The cool marble floor of the master suite met the soles of Nisha’s strappy heels. Travers’ mouth was a hot brand on her neck, his hands already gripping her hips through the thin green silk of her dress. He didn’t kiss her. He marked her.

Taesha’s fingers found the metal zipper at Nisha’s back. The tremor in her hands was a live wire. She pulled it down an inch. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.

Nisha didn’t look at Travers. Her green eyes stayed fixed on Taesha’s. “I want to see what he sees in you,” she repeated, her voice a breathy challenge.

Travers laughed against Nisha’s skin, a low rumble. “She sees a queen.” He pulled back just enough to watch Taesha’s hands. “Finish it.”

Taesha drew the zipper down to the small of Nisha’s back. The silk sighed open, revealing a spine like a carved staircase, the smooth swell of her shoulders. She pushed the dress from Nisha’s arms. It pooled on the floor at their feet.

Nisha stood in only a black thong. The city’s distant light painted her willowy frame in silver and shadow. Her skin smelled of jasmine and salt.

“Now you,” Travers said to Taesha, his voice a command. “Show her.”

Taesha’s own dress was a simple black sheath. She reached behind her neck, her eyes never leaving Nisha’s, and found the clasp. The fabric slithered down her body. She stepped out of it, standing in matching lace.

Nisha’s gaze traveled over her—the honey-brown skin, the full curves Travers had first claimed on a veranda. A slow, appreciative smile touched her lips. “Okay,” she whispered. “I see.”

Travers’ hand slid from Nisha’s hip to the curve of her backside. He palmed one perfect cheek through the flimsy black lace. “Turn around,” he murmured into her ear.

Nisha turned, her back now to Taesha, facing Travers. He looked at Taesha over Nisha’s shoulder. “Touch her.”

Taesha’s hands came up, hovering over the skin of Nisha’s back. She placed her palms flat between her shoulder blades. Nisha’s skin was warm. She slid her hands down, following the line of Nisha’s spine, over the dip of her waist, until her thumbs hooked into the waistband of the thong.

She pulled it down. Nisha shifted her hips to let the fabric fall.

Travers’ breath hitched. His eyes were dark, fixed on the exposed curve of Nisha’s ass. He reached out, his fingers tracing the cleft with a reverence that was pure possession. “Perfect,” he breathed.

He looked at Taesha again, a silent order. She understood. Her own thong joined the pile of clothes on the marble. The air was cool on her wetness.

“On the bed,” Travers said, his voice rough. “Both of you.”

Nisha moved first, a dancer’s grace even now. She lay back on the silk sheets, her espresso hair fanning out. Taesha lay beside her, propped on an elbow, watching Travers shuck his white linen pants.

His cock was already hard, thick and eager. He knelt on the bed between them, but his attention was all for Nisha. He ran a hand up her inner thigh, pushing her legs apart. “You’re going to learn the rhythm of this house,” he said.

He didn’t touch her pussy first. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin behind her knee, then the soft inside of her thigh. Nisha gasped, her back arching. His tongue traced a path upward, but he bypassed her core, his hands spreading her cheeks.

He blew a soft, warm breath against her back hole. Nisha shuddered. “Travers,” she whispered, a question and a plea.

“This is how you get welcomed,” Taesha said softly, her own body clenching in memory. She reached out, her fingers brushing Nisha’s cheek, turning her face to look at her. “Just feel it.”

Travers’ tongue pressed against Nisha’s tight ring. He licked, slow and firm. Nisha cried out, her hand flying out to grab Taesha’s wrist. Her grip was desperate.

He worked her with his tongue, a relentless, wet pressure. Nisha’s hips began to move, a helpless rocking. Taesha watched, her own breath coming fast, seeing the surrender in Nisha’s green eyes.

“She’s ready,” Taesha murmured, her voice unfamiliar to herself.

Travers pulled back, his mouth glistening. He spat into his palm, slicked his cock, and positioned himself. The broad head pressed where his tongue had been. Nisha’s eyes went wide.

“Look at her,” Travers commanded Nisha, nodding toward Taesha. “Look at your sister while I open you.”

He pushed, a slow, inexorable pressure. Nisha's breath hitched, her body stiffening. Taesha held her gaze, saw the flinch of pain, the shock of invasion.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Taesha whispered, her thumb stroking Nisha's cheek. "Just breathe through it."

Nisha’s eyes were glassy, fixed on Taesha’s. Her fingers dug into the silk. Travers didn't stop. He fed her his cock inch by deliberate inch, the stretch a visible, breathtaking thing.

A low, torn sound escaped Nisha’s throat. It wasn't a moan. It was surrender.

He was fully seated, his hips flush against her. They were both still. Travers’ jaw was tight, his own control a thin wire. He looked down at where they were joined.

"Fuck," he breathed, the word reverent. "Look at that."

Taesha looked. The sight was brutally intimate. His thickness stretching her, the glisten of spit and pre-come, the faint tremble in Nisha's thighs.

"Now," Travers said, his voice rough. "Now you move with me."

He withdrew, almost all the way, and then pressed back in. Nisha cried out, but her hips lifted to meet him. A tear tracked from the corner of her eye into her hair.

Travers set a rhythm, deep and punishingly slow. The wet sound of it filled the room. Taesha’s own pussy ached, soaked. She could smell them—salt, sex, jasmine.

Nisha’s hand found Taesha’s again, lacing their fingers. Her grip was bone-crushingly tight.

"Is it always like this?" Nisha gasped, her eyes searching Taesha’s.

