moments. Maybe you shouldn't be feeling that heavy, burning sensation in the pit of your belly when your step-brother takes an unnecessarily strong drag off the blunt, bathing his face in an orangey glow from the cherry. Connie always had a fresh face, a contagious grin that got to you in ways that it most likely shouldn't have, given your relationship.

Well, technically, your parents relationship -- one that began right as Connie was starting his freshman year of college -- but still.

He passes the blunt up to Jean in the passenger's seat, who had easily won the race you declared on the way to your car. "First hand on the hood gets the front seat," you announced, and the young men scrambled over each other like excited puppies to slap your poor Honda in victory.

Jean takes a normal, sane hit, pinching his bronze eyes closed to avoid the flying smoke. It almost feels mesmerizing watching these two through the haze. Invisible green hands relax your face into a look of contentment, massaging away any irritation Connie had sparked by interrupting your game. Behind you, your step-brother coughs into his fist dramatically, heaving out a big sigh once his lungs quit their spasming.

"You seriously saved the day," he says, letting his cheek rest against the side of your headrest. If you turned enough, your noses would touch. Amused, you take the blunt from Jean, quietly admiring how his long fingers hold the wrap so delicately.

"I'd say we owe you, but you're kinda evil, so I'll just say thank you," the brunette beside you adds. His voice has dipped low and gravely since you all started hotboxing, reaching a baritone that leaves your heart hammering.

"Evil? Wow," you reply flatly, "I feel the gratitude in waves."

Connie smacks Jean lightly on the cheek while you take your puff. "What he means is, your genius is only surpassed by the world's most prolific professors," he says in a much-too-serious tone, "like, y'know, Hannibal Lecter, or like, Dr. Evil."

Pulling up a leg to rest in your seat, you snort in laughter, thick white smoke billowing out from your nose.

"Thanks, Con."

"No problem, babe."

Jean guffaws before you can. "Did you just call her babe?"

Connie, golden eyes wide, throws himself back into the backseat. He waves his hand flippantly, as if he could bat away the subject. "What? No, shut up."

You and Jean whip yourselves around at the same time, shoulders pressed against one another. "You totally did." You tease, smirk wide on your face.

Connie melts into the dark fabric. A heavy warmth surges over his face. "I just, y'know, I'm usually a gentleman and I smoke girls up," he runs a hand through his short hair, "slip of the tongue."

Jean snorts, letting his gaze slide over to you in his peripheral. "And then you compare her to the girls you fuck. Interesting."

Your shared laughter embarrasses Connie more than it irks him, sending his hands flying up to scrub over his face. In a show of mercy, you pass the blunt back to the poor boy, fending for his life all alone in the back of the car. Connie pinches the wrap and suddenly smirks toward his friend, charged and ready. "Jean, I could end your entire career right now."

Curious, you lean back some and look at Jean next. He pauses, switching a suspicious gaze between you both.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh, bullshit! How many times have I caught you staring at her ass?"

Shock formed your mouth into a tiny 'o' first but unbridled amusement twists it into a devilish grin. "Is that so?" You nudge a finger harshly into Jean's bicep. The young man swats your hand away and shoots his friend a glare. Connie's cackling jumps around the cars walls, spurring your own laughter to bubble out and making Jean roll his eyes.

Wiping faux tears, you watch Jean snatch the blunt from Connie and take a pouty puff, his jaw tense. "Not sure how to take in this information, honestly. Who knew both of you weirdos wanted to fuck me?" You twist back around to lean properly against your seat. A victorious glow radiates from your warmed face, neck, chest -- even if it was all jokes, the idea sits heavy in your mind and lower belly.

"I think you're the weirdo for being so psyched about it." Connie says from behind, his usually chirpy voice dragging low, like he'd just woken up from a long nap. A few quick puffs burn the blunt to your fingertips and you pinch it out with freshly licked fingers.

"I don't hear either of you denying it." You chime, dropping the roach into your cup holder to deal with later. Jean, still awkwardly turned in his seat, looks back at Connie, and there's a moment of quiet that you get lost in, brain and body fuzzy from your high.

Inside the car, a sheen of smoke blankets over you three and beads sweat over your skin. The warmth feels more comforting than suffocating. Swirls of white and gray are barely illuminated by the dim blue nightlight inside the garage. It feels dreamy, almost ethereal in a strange way.

Jean pulls you back into the moment when he runs a large hand through his hair. He's relaxed into the seat, long legs cocked out enough that his knee threatens to knock into your hand on the center console. Connie leans forward, resting a hot hand over your shoulder. "It's hot as fuck in here, let's go inside."

"Alright, yeah. You guys go, I'm gonna park outside and air this baby out before heading in."

Connie squeezes your shoulder and all but rolls out of the backseat, stretching his legs and arms out like a sleepy kitten. Jean hesitates opening his own door beside you. He clears his throat. "Just so you know, I stare at your face too," his voice is quiet, like he doesn't want Connie to hear, and you quirk your brow at him curiously. He sputters for a second, "y'know, not just your ass. I mean, it's nice -- you have a nice ass. But like, that's not all that's nice. Your -- you --"

You cut him off with a giggle. "I'm glad you think my face is nice, Jean."

The low light was just enough to see the goofy grin grow over his face before he slid out, joining his friend at the door leading inside. Connie bumps into him playfully and the two stooges shuffle off, leaving you all alone in the smoky blue garage.

Heading in, you expect to spy the two raiding the fridge, or perhaps even locked away in Connie's room playing games. Instead, you find two men in your room, lazing around like they own the place. Connie sits in your computer chair, his slippered feet propped up onto a bare spot on your desk, while Jean sits at the foot of your bed, leaned back on both palms. Only Jean looks at you once you enter, his bronze gaze only slightly sleepy as it rolls over your form.

"Oh, hello," you quip, hand hovering over the doorknob. For some reason, it feels like you intruded on them, versus them plundering your room. Connie, in his stretched out position, nods too casually in your direction. A little bit of his stomach peeks out from under his shirt -- you can see the waistband of his boxers, stretching around the V shaped muscles that disappear under his sweats.

"Let's watch a movie." Connie reaches toward a few figurines you keep beside your monitor, itching to busy his hands with something or another. You look between the two, wondering if there's something you're missing -- but ultimately, you shrug, closing the door behind you.

Twenty minutes into a Marvel movie you've seen a thousand times, there's two hands on your thighs and not a single thought in your brain. Jean, on your right, squeezes gently every few moments, and the pressure feels so warm and comforting -- Connie, on the other side, swipes his thumb in a mesmerizing half moon, leaving tingles in its wake. Their skin is hot against your own.

The coyness surrounding you all is nearly suffocating. You want so badly to acknowledge the growing sense of want, of need in your center, but all you can do is stretch your legs out and lean back against the wall.

Connie lets his pinky fiddle with the hem of your shorts, between your legs. As small as the action is, it still draws a tiny gasp from you, something that doesn't go unnoticed by anybody. He glances over, a little smirk on his face. "Weirdo." he mumbles, but takes it as a good sign. His hand glides upward just the tiniest bit, spread wide and gripping at the soft flesh more eagerly. Jean follows suit, watching curiously as he trails his own hand upward, slipping a few fingers under your shorts and dangerously close to touching your panties.

Your legs react on their own. Knees bending, they butterfly out, allowing the men more access. There's no use in thinking any of it over; Jean has a hand on the side of your face, gently urging you over to look at him, and Connie messes with the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis before you can make any internal argument about it. Looking up at the brunette, you feel so vulnerable, a far cry from the cocky attitude you held in the car earlier. He smiles down at you, drinking you up, savoring the doe-eyes and the way your lips part when he leans in.

