The morning air was cold enough to bite, that first sharp inhale before the sun cleared the treeline. I could see my breath in front of me, a thin plume of white that vanished as soon as I exhaled, and the gravel of the trail crunched under my shoes in a rhythm I'd been building for the last mile. The team had split off in pairs at the fork—Chen and Rodriguez went left toward the hill route, the middle-distance girls took the loop around the lake. That left me with Dana, and the long trail that wound through the pines and followed the creek for the next five miles.

Dana ran beside me with the easy, unhurried stride of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Her blonde ponytail swung with each step, and she wasn't even breathing hard. I was. Not from the pace—we were running easy, conversational—but because my mind kept drifting back to the night before, and every time it did, heat pooled low in my belly and made my thighs press together with each stride.

Casey's eyes. That's what I kept seeing. The way they'd moved over my body in the studio, slow and deliberate, like she was memorizing every inch of skin she'd already claimed. The way they'd held mine while her hand moved between Lupe's legs, while Em's charcoal scratched across the paper, while I came apart on the floor with Lupe's mouth on my neck and Casey's gaze burning into me from across the room.

I'd touched myself this morning before dawn, lying in the dark with Lupe's warm body curled against my back, her breath slow and even in sleep. My fingers had found the slick heat between my legs and I'd pressed them there, thinking of Casey's voice—*good girl*—thinking of the way she'd said *I belong to you, Casey* and made me repeat it back to her. I'd come with my teeth sunk into my own arm to keep from waking Lupe, and the orgasm had rolled through me in waves, leaving me trembling and wet and still not satisfied.

Now I was paying for it. Every stride sent a fresh pulse of awareness through my body, and my sports bra was damp with sweat that had nothing to do with the run. The fabric clung to my skin, rubbing against my nipples with each movement, and I could feel them hard and aching against the polyester.

"You're quiet this morning." Dana's voice cut through my thoughts, and I glanced over to find her watching me with a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Just focusing on my breathing," I said, which was a lie. My breathing was all over the place.

"Uh-huh." She didn't sound convinced. "You were pretty loud last night, though. I could hear you from the other side of the studio."

My face went hot. "You were there?"

"Left before the main event." Dana's smile widened. "Casey wanted me to go. Said she had things under control." She laughed, a low sound that carried in the quiet morning air. "Under control. That's a good one."

I didn't know what to say to that. I kept my eyes on the trail ahead, watching the dirt path curve through the trees, and tried to ignore the way my heart was hammering in my chest. The memory of last night was already vivid—Lupe's body under mine, Em's charcoal scratching, Casey's voice commanding me to look at her while I came—but hearing Dana talk about it made it real in a different way. Made it something other people knew about.

"She showed me the drawing," Dana said, and my stride faltered.

"What?"

"The one Em made of you. The one you left on her desk." Dana's voice was casual, like she was talking about the weather. "Casey showed it to me a few days ago. Said you'd left it there as a message."

My face burned. I stared straight ahead, watching the trees blur past, and tried to find words. "I—she wasn't supposed to—"

"She was supposed to see it. That was the point, wasn't it?" Dana's voice was gentle, but there was something knowing in it. "You wanted her to see you. Wanted her to know what she was waiting for."

I couldn't look at her. I kept running, my feet pounding the dirt trail, and the heat between my legs pulsed with every heartbeat. The drawing. Em's charcoal rendering of me, naked and aroused, my thighs spread and my fingers between my legs. The drawing that showed everything I'd been hiding, everything I'd wanted Casey to see.

"She liked it," Dana said. "A lot. You should have seen her face when she looked at it. She couldn't stop staring."

A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. "She—"

"She told me to eat her pussy while she looked at it."

My step faltered again, and I nearly stumbled. I caught myself, but my rhythm was broken, and I could feel the heat flooding my cheeks, my chest, the space between my legs. "What?"

Dana laughed. It was a warm sound, easy, like she was telling me about a funny thing that had happened at the grocery store. "I've done it hundreds of times. It's kind of our thing. She likes to look at something—a picture, a girl, whatever—and have me go down on her while she thinks about it." She glanced at me, her blue eyes bright in the morning light. "That drawing. She had me kneel between her legs and eat her out while she held it up and stared at it. Stared at *you*."

