The coffee shop was neutral ground. John had chosen it deliberately—three blocks from campus, unfamiliar to all of them, the kind of place where conversations happened that no one in their real life would overhear. He'd texted Luna from the parking lot, keeping it simple: Can we talk? Your choice of place.
She'd picked the corner booth by the window. He saw her before she saw him—leaning forward, both hands wrapped around a mug gone cold, her hair twisted into that tight bun she wore when she was bracing for something. She looked smaller than he remembered. Or maybe that was just the guilt, rearranging everything in his sight.
"You look like shit," she said when he slid into the seat across from her.
"Thanks." He set his phone face-down on the table. "You look like you've been up all night."
"Haven't slept since you called." Her voice was flat, but her eyes were wet. "I keep hearing what you said. About—" She stopped, pressed her lips together. "About what he tried to do to her. And I keep thinking about all the times I didn't answer her calls. All the times I told her to grow up."
"You didn't know."
"I should have." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "She's my sister, John. I was supposed to protect her."
He didn't have an answer for that. He waited.
"She called me," Luna said. "This morning. Just for a minute. She said she was safe. That you were taking care of her." Her jaw tightened. "She didn't say how."
The waitress appeared. John ordered black coffee, nothing else. Luna shook her head when the woman looked at her, and they were alone again.
"She's living with me," John said.
Luna's hands went still on the mug. "I figured. When you said she was at your house—"
"She's living with me. In my house. With Estella." He paused. "With Gloria, when she's there."
Something flickered in Luna's eyes. Not surprise, exactly. Recognition. Like she'd known, and had been waiting for him to say it out loud.
"Okay," she said slowly. "So she's staying with you. That's—that's good. She needs somewhere safe."
"Luna." He waited until she looked at him. "She's not just staying with me. She's with me. In my bed. Having sex with me."
The words hung between them, raw and undeniable.
Luna's breath caught. She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, and for a long moment she didn't say anything. Then she let out a laugh—short, sharp, almost bitter.
"Of course she is," she said. "Of fucking course."
"I'm not—"
"No, I get it." She waved a hand, cutting him off. "I mean, I saw how she looked at you. Back then. When she was what, sixteen? Seventeen? I should have known."
"It just happened."
"Did it?" Luna's eyes were sharp now. "Or did it happen exactly the way things always happen with you, John? Someone shows up at your door, you let them in, and pretty soon they're in your bed."
"That's not—"
"I'm not accusing you." She leaned back, her arms crossed. "I'm saying I know you. I know how you are. And I know how Ana is." She shook her head. "Truth is, I expected it."
The words landed strange. He blinked. "You—"
"Don't look so surprised." Her voice was quiet now. "My little sister shows up at your door in the middle of the night, soaking wet, running from something she won't name. You're a good man. You're warm. You take care of people. And Ana—" She stopped, swallowed. "Ana has always wanted what I had."
"Luna—"
"She asked about you, you know. After we broke up." Luna's gaze was distant now, fixed somewhere past his shoulder. "She'd say little things. 'Do you think John still thinks about us?' 'Do you think he's happy?' I didn't think anything of it at the time. I thought she was just being sweet." A humorless smile. "She was scouting."
John didn't know what to say to that. He took a sip of his coffee, mostly to have something to do with his hands.
"It's hot, isn't it?" Luna said.
He looked up. "What?"
"The idea of her with you. You in her. Her wrapped around you." Her voice had gone low, almost husky. "I can picture it. I know how you fuck, John. I know how you touch. And I know Ana—how desperate she gets, how she clings, how she says your name like it's the only word she knows."
His throat went dry. "Luna."
"Don't." She held up a hand, and he saw her fingers were trembling. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You remember—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "You remember how she used to watch us. Back then. When we'd—"
"I remember."
"She'd sit on the edge of the bed. Just watching. Her hand between her legs." Luna's eyes were dark now, unfocused. "She asked you to teach her. Do you remember that?"
He did. The memory rose unbidden—Ana at seventeen, barely legal, sitting cross-legged on Luna's bed while Luna was in the shower. The way she'd looked at him, her eyes wide and serious. Show me what you do to her.
"She asked me," he said, his voice rough. "And I—"
"You touched her." Luna's hand had moved beneath the table. He couldn't see it, but he knew. He knew from the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath shortened. "You put your hand between her legs and you showed her what it felt like to be touched by a man who knew what he was doing."
"She was—"
"She was seventeen. I know." Luna's eyes met his, and there was heat in them now. "I was there. I let it happen. I wanted it to happen." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I wanted to see her learn. I wanted to watch you teach her. I wanted to hear what sounds she made when you—"
"Luna."
"I'm not judging you, John." Her hand was moving under the table now. He couldn't see it, but he could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the soft shift of her hips. "I'm telling you I understand. I've always understood."
A couple at a nearby table laughed at something. The barista called out an order. The world continued, oblivious to what was happening in the corner booth.
"You fucked her," Luna said, her voice barely audible. "You put your cock in her and she took it. She wanted it. She wanted you." Her breath caught. "God, I can picture it. The way she must have looked at you. The way she must have begged."