Lips slotted together, it feels effortless to kiss Jean, but it takes all your willpower not to gasp into his mouth when Connie retracts his hand, only to press directly over your clothed center. The heel of his palm digs into your clit through the thin layers of fabric, purposeful and direct, and he uses a finger to press between your folds. You end up losing the battle, but only partly, letting a little whimper loose against Jean's surprisingly soft lips. He slowly licks into your mouth and raises his hand to rest over your lower belly, dipping under your shirt to smooth over the warmed skin.

Your eyes are closed, body alight with so many exciting sensations you're not sure what to focus on. Regaining a moment of sense, you can feel yourself reaching for both of them, settling on their legs at your sides. It grounds you, anchors you, but it doesn't last long. Connie's chuckle sounds out beside you. "You're wet," he says, nudging your shorts aside to urge a finger against your underwear. "I can feel it through your panties."

Breaking away from Jean, the urge to pant and catch your breath is as tempting as it is embarrassing. You glance at Connie, looking at you like a hungry wolf, and slide your hands over both of their laps, somehow surprised to be met with strained fabric. "You're one to talk." You reply, gripping the noticeable bulges beneath your palms. Both of them utter a sort of groan, stretching themselves out to allow better access. Connie's dickprint could clearly be seen through his sweats, strapped to his thigh by a pair of boxer briefs, but Jean's dick laid more concealed beneath his dark jeans, the rigid fabric keeping you from getting a whole hand around him. You wonder for a moment how different their dicks looked -- how different they would feel, bare against your hand, your tongue, even stretching you out.

The clothes come off in a sort of frenzy, confidence blooming in your chest once the men were down to their underwear with their cocks begging to be freed. Suddenly, you lost the shy feeling of toeing around what you all wanted. You found your voice.

Straddling Jean's hips backwards, you face Connie, holding onto the brunette's strong thighs for balance. Jean teases his dick through your folds and gasps when you grind against him, brushing his head over your needy clit. Before you, at the foot of the bed, Connie leans back, legs spread so he can jerk off comfortably to the sight in front of him. Your eyes follow his movements -- working up the veiny shaft until dollops of pre ooze out from his flushed tip.

Jean's hands shift from groping and massaging your ass to gripping the supple meat of your hips, rocking you up and down as you slide your pussy over his cock. Arousal leaking, you're so wet he could slip right inside, given a good enough angle -- but he lets you move whichever way you want to, lets his eyes roll back with a groan.

"You wanna watch me fuck your best friend, Con?" You ask sweetly, voice tinted far too innocently for the hungry way you look down at him, splayed open on your mattress. Connie flicks his wrist, caught between watching your cunt work around Jean's dick and watching your face, such a sly smile crawling over your warmed cheeks. "Gonna watch me ride him stupid?"

Beneath you, Jean's hips twitch. His fingers dig into you with more urgency, a deep groan leaking from his chest. "Hold on, baby. Be a good boy for me." You coo, reaching down to cup his balls and press his cock flush against your wet lips. Shockwaves pulse through your body when you rub your clit against the silky smooth skin of his dickhead. Little moans spill out from your lips, urging both of the men on in their own motions; Jean bucks up into your hold, Connie grips his cock more fervently.

"You sound so fucking pretty like this," Jean utters from behind you, and Connie grunts, adding, "you look so pretty like this. Wanna see you all filled up."

Pleased, you lift your hips and align Jean's long dick with your entrance. It takes a moment for you to ease down all the way. A delightful burn shoots up your center, working to stretch around his meat and accommodate to his size, but you feel so full, so satisfied once he's buried inside you. His dick curves just the perfect way to hit the right spot deep inside your cunt.

"Oh, fuck," you mutter once you're pelvis to pelvis.

"Feels good?" Connie squeezes his tip, smearing more pre over himself. Eyes sliding shut, you nod eagerly and rock your hips, drinking in every gasp and moan that Jean offers so generously from beneath you. For a few moments you simply scoot and rock, massaging that spot and working up a tight coil in your belly. With the motions your body leans forward, providing Jean with the perfect view of your ass and Connie with the jiggle of your tits. Wet, lewd sounds slip into the space between you all, making the moment feel all too real.

"That's it, baby, take what you need," Jean smooths a hand up your curved spine. His heels dig into the mattress so he can press harder into your core.

Connie watches you start to bounce, a look of utter bliss washing over your face, and groans with every broken little moan you breathe out. He jerks into his fist in time with Jean's half hip thrusts. He can be patient, he can wait, he tells himself; no matter how he feels about Jean fucking you, the view and symphony you've selflessly provided him were more than enough to have every ounce of blood rush from his brain straight to his dick.

"Kiss, k-kiss me, Con," you mewl out, your breathing already growing heavy. The man jumps onto his knees and crawls forward, so eager to hold your jaw in one hand and give you exactly what you asked for. The kiss is sloppy, messy and wet, tongues sliding around each other without much direction, but it feels like exactly what you need, adding fuel to the flame in your core.

Connie slicks his hand up and down his shaft while he tongues you, eyes shut and abs squeezing tight. So many new experiences tonight, so little time to process them -- the thought of a threesome with Jean wasn't too out of left field, but the fact that you were smack in the middle of it was almost crazy enough to make him question if this was all a long, wet dream, one that would leave him sticky yet unsatisfied when he woke.

"You take me so fucking good," Jean grips your ass cheeks roughly, spreading them to take in the view of his cock sliding in and out of you with such ease. The desk lamp catches your arousal in a glimmer, leaking out and into the smearing of dark brunette hair around his pelvis. "Shit, so fucking good."

The praise makes you melt and stutter your bouncing, mewling into Connie's mouth and choosing to rock yourself back and forth to gain composure, but it's a fruitless effort. Pulling away from his mouth, an involuntary cry rips from your throat and that pressure inside mounts to an unbearable edge.

"F-Fuck, fuck fuck fuck--"

"Oh shit, are you cumming already?" Connie's eyes grow wide, looking down at you like a world wonder. He drops his hand from your face to grope at your tits, smoothing over the pert nipples and pinching them lightly to make you gasp.

Jean takes control. He holds onto you like you'd rocket off into space without him and hammers upward into your spasming cunt, jaw tensed as you milk him, your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. "God, fuck -- yeah, she is. C'mon baby, cum on my cock," he pleads more than commands, voice almost lost against the lewd slapping sounds coming from between you. The orgasm feels nearly shocking, crashing over you from head to toe and bathing your entire body in sparks and a deep, burning heat. Silken walls squeeze and shake, much like your hands, which grasp onto Connie's strong forearm to keep you from simply falling over in the peak of your pleasure.

The most you can offer is little squeaks as the wave dies down. You feel a little lightheaded and let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering open to meet those of your step-brother -- his gaze feels impossibly heavy as it flicks over your face. He licks his lips and offers a sly grin. "You're so fucking pretty." Connie says lowly. An almost ditzy smile flashes his way and you close the minimal space between your faces, catching his lips in another kiss.

Jean slows his movements to more purposeful, deep thrusts, and relaxes his grip, but rolls his head back into the pillow and utters a deep groan. "Where -- Where d'you want me? M'close," he breathes.

You break away from Connie, who whines a little, but watches you closely. Jelly-like legs work with you to unmount Jean and twist around so that you can take him into your mouth, propping your ass up into the air in front of Connie, almost like an offering. Jean watches you with half lidded eyes. His cock looks even bigger with your hand wrapped around it -- wetness and a little thick cream coat his bare, flushed skin, which you lick up in long strokes of the tongue. He pulses under your touch, eagerly lifting his hips to meet your lips as you kiss over his sensitive skin.

The brunette curses under his breath when you meet the heated eye-contact, smiling coyly before sliding his meat between your lips, suckling him and flicking your hot tongue over his frenulum.

Connie, behind you, eyes his friend's undoing, watches as Jean grips the pastel sheets beneath him with strong hands. Your ass dangles so teasingly in front of him, darkened shapes in the form of fingerprints ghost around your plump skin from where Jean held you just moments before.

He never thought himself to be possessive, but watching you impale yourself to the point of cumming over Jean's cock and licking up the delicious mess you made without so much as touching his own needy prick sparked something in Connie, a strange, primal sort of urge that drives his hips forward on their own. His hands grip at your hips and draw a surprised hum from your busy mouth, but the way you wiggle your ass in reply is enough to bring a grin back to his face. Your thighs are still slicked with your own cum and arousal, your hole flutters around nothing as he spreads your cheeks and peers at the mess you made.

Connie marvels at the way your supple skin feels cupped in his hands, so soft and smooth under his touch. He nudges his leaking tip against your center, rubbing up and down through your lips and gathering up wetness to spread over himself. "This okay, baby?" he asks smoothly, leaning over you to speak closer to your ear. With a mouth full, you nod and press back against him, gasping when the motion pushes just a little of his fat tip into you.

Jean locks eyes with Connie for a moment. The novelty of the situation hasn't worn off yet -- they share a few seconds of raised brows and near drunken grins before Connie presses into you with a firm and concise thrust. Vibrations from your rather deep and needy moan flutter around Jean's cock and immediately push him right up to the edge, rolling his eyes back as his stomach muscles grow taut. Cockhead pressed against the back of your throat, Jean gasps out the neediest sound he's made all night, "fuck, 'm cumming, 'm-- aah," his legs shake as he releases his load straight down your throat. You moan around him, sucking and flicking your tongue over the underside of his pulsing dick, resisting the urge to gag and gathering pinprick tears across your waterline.

Connie waits, already filling you to the brim, rubbing his hands over your hips soothingly. The room feels hotter and thicker than ever before -- Jean pants at the head of the bed, lids heavy as he gazes down and watches you lick up wayward spit strands from his throbbing dick. "Holy shit," the brunette breathes. "Holy shit. Thank you."

A little giggle spills out from your swollen, plump lips, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "You don't need to tha-- ah, ah, fuck!"

Connie snaps his hips to and fro, urging you forward and back with the motions. He slides so easily in and out of your cunt. Straight pornographic sounds punctuate the stuffy room and he throws his head back with a long, purposeful groan, settling his thumbs into the little indents above your ass like perfect riding handles. His cockhead pushes and presses inside you. There's some muddled emotion behind these thrusts, so strong and sharp in contrast with the rather bubbly persona you knew Connie to hold.

Jean sits up onto his elbows, watching your tits sway and jump with his friends motions. "Bring her over here, Connie," he jerks his head at an angle and beckons you up the bed. Connie, after a few more thrusts, obliges, though his brow is furrowed in a rare look of concentration as you two shuffle up, still locked together in a slick hold.

You find yourself between them both yet again, your mouth uncoordinated in all your post-orgasm-slash-pre-orgasm haze. Jean doesn't seem to mind -- he lazily kisses over your cheeks, your jaw, licking trails up the column of your throat as you hover over him with shaky arms. Connie ruts into you at a pace that surprises you, drawing louder and louder moans with every slap his balls deliver to your throbbing pussy. "Y'love it, don't you?" He groans, "you love taking your step-brother's cock, don't you, pretty girl?"

With a hot mouth sucking little bruises over your neck, you utter a little cry, eyes pinching shut as your cunt flutters around Connie's dick.

"Yes, yes yes yes," you manage, "fuck me, give me more, fuck-- Connie--"

"You close already? Hold on for me, baby, wait for me."

At the command, you find yourself clenching your thighs together, whimpering when Jean absolutely pushes you in the other direction by tweaking and pinching your nipples between his fingers. The brunette grins against your flushed skin. He flicks the sensitive nubs playfully, biting down on your shoulder and sucking hard enough that there'd surely be a big blooming bruise the next morning. Desperate whines greet both mens ears as your cunt drools recklessly between your legs.

"Please, please Con, need'ta cum," you beg. "Please let me cum--"

Groaning, Connie watches the ripple of plump flesh that accompanies every thrust. His mouth drops open before he can think through what he says next: "Gonna let me cum inside?"

Your hole clenches around him on its own accord. "C-Cum inside?"

"Mhm," he rolls with it, too lost in his building orgasm to care anymore, "gonna let me fill you up baby?"

Of course, it's all talk straight from a thoughtless brain -- he'd finish wherever you wanted him to. But if he didn't at least try, he'd be kicking himself for the foreseeable future.

Jean eyes his friend over your shoulder, but kisses a trail up to the shell of your ear, where he breathes hot waves over you. "Good girls leave no mess," he coaxes, making you shiver.

The coil in your belly is strung impossibly tight. Right at the edge, ready to plummet for the second time that night, you whimper and grasp for Jean, digging your nails into his arms. You feel a release, a dam breaking deep in your core, sending a dizzying wave washing over you yet again.

"Cum in me," it almost comes out as a whisper, "please c-cum in me, Connie."

And it's music to Connie's ears, sending goosebumps over his sweat-slicked body. He needs no more than a few more pumps before your swollen, twitching walls milk the cum out of his cock, squeezing him so tight he utters a moan one might label as pathetic -- but he couldn't care less, tilting his head back and burying himself as deep as he could to shoot his load against your abused cervix. Jean peppers light kisses over your face, to the corner of your mouth, hung wide in another fit of pleasure.

The delicate smoothing of Connie's hands over your lower back, the soft hum from Jean beneath you, it all lulls you into a state of exhaustion you weren't sure you were capable of staying awake for.

After a moment, Connie pulls out, eyeing the cum mixture that threatens to drip out of your twitching hole with wonder. "Holy shit," he says quietly, voice nearly cracking.

Holy shit. There's no train of thought to be found for the rest of the night, even as all three of you re-dress and bid Jean goodnight an hour later -- he gives you a kiss, feather light and unsure as it lays at the corner of your mouth, but you don't mind in the slightest -- and, as you pad to up to your room once again, a creaking door startles you straight out of your still-tingly skin.

How in the fuck had you forgotten, or, perhaps your horny brain simply ignored, that your parents were sleeping just down the hall?

The tired, bleary face you know to belong to Connie's mom searches for you in the darkness. "Everything okay?" she asks, voice rocky, as if she'd just woken up. The hammering in your chest rings in your ears as you nod. "Was that Connie? And Jean?" she continues, looking you up and down for a moment.

Panic washes over you. Sure, you're a grown woman, you're certain both parental figures know you have a sex life -- but the pure taboo of the night doesn't escape you.

So, you sputter out the only excuse you can scrounge up in the moment. A half-truth, to save your conscience, and maybe even save Connie's grounded ass in the process.

"Jean came over, but not for Connie. He's been in his room." You say quietly, nervous fingers fiddling with the hem of your shorts -- too reminiscent of how your step-brother played with them earlier in the night.

A moment of silence passes between you two, before your step-mother hums to break it. "He's nice, that Jean boy. Sometimes I think Connie's a bit of a bad influence." And with that, she wishes you goodnight, and closes her door once again.

Retreating to the relative safety of your room, you shove yourself under the covers and heave a heavy sigh. There's no time to think over the potential consequences of your actions before there's a figure clicking the door shut behind them. Connie traverses the space confidently, as if it's his own room he's crossing, and doesn't even ask before crawling into bed next to you.

There's no fight in you, even if you had the energy for it. Jumbled, disorganized thoughts drift in and out of your mind as he snuggles into your side, his bare chest hot but comforting.

Connie, a bad influence?

He presses a lazy kiss into your hair.