I couldn't breathe. The air was cold in my lungs, but it didn't seem to be reaching me. I kept running, my legs moving on autopilot, and the world narrowed to Dana's voice and the images it was painting in my head.

Casey, sitting in her office, the drawing of me in her hands. Dana kneeling between her thighs, her mouth working between Casey's legs. Casey's head tipped back, her eyes fixed on my face—the charcoal version of my face—while Dana's tongue moved inside her.

"She came hard," Dana said, and her voice had dropped lower, rougher. "Said my name, then yours. Said *Macy* while she came."

A sound escaped me. I didn't know what it was—a whimper, a gasp, something in between. My legs felt weak, and I could feel the wetness between them, soaking through the thin fabric of my shorts, making every stride a slick, slippery reminder of how much I wanted this.

"You okay?" Dana asked, and there was amusement in her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Fine." My voice came out strained. "Just—keep going."

She did. She told me about the way Casey had made her eat her out on the desk, the drawing spread out beside them, the way Casey had reached down and tangled her fingers in Dana's blonde hair while she came. She told me about the sounds Casey made, the way her hips had bucked against Dana's mouth, the way she'd said my name like a prayer and then, afterward, had made Dana lick her clean.

By the time she finished, I was soaked. My shorts were clinging to me, and every stride sent a fresh pulse of slick heat through my body. I could feel my nipples hard against the damp fabric of my sports bra, and my thighs were trembling with something that had nothing to do with the run.

"You like that," Dana said. It wasn't a question.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just kept running, my eyes fixed on the trail ahead, and tried to remember how to breathe.

The trail curved through the pines, and I could hear the creek before I saw it—a low, steady rush of water that grew louder with each step. The sound of it was cool and clean, a counterpoint to the heat building inside me, and I focused on it, trying to let it ground me.

"I don't know what I am to her," I said, and my voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.

"You're hers," Dana said simply. "That's what you are. You're hers, and she's not going to let you go."

We ran in silence for a while after that. The trail followed the creek, and the sound of the water filled the space between us. I could see the bridge ahead—an old wooden thing that crossed the creek where it narrowed, its dark underside yawning beneath the morning light. The sight of it made something catch in my chest, and my stride faltered.

Dana noticed. She glanced at me, her eyes sharp despite the easy smile on her face. "You okay?"

I nodded, but I wasn't. My heart was hammering, and I could feel the heat between my legs pulsing with every beat. The bridge was ahead, its shadow falling across the trail, and I knew—without knowing how—that crossing under it would change everything.

The bridge loomed closer with every stride, its wooden planks worn smooth by years of foot traffic, the railings green with moss where the creek mist kept them damp. I'd crossed it a dozen times on training runs, never thinking twice about the way the shadow swallowed the trail where it passed underneath, never noticing how the light changed when you ran through that narrow band of darkness. Now it seemed like the only thing in the world, and my feet were carrying me toward it whether I wanted them to or not.

Dana's breathing was steady beside me, the rhythm of her footfalls matching mine like a second heartbeat. She was watching me—I could feel her gaze on the side of my face, patient and knowing, waiting for me to say something I didn't have words for yet. The silence stretched between us, filled with the sound of the creek and the rustle of wind through the pines, and I kept my eyes fixed on the trail ahead, watching the shadow of the bridge grow longer as we closed the distance.

The damp air under the trees was cool on my flushed skin, carrying the sharp smell of pine and wet earth, the mineral tang of the creek water. I could taste it on my tongue, cold and clean, and I focused on that instead of the heat still pulsing between my legs, instead of the image Dana had painted in my head—Casey's office, the drawing in her hands, Dana's mouth between her thighs. My sports bra was soaked through, the fabric clinging to my breasts with every movement, and I could feel the hard points of my nipples pressing against it, visible even through the dark polyester.

"We could stop," Dana said, and her voice was casual, like she was suggesting we pause to tie our shoes. "Under the bridge. Rest a minute."

My heart lurched. I kept running, kept my eyes on the trail, and tried to keep my voice steady. "We're supposed to do the full five miles."

"We've done four." Dana's tone was easy, unhurried. "Nobody's counting but us." She let the words hang, then added, "And Casey's not here to check."

The mention of Casey's name sent another pulse of heat through me, and I felt the wetness between my thighs spread, slick against the fabric of my shorts. She wasn't here. That was the thing. The trail was empty, the team scattered across different routes, and the only person who would know where we'd stopped was Dana—and Dana was looking at me with those knowing blue eyes, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I don't—" I started, and my voice came out thin. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I don't know what you want from me."

"Nothing you haven't already given someone else." Dana's voice was soft, almost gentle.

My face burned. I kept my eyes on the trail, watching the shadow of the bridge creep closer, and tried to find words that didn't sound like a confession.

"Then don't say anything." Dana's voice was soft, almost a murmur against the sound of the creek. "Just come with me."

The shadow of the bridge swallowed us before I could decide. One moment we were running side by side, the morning light dappling through the pines, and the next we were under it, the world gone dim and cool, the roar of the creek suddenly louder, bouncing off the wooden planks above our heads. The gravel gave way to packed earth, damp and dark, and the air smelled of wet stone and moss and something older, something hidden.

Dana stopped. I stopped with her, my chest heaving, my heart slamming against my ribs. The sound of my breathing filled the space under the bridge, too loud in the sudden quiet, and I could feel the sweat cooling on my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

She turned to face me. Her blonde ponytail was slightly askew, a few strands plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her blue eyes were bright in the dim light, catching the reflection of the water. She was breathing hard too, I noticed. Not from the run—she'd said it herself, she'd done this a thousand times—but from something else. Something that had been building since she'd started talking about Casey's office, about the drawing, about the way Casey had said my name while Dana's mouth worked between her thighs.

Dana stepped closer. Her running shoes scuffed the damp earth, and I could smell her—sweat and soap and the faint floral scent of her shampoo, tangled together. She reached out and touched my arm, her fingers light on my skin, and I felt the contact like a spark jumping a gap.

"She told me to take care of you," Dana said. "Before I left the studio last night."

My throat tightened. "Take care of me how?"

Dana's smile was slow, knowing. "However you need."

The water roared. I could feel the pulse between my legs, insistent, demanding, and my thighs pressed together of their own accord. I thought about Lupe, warm and trusting in my bed this morning, her hand tracing patterns on my stomach. I thought about Casey's eyes, the way they'd held mine while I came apart on the studio floor. I thought about the drawing, the charcoal version of my body that Casey had stared at while Dana ate her out.

And I thought about how I'd touched myself in the dark this morning, teeth sunk into my own arm, coming silently beside the girl I loved.

Dana's hand moved from my arm to my face, her palm warm against my cheek. She tilted my head up, forcing me to meet her eyes, and I saw something there that made my breath catch—not hunger, not lust, but something patient. Something that had been waiting.

She kissed me.

It wasn't like the kiss in the shower, all those weeks ago—tentative, exploratory, the first time a girl's mouth had touched mine. It wasn't like Lupe's kisses, soft and reverent, full of love and care. It wasn't even like Autumn's, commanding and hungry, demanding I kneel. This kiss was slow. Deliberate. Dana's lips pressed against mine with a patience that made my knees weak, and her hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me there, keeping me close.

I made a sound against her mouth—something between a gasp and a whimper—and she swallowed it, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I opened for her. She tasted like salt and mint, the lingering trace of the water she'd sipped at the fork, and I leaned into her, my hands finding her hips, gripping the damp fabric of her shorts.

She walked me backward until my back hit the rough wooden pillar of the bridge. The impact knocked the breath out of me, and she used it, pressing her body against mine, her thigh sliding between my legs. The pressure was immediate, electric, and I gasped against her mouth, my hips bucking forward of their own accord.

"That's it," Dana murmured against my lips.

My hands clawed at her shoulders, at the damp fabric of her running top, and I pulled her closer, needing more contact, more pressure, more of everything. Her thigh pressed up against my cunt, the fabric of my shorts slick and inadequate, and I ground against it, desperate and shameless, the heat between my legs building with every movement.

"I've wanted this," Dana breathed, her mouth trailing down my jaw, my throat. "Since the showers. Since I watched you run your first race. Since Casey told me to pace you that day and I saw the way you looked at her."

I couldn't answer. Her teeth grazed my collarbone, and I arched into her, my head falling back against the rough wood, my eyes squeezing shut. The sound of the creek filled my ears, a roar that seemed to match the blood pounding in my veins, and I could feel the wetness between my legs soaking through my shorts, slick and hot and desperate.

"You're so wet," Dana said, and I felt her hand slide down my stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of my shorts. "I can feel it through the fabric."

Dana pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and her lips were swollen from the kiss. She looked at me like she was memorizing me, like I was a drawing she wanted to commit to memory, and then she dropped to her knees.

The gravel bit into her knees, but she didn't seem to notice. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down, slow, inch by inch, and the cool air hit my soaked cunt and I shuddered, my hips twitching forward, desperate for contact.

"Look at you," Dana breathed. "Soaked and sweaty. I know just what you need little slut."

She leaned in and licked me.

The first stroke of her tongue was slow, flat, from the bottom of my slit to the top, and it pulled a sound out of me that I didn't recognize—a high, keening whimper that echoed off the wooden planks above us. She did it again, and again, each stroke slower than the last, and I gripped the pillar behind me, my nails biting into the wood, my knees trembling.

She found my clit and circled it with the tip of her tongue, light and teasing, and I bucked against her mouth, my hips moving without my permission. She laughed against me, a low vibration that sent shockwaves through my body, and then she closed her lips around the sensitive nub and sucked. I knew what i must taste like after running five miles.

"Oh god," I gasped. My head fell back, and I stared up at the dark underside of the bridge, the wooden planks blurring above me. "Oh god, Dana—"

She didn't stop. Her tongue moved against me, relentless, and I felt the orgasm building, coiling low in my belly, tightening every muscle in my body. I was close. So close. And then Dana pulled back, her mouth leaving me, and I made a sound of protest that came out broken and desperate.

"Not yet," she said, and her voice was rough, strained. "I want to taste you when you come."

She stood up, her knees creaking, and I saw the hunger in her eyes, the same hunger I'd seen in Casey's, in Lupe's, in Autumn's. She kissed me again, and I tasted myself on her lips—musky and sweet, a taste I was still learning to recognize—and her hand slid between my legs, two fingers parting my slick folds.

"You're going to come on my fingers," Dana said, her mouth against mine. "And then you're going to tell me what you need next."

She pushed inside me.

Two fingers, sliding in easily, my cunt so wet they met no resistance, and I cried out against her mouth, my inner walls clenching around her. She moved them slowly, deliberately, curling them against that spot inside me that made my vision blur, and I clung to her, my fingers digging into her shoulders, my legs barely holding me up.

"That's it," she murmured. "Feel how good that is. Feel how much you want it."

I couldn't speak. The orgasm was building again, faster now, harder, and I could feel the pressure mounting behind my eyes, in my chest, between my legs. Dana's thumb found my clit and pressed, circling in time with her fingers, and I shattered.

The orgasm ripped through me, and I heard myself cry out—not a word, just a sound, raw and animal—and Dana kept moving, kept pressing, drawing it out until I was trembling against her, my body spasming around her fingers, my vision white at the edges. She held me up as I came, her arm around my waist, her mouth on my throat, and when the waves finally receded, I sagged against her, boneless and gasping.

She pulled her fingers out of me, slow, and I felt the loss like a physical ache. She brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, her eyes never leaving mine, and I watched her, transfixed, my heart still hammering in my chest.

"Now," she said, and her voice was low, rough. "Tell me what you need."

I looked at her, my chest still heaving, my thighs slick and trembling. The words came out before I could stop them, raw and honest and shameless.

"I need another one."

Dana's eyebrows rose. A slow smile spread across her face, the kind of smile that said she'd been waiting for exactly this. "Already?"

"I'm insatiable." The word felt strange in my mouth, like something I'd read in a book but never said out loud. "I don't know how to explain it. I just—I always want more. Lupe says I'm hungry. Casey says I'm greedy." I swallowed hard. "I think I'm a slut."

Dana laughed, a low, warm sound that bounced off the wooden planks above us. "Honey, that's not a bad thing." She stepped closer, her hand finding my hip, her thumb tracing the waistband of my shorts where they still hung loose around my thighs. "Being a slut just means you know what you want. And you're not ashamed to ask for it."

"I used to be ashamed." The confession slipped out, quiet and honest. "Before all of this. Before Lupe, before Casey, before you. I thought wanting something this much made me broken."

Dana's eyes softened. She reached up and tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear, her touch gentle in a way that surprised me. "And now?"

"Now I think it might be the only thing about me that's ever been true."

She kissed me again, softer this time, and I felt something shift in my chest. Not the frantic, desperate hