The morning light came through the curtains in slats, pale gold stripes falling across the bed, across Hazel's bare shoulder, across the champagne-pink balloon still floating near the ceiling from two nights ago. Ivy watched it bob in the air current from the vent, its string trailing like a thought she hadn't finished.
Hazel stirred beside her, one hand finding Ivy's hip beneath the sheet, fingers warm and sleep-clumsy.
"Morning," Hazel murmured, not opening her eyes.
"Morning." Ivy turned onto her side, the sheet slipping. She could smell sleep on Hazel's skin, the faint sweetness of her shampoo, something earthier underneath that made her want to press closer. So she did.
Hazel's eyes opened then, hazel-green catching the light, still soft at the edges. "You're staring."
"I'm always staring."
"I know." A small smile. "I like it."
Ivy kissed her. Slow, at first. The way you kiss someone when there's nowhere to be, no alarm clock ticking, no reason to stop. Hazel's mouth opened under hers, and Ivy felt the shift in her breathing, the way her body turned toward Ivy like a flower finding sun.
Hazel's hand slid up Ivy's thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, and Ivy made a sound low in her throat. She reached between them, found Hazel wet already—always wet in the mornings, always ready, her body ahead of her brain in ways that still made her blush when Ivy pointed it out.
"Don't," Hazel whispered, but she was already spreading her legs.
"Don't what?" Ivy's fingers traced, not pushing in, just feeling. Slick heat. The way Hazel's hips lifted, chasing.
"Don't tease."
"You love it."
Hazel's answer was a whimper. Ivy rolled on top of her, settling between her thighs, and Hazel's legs wrapped around her waist like they'd done this a thousand times. They had, now. The muscle memory of it still surprised Ivy—how naturally their bodies found each other, how the first press of skin on skin felt less like discovery and more like coming home.
Ivy pushed two fingers inside her. Hazel gasped, her head tilting back, throat exposed. Ivy kissed her neck, her collarbone, the freckles scattered across her chest like tiny constellations. She worked her fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them the way she'd learned made Hazel's breath catch, made her hands fist in the sheets.
"Ivy—"
"I know, baby."
She added a third finger. Hazel's hips bucked, and Ivy watched her face—the furrow between her brows, the way her lips parted, the flush spreading down her chest. She was close already, her cunt clenching around Ivy's fingers, and Ivy wanted to drag it out but she also wanted to watch her come apart.
"Look at me," Ivy said.
Hazel's eyes opened. Held hers. And Ivy pressed her thumb against her clit, circling once, twice, and Hazel shattered—a broken moan, her whole body arching, her cunt pulsing around Ivy's fingers in waves that didn't stop.
Ivy didn't stop. She fucked her through it, slow and deep, until Hazel's legs fell open and her breathing turned ragged.
"Good morning," Ivy whispered against her mouth.
Hazel laughed, breathless. "Good morning."
Ivy kissed her forehead and rolled off the bed. "Stay there."
"Where would I go?"
Ivy walked to the closet, naked, still feeling Hazel's wetness on her fingers. She pulled out two balloons from the drawer where they kept them now—not hidden anymore, just stored. A deep blue one and a pale yellow. She brought them back to the bed along with the small electric pump they'd bought after the first week.
Hazel propped herself up on her elbows, watching. Her eyes went to the balloons, then to Ivy's face, then back to the balloons. "Both?"
"Both."
Ivy plugged in the pump and attached the blue balloon's lip to the nozzle. The hum filled the room as it inflated, the latex stretching, the orb growing round and smooth. She stopped before it reached full tightness—left it soft enough to give, firm enough to hold its shape. She tied it off with practiced fingers, then did the same with the yellow one.
Hazel reached for the blue balloon.
"No," Ivy said, her voice soft but certain.
Hazel's hand froze midair. "What?"
"These aren't for touching." Ivy stood and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the bedposts—simple wooden posts at the foot of the bed, smooth and sturdy. She pulled a length of ribbon from the nightstand drawer, tied one end around the blue balloon's knot, and secured the other end to the left post. Then she did the same with the yellow balloon on the right post.
The balloons bobbed there, weightless, their surfaces catching the morning light.
Hazel stared at them. Stared at Ivy. "Ivy—"
"You can look," Ivy said, climbing back onto the bed. "But you can't touch. Not until tonight."
Hazel made a sound—a small, desperate whimper that went straight to Ivy's cunt. Her eyes were fixed on the balloons, her fingers twitching against the sheets. "That's cruel."
"Is it?" Ivy straddled her, knees on either side of Hazel's hips. "Or is it a promise?"
Hazel's breath was shallow. Her gaze kept darting to the balloons, then back to Ivy, like she couldn't decide which she wanted more. Ivy watched the conflict play out across her face—the flush deepening, the way she bit her lip.
"They're right there," Hazel whispered.
"I know."
"I could just—"
"You won't." Ivy leaned down, her mouth hovering over Hazel's. "Because I told you not to. And you like it when I tell you not to."
Hazel's whimper was answer enough. Ivy kissed her once, hard, then pulled away and stood.
"Shower," Ivy said. "Then work. And you're not allowed to touch yourself either."
"Ivy—"
"I mean it."
Hazel flopped back against the pillows, her body still flushed, her thighs still slick. She stared at the ceiling like it had personally wronged her. "You're evil."
"I'm patient." Ivy headed for the bathroom. "There's a difference."
—-
The shower was quick. Efficient. Ivy soaped herself while Hazel stood under the spray, still visibly frustrated, her hands gripping the shower wall like she was restraining herself from touching more than the tile. Ivy watched her out of the corner of her eye and felt a dark, private satisfaction.
They dressed in silence that wasn't uncomfortable—charged, maybe, but not uncomfortable. Hazel wore a flowy floral skirt and a cream-colored blouse, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders. Ivy chose earth tones, brown trousers, a soft green cardigan over a white tank. Practical. Comfortable. The kind of clothes that said she was going to sit at a desk and answer emails and try very hard not to think about Hazel alone in the apartment with two balloons tied to the bedposts.
"What if I—" Hazel started.
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
Ivy adjusted her glasses. "Because you want to be good for me more than you want to touch them."
Hazel's mouth opened, then closed. Her cheeks went pink. She said nothing.
Ivy kissed her cheek. "I'll see you tonight."
"I hate you," Hazel said, but she was smiling.
"No, you don't."
—-
Work was work. Ivy sat at her desk, replied to emails, reviewed documents, attended a meeting that could have been an email. Her mind wandered. To the balloons. To Hazel, alone in the apartment, walking past the bedroom door, seeing them there. Did she stop in the doorway? Did she stand there, hands clenched at her sides, wanting? Did she close the door to make it easier or leave it open to make it harder?
Ivy crossed her legs under her desk and tried to focus.
Around noon, Liam stopped by her cubicle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft, his gray-blue eyes flicking to her face then away. "You seem distracted."
"I'm fine." Ivy smiled. "Just a long night."
Liam's cheeks colored slightly—he'd probably heard more about their evenings than he wanted to, given Chloe's tendency to overshare—and he nodded quickly. "Right. Well. If you need to leave early, let me know."
"I won't. But thanks."
He retreated, and Ivy went back to her spreadsheets.
—-
The apartment was quiet when Hazel got home from the flower shop, the scent of roses still clinging to her skin. She'd spent the day arranging bouquets, taking orders, trying very hard not to think about the balloons tied to the bedposts. She'd failed. Completely.
She stood in the bedroom doorway now, her bag still on her shoulder, her keys still in her hand.
The blue balloon swayed gently in the draft from the vent. The yellow one turned slowly, its surface catching the late-afternoon light. They were right there. Soft. Round. Waiting.
Hazel's fingers tightened on her keys.
She could touch them. Ivy would never know. Just one stroke, just the barest press of her palm against that smooth latex skin—
But Ivy would know. Not because Hazel would tell her, but because Ivy saw everything. Ivy would look at her tonight and know, and the disappointment in those deep chestnut eyes would be worse than any punishment.
Hazel made a frustrated noise in her throat and turned away. She closed the bedroom door. Hard.