"Yes," Taesha said. "And no."

Travers’ pace began to quicken. His hands gripped Nisha’s hips, holding her open for his thrusts. Each one drove a gasp from her lungs.

"Touch her," Travers ordered Taesha, his own breathing becoming ragged. "Let her feel you."

Taesha leaned over Nisha. She kissed her, swallowing her next cry. Her hand slid down Nisha’s stomach, through the slick heat between her own legs, and found Nisha’s clit.

Nisha arched off the bed, breaking the kiss with a sharp cry. Her body clenched around Travers, a vicious, rhythmic pull.

"She’s coming," Taesha murmured against her mouth, her fingers circling faster.

Travers groaned, his thrusts losing their precision, turning frantic. "Again," he snarled. "Make her come again."

Nisha was shaking, overstimulated, her nails scraping down Taesha’s back. Travers fucked her through the first wave and into a second, his own climax building, his rhythm fracturing.

He pulled out suddenly. Hot come striped Nisha’s lower back, her trembling ass, the sheets. The sound he made was raw, animal.

Silence, save for their ragged breathing. Travers knelt back, his cock still half-hard, glistening. He looked at his work. Nisha was wrecked, tears drying on her face, her body marked.

Taesha watched him look. His expression wasn't triumph. It was hunger, already renewed. He touched the mess on Nisha’s skin, then brought his fingers to Taesha’s lips.

"Taste your sister," he said.

Taesha opened her mouth. The salt-bitter taste was a covenant. Nisha watched, her green eyes dark, understanding dawning. This was the rhythm of the house. It didn't end.

Travers’ hand moved to his cock, stroking himself back to full hardness. His gaze shifted from Nisha to Taesha. "Your turn," he said.

Taesha didn't hesitate. She moved to him, her mouth finding his cock before her knees even touched the cashmere rug. She took him deep, the taste of Nisha and salt and him flooding her senses.

Travers’ hand settled in her curls, not forcing, just holding. His other hand reached back, fingers threading through Nisha’s hair, drawing her forward. “Help your sister,” he said, his voice rough.

Nisha crawled over, her body pressed against Taesha’s side. She watched for a second, the way Taesha’s mouth worked, the devotion in it. Then she leaned in, her tongue tracing the sensitive skin beneath the head where Taesha’s lips stretched.

The dual sensation made Travers’ stomach muscles clench. He watched them, a sheen of sweat on his chest. Two sets of dark hair, two mouths, one purpose.

Taesha moaned around him, the vibration pulling a low curse from his throat. Nisha’s tongue was clever, teasing, finding a rhythm opposite to Taesha’s deep, steady bobbing.

“Look at me,” Travers said.

Taesha’s eyes, dark and liquid, rolled up to meet his. Nisha glanced up too, her green eyes curious, then obedient. Holding his gaze while they shared him was a different kind of submission.

“Good,” he breathed. His grip tightened minutely. “Now switch.”

They understood. Taesha pulled back, a slick strand of saliva breaking between her lip and his crown. Nisha took him into her mouth, her approach more experimental, a slow, swirling descent. Taesha mimicked Nisha’s earlier move, her tongue laving the base, her fingers gently cupping his balls.

He let them trade back and forth, each exchange messier, more collaborative. Their hands began to guide each other’s heads, their breaths mingled against his heated skin. It was no longer just about his pleasure, but about the act of giving it together.

Travers felt the coil tighten, inevitable. He pulled Nisha off by her hair. “Turn around,” he told her, his voice guttural. “On your knees. Face your sister.”

Nisha moved, her body pliant. She knelt, her back to his chest. Taesha stayed on her knees before them, her lips swollen, watching.

Travers’ cock nudged against Nisha’s entrance from behind. He didn’t push in. Not yet. He looked at Taesha. “Open your mouth.”

Taesha did, her tongue resting on her lower lip. Travers kissed Nisha’s shoulder, his hand splaying across her stomach to pull her tight against him as he finally sheathed himself inside her in one deep, claiming thrust.

Nisha cried out, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her eyes, wide open, were locked on Taesha’s waiting mouth just inches from her own.

“Now kiss her,” Travers commanded, his hips beginning a brutal, pistoning rhythm. “Let her taste what I’m doing to you.”

Nisha’s mouth crashed into Taesha’s. It was less a kiss and more a shared gasp, a transfer of sensation. Taesha could taste the champagne on Nisha’s tongue, could feel the tiny, hitched breaths that matched each of Travers’ drives.

Travers fucked Nisha hard, his eyes on the place where their mouths met. He watched Taesha’s hands come up to cradle Nisha’s face, holding her there, deepening the kiss as Nisha’s moans were swallowed between them.

The room filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, of ragged male groans and the wet, filthy sounds of his cock plunging into her. Nisha’s body was taut, then suddenly limp as another orgasm ripped through her, her inner muscles fluttering around him.

It tipped him over the edge. He buried himself to the hilt, his release pumping into her with a force that shook his own frame. His shout was raw, wordless.

He held there, pulsing, until he was spent. Slowly, he withdrew. Nisha slumped forward, caught by Taesha. They stayed there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

Travers reached down. His fingers, slick with his own come and her wetness, pressed against Taesha’s lips once more. This time, she knew the ritual. She cleaned them, her eyes closed. The taste was different. It was Nisha, and him, and the proof of the night.

He stood, looking down at his women on the rug. The hunger in his blue eyes hadn't dulled. It had simply been refocused, honed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he said, the word a promise, a command. “We start looking for the next one.”