John's hands were flat on the table. He didn't know what to do with them. "She didn't beg. She—"
"She doesn't have to beg. She just has to look at you with those eyes and you're gone." Luna's voice cracked. "I know. Because I did the same thing."
Her hand moved faster. He could hear it now—the faint, wet sound of her fingers working through her jeans. The table hid everything. The world kept moving around them. But he knew. She knew he knew.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low.
"Remembering." Her eyes were half-closed. "Remembering what it felt like when you touched me. When you fucked me. When you made me forget my own name." She bit her lip. "And imagining what it's like for her. My little sister. Taking what I used to have."
He should stop this. They were in public. Anyone could see. But his body wasn't listening. His cock was hard, pressing against his jeans, and he couldn't think past the sound of her breathing.
"Tell me," she said. "Tell me how she takes it. Does she look at you the whole time? Does she—" Her voice broke into a moan, quickly stifled. "Does she say your name?"
"Yes."
"Does she come for you?"
"Yes."
"Does she scream?"
"Sometimes."
Luna's eyes closed. Her hand was moving faster now, a steady rhythm beneath the table. He could see the tension in her neck, the way her thighs pressed together.
"I used to dream about this," she whispered. "After we broke up. I used to lie in bed and imagine you with someone else. Some other woman. And it hurt, but it also—" She swallowed. "It also made me wet. Every time."
"Luna, we're in public."
"I know." Her voice was ragged. "I don't care."
She was close. He could see it in the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps, in the way her hips shifted against the booth seat. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, and she was looking at him with an intensity that made his chest ache.
"Do you remember the threesome?" she asked.
He did. Of course he did. Ana, eighteen by then, legal and eager. The three of them in Luna's bed, a tangle of limbs and heat. Ana's first time with a man, and he'd been gentle, careful, while Luna watched and touched herself and told him exactly what to do.
"I remember." His voice was hoarse.
"I watched you fuck her," Luna said. "I watched you push inside her. I watched her face when she came for the first time on a real cock. And I—" She gasped, her back arching slightly. "I was so jealous. And so turned on. I didn't know which feeling was real."
Her hand stopped moving. She was frozen, her breath held, her whole body trembling.
"I'm going to come," she whispered. "Right here. In this coffee shop. Because of you. Because of what you're doing to my sister."
He should tell her to stop. He should slide out of the booth, walk away, end this before it went further. But he didn't move. He just watched her, his heart pounding, his cock aching, as she rode her own hand beneath the table.
"Look at me," he said.
Her eyes snapped open, meeting his.
"Come," he said. "Come right now."
She did. Her whole body seized, her jaw clenching, a low moan escaping her throat that she barely managed to swallow. He watched her face as it happened—the way her eyes went dark, the way her lips parted, the way she held her breath and then let it out in a long, shuddering exhale.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she pulled her hand out from under the table, slowly, and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Her face was flushed, her hair coming loose from its bun.
"I needed that," she said, her voice raw. "I didn't know how much until—" She shook her head. "God, John. What are we doing?"
"I don't know."
"I meant what I said." She looked at him, her eyes still dark. "I'm not angry. I'm not jealous. I'm—" She laughed, a broken sound. "I'm something else. I don't have a word for it."
"Luna—"
"I want to see her."
The words hit him like a physical blow. "What?"
"I want to see Ana. I want to see where she's staying. I want to see—" She stopped, her throat working. "I want to see you two together. The way I used to."
"That's—"
"I know. It's crazy. It's probably a bad idea." She met his eyes, and there was something raw in them. "But I've been thinking about it since you called. Since I found out what she went through. Since I realized she was with you." She leaned forward. "I want to come to the house. I want to see her. I want to—I don't know. Make things right. Or make them different. I just know I can't stay away."
The coffee shop hummed around them. The espresso machine hissed. Someone laughed at the counter. None of it touched the space between them.
"I talked to Estella," John said slowly. "And Gloria. They know everything. They agreed—" He paused, weighing the words. "They agreed that if you wanted to come by, you could."
Luna's eyes widened. "They did?"
"This is new territory for all of us. But they trust me. And they trust Ana." He held her gaze. "If you want to come, you can come."
She sat back, her hands flat on the table. "Tonight?"
"If you want."
"I want."
He nodded, pulling out his phone. "I'll text you the address. Come around seven. We'll order food, keep it casual. And then—" He shrugged. "We'll figure it out from there."
She was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "You really are something, you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You take people in. Broken people. Lost people. And you don't try to fix them. You just—" She gestured vaguely. "Let them be. Let them find their own way." She shook her head slowly. "That's why we all come back to you. Me. Ana. Estella. Gloria. We all end up at your door."
He didn't have an answer for that. He just looked at her, at the woman he'd once loved, now sitting across from him with her sister's taste in her mouth and a future neither of them could predict.
"Seven," she said, gathering her purse. "I'll be there."
She stood, and for a moment she paused beside his chair. Then she leaned down, her lips brushing his ear.
"Tell Ana I'm coming. Tell her I'm not angry." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And tell her that the first time I watched her take you, I came so hard I saw stars."
Then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving him alone in the corner booth with a cold coffee and a heart that wouldn't stop pounding.