She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. The bathroom. The kitchen. The living room, where she picked up Pebbles' scattered toys and stacked them neatly in his basket. She vacuumed. She dusted. She did everything she could to keep her hands busy and her mind off the bedroom.
Pebbles waddled after her, quacking softly, confused by the sudden flurry of activity.
"I'm fine," Hazel told him. "I'm totally fine."
Pebbles quacked, unconvinced.
—-
Ivy came home to a spotless apartment and a Hazel who looked like she'd run a marathon. Her hair was a little wild, her cheeks flushed, and there was a tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there that morning.
"Rough day?" Ivy asked, setting down her bag.
"You have no idea."
Ivy smiled. She walked to the bedroom, opened the door, checked the balloons. Still there. Still tied. Still untouched. She closed the door again and found Hazel watching her from the hallway, arms crossed.
"I didn't," Hazel said.
"I know."
"I wanted to."
"I know." Ivy crossed to her, cupped her face in both hands. "That's the point."
Hazel's eyes searched hers. Whatever she found there made her exhale, long and shaky. "You're still evil."
"And you're still good." Ivy kissed her forehead. "Dinner?"
—-
They ate on the couch, takeout containers spread across the coffee table, Pebbles nestled between them. The windows were open a crack—spring air drifting in, cool and clean—and the apartment felt peaceful in a way it hadn't when Hazel was alone, pacing, trying not to think about latex.
Pebbles quacked suddenly, his small round body vibrating with energy. He hopped off the couch and waddled toward the window, wings fluttering.
"Pebbles, no—" Hazel started, but it was too late.
The duck launched himself through the gap in the window, a blur of white feathers and orange feet, and disappeared into the evening air.
Hazel was on her feet instantly. "Pebbles!"
Ivy was right behind her, heart hammering. She threw open the window wider, leaned out, scanned the street below. Nothing. No white feathers. No small duck body on the pavement.
"He flew," Ivy said, half-disbelieving. "He actually flew."
"He's a duck, Ivy! Ducks fly!" Hazel's voice was high with panic. "Oh god, he's gone, he's—"
"He's not gone. He'll come back." Ivy put a hand on her arm. "He always comes back."
But an hour passed, and Pebbles didn't come back. The sky darkened. Hazel paced. Ivy made phone calls—to the building manager, to the animal shelter, to anyone who might have seen a small white duck wandering the streets.
Finally, Hazel snatched up her phone. "I'm calling Chloe. Maybe—maybe he went to the party store. He's been there before, when we picked up balloons."
The phone rang twice before Chloe picked up.
"Hazel! Hey, what's—"
"Is Pebbles with you?" Hazel's voice cracked. "He flew out the window and we can't find him and I thought maybe—"
"Hazel. Hazel, breathe. He's here."
Hazel went still. "What?"
"He waddled into the shop about an hour ago. Just strolled right in like he owned the place. Scared the daylights out of a customer, but then—" Chloe laughed, bright and warm. "Then she bought three helium balloons. And the next customer bought five. And the next one—"
"He's okay?"
"He's perfect. He's sitting on the counter right now, eating lettuce from my lunch. Do you want me to bring him home?"
"Yes. Please. Yes." Hazel's legs gave out. She sank onto the couch, the phone pressed to her ear. "Thank you, Chloe. Thank you."
"Of course. I'll close up and head over. Give me thirty minutes."
The call ended. Hazel stared at the phone, her breathing ragged, her eyes wet.
"He's okay," Ivy said, sinking down beside her. "He's at the party store."
"He's at the party store," Hazel repeated. A laugh bubbled up, half-hysterical. "Of course he is. He probably wanted more balloons for his collection."
Ivy wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close. Hazel's head dropped onto her shoulder, and the tension drained out of her so fast that her whole body went slack.
"I was so scared," Hazel whispered.
"I know."
"I thought—"
"He's okay. He's coming home."
Hazel's breathing slowed. Her eyes closed. The adrenaline crash hit hard, and within minutes, her body went heavy against Ivy's side.
"Hazel?" Ivy murmured.
No response. She was asleep. Completely, utterly asleep, still clutching her phone to her chest.
Ivy gently took the phone from her hand. It was still connected to the call.
"Chloe?"
"Still here." Chloe's voice was softer now. "I heard all that. Is she okay?"
"She fell asleep. The panic just—wiped her out." Ivy stroked Hazel's hair, watching her face, peaceful now. "Can you still bring him home?"
"Already on my way. Fifteen minutes."
"Thank you, Chloe. Really."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm about to ruin your quiet evening."
Ivy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
A pause on the line. Then Chloe's voice, lower now, almost tentative. "I mean I've been thinking about the other night. The four of us. And I've been thinking about you. And Hazel. And—"
"Chloe."
"I know. I know it's not—I know you two are—" She sighed. "I just want a quicky. With you. Just you. And one balloon. That's all."
Ivy looked down at Hazel, asleep against her shoulder, her breathing deep and even. She thought about the balloons tied to the bedposts, waiting. She thought about the frustration coiled in Hazel's body all day, the way she'd whimpered this morning, the way she'd kept her hands to herself because Ivy asked her to.
"Hazel was too nervous," Ivy said quietly. "She's not—she doesn't—"
"I know." Chloe's voice was gentle. "That's why I'm asking you."
Ivy closed her eyes. Thought about it. Chloe was beautiful. Chloe was kind. Chloe had brought Pebbles home, had taken care of him all day, had increased her store's sales by letting a duck charm her customers. And Chloe had been there, the other night, on the bed with them, her mouth on Hazel while Ivy nursed, and it hadn't been weird. It had been good.
"Just one balloon," Ivy said finally. "And a quicky. Then you go home."
"Deal."
—-
Chloe arrived fifteen minutes later, Pebbles cradled in her arms like a baby. The duck quacked happily at the sight of Ivy and waddled immediately toward his water bowl.
"He's been a perfect gentleman," Chloe said, stepping inside. She was wearing her work clothes—a bright yellow polo with the party store logo, jeans, sneakers. Her honey-blonde hair was in a messy ponytail, and her cheeks were pink from the evening chill. "Helped me sell forty-seven helium balloons. Forty-seven. In one day. I'm getting him an employee badge."
"He'd just eat it," Ivy said, smiling.
"Probably." Chloe's eyes met hers, and the smile softened. "Where's Hazel?"
"Couch. Asleep."
Chloe glanced toward the living room, where Hazel was curled up under a blanket Ivy had draped over her. "Should we be quiet?"
"Probably."
"Okay." Chloe stepped closer. Her hand found Ivy's waist, light, questioning. "You sure about this?"
Ivy looked at her—at the freckles across her cheeks, the warmth in her hazel eyes, the way she was asking even though she clearly wanted. "One balloon," Ivy said. "And quick."
"Quick," Chloe agreed. "Where?"
Ivy thought of the bedroom, of the blue and yellow balloons tied to the bedposts—Hazel's balloons, waiting for Hazel. No. Not there. "Bathroom. The shower rod."
Chloe's eyebrows rose. "Adventurous."
"Practical."
—-
The bathroom was small, the tiles cool underfoot. Ivy pulled a single balloon from the cabinet under the sink—a deep purple one, still in its package—and inflated it with the hand pump they kept there. The latex stretched, deepened in color, until it was round and full and soft enough to give under pressure.
Chloe watched her, leaning against the sink. "You're good at that."
"Practice."
"I bet."
Ivy tied the balloon and held it out. "You wanted one balloon. Here."
Chloe took it, her fingers brushing Ivy's. She pressed the balloon to her chest, letting it settle there, and her eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. When she opened them again, there was something softer in her expression. Something vulnerable.
"I don't know why I need this," Chloe said quietly. "I just—I do."
"You don't have to explain." Ivy stepped closer, her hands finding Chloe's hips. "We're friends. This is friend sex. One balloon. Then you go home to your wife."
"And your girlfriend is asleep in the next room."
"She'd understand." Ivy kissed her, light at first, then deeper. Chloe's lips were soft, tasting faintly of the mint gum she'd been chewing on the drive over. Her body pressed into Ivy's, the balloon squishing between them, and Ivy felt the familiar jolt of want low in her belly.
Chloe pulled back first. "Quick, right?"
"Quick."
Ivy's hands found the hem of Chloe's polo, pulled it over her head. Chloe's bra followed, then her jeans, her underwear, until she was naked in the bathroom light, the purple balloon still pressed against her chest. Ivy took a moment to look—the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the way her skin flushed pink as Ivy's gaze traveled down.
"You're staring," Chloe said, echoing Hazel from that morning.
"I do that." Ivy undressed quickly, efficiently, her own clothes pooling on the floor. She was already wet—had been since Chloe said the words on the phone—and when she pressed Chloe against the bathroom wall, the balloon still clutched between them, she felt Chloe's hand slide down her stomach, lower, until fingers found her and pressed in.
Ivy gasped.
"Quick," Chloe reminded her, but she was smiling, and her fingers worked slow circles around Ivy's clit until Ivy's knees almost buckled.
"Your turn," Ivy managed, and she reversed their positions, pressing Chloe against the wall. She took the balloon from Chloe's hands and held it just below her breasts, letting the smooth latex press against her stomach. "Is this what you wanted?"
Chloe nodded, her breath hitching.
"Then take it."
Chloe's hands closed around the balloon, hugging it to her chest, her eyes closing again. Ivy's mouth found her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above the latex. She sucked a mark there, just light enough to fade by morning, and Chloe made a sound—a whimper, high and needy—that made Ivy's cunt clench.
Ivy's hand dropped between Chloe's legs. She was dripping, her cunt hot and slick, and Ivy pushed two fingers inside her without preamble. Chloe cried out, her hips bucking, the balloon crinkling against her chest.
"Quiet," Ivy murmured against her ear. "Hazel's sleeping."
"Then don't make me—ah—"
Ivy curled her fingers, found the spot that made Chloe's breath stutter, and worked it with steady pressure. Chloe's free hand clamped onto Ivy's shoulder, nails digging in, and her hips rolled against Ivy's hand in a rhythm that was already breaking apart.
"Close," Chloe gasped. "I'm close, I'm—"
"Come." Ivy's thumb found her clit, pressed hard. "Come for me."
Chloe shattered. Her whole body convulsed, her cunt clenching around Ivy's fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses, the balloon squeaking against her chest as she hugged it tighter. Her moan was muffled against Ivy's shoulder, and Ivy held her through it, fingers still moving, until Chloe slumped against the wall, breathing hard.
"That was—" Chloe laughed, breathless. "Not that quick."
"Close enough." Ivy pulled her fingers out, slick and glistening, and brought them to her mouth. Chloe watched, eyes dark, as Ivy licked them clean.
"Your turn," Chloe said, reaching for her.
"No." Ivy caught her wrist. "This was for you. Hazel's waiting for me."
Chloe's expression flickered—understanding, maybe a little regret—but she nodded. "Fair." She looked down at the balloon, still clutched to her chest, and smiled. "Can I keep this?"
"Take it home."
—-
They dressed in silence, the bathroom still warm from their bodies. Ivy walked Chloe to the door, Pebbles quacking a goodbye from his spot on the couch. Hazel was still asleep, curled under the blanket, her breathing slow and steady.
"Thank you," Chloe said, pausing in the doorway. She had the purple balloon tucked under her arm like a child's toy. "For this. For everything."
"Thank you for bringing Pebbles home."
"Anytime." Chloe kissed her cheek—soft, quick, friendly—and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Ivy locked the door and stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the quiet. The hum of the refrigerator. Pebbles' soft quacking. Hazel's breathing, deep and even, from the living room.
She walked to the bedroom door and opened it. The blue balloon swayed on its ribbon. The yellow one turned slowly, catching the light from the hallway.
Still waiting.
Still untouched.
Ivy smiled and closed the door again. She crossed to the couch, lifted the blanket, and slid underneath it, pressing her body against Hazel's back. Hazel stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and settled back into sleep.
"Tomorrow," Ivy whispered against her hair. "Tomorrow you can touch them."
Hazel's hand found hers under the blanket, fingers lacing together, and even in sleep, she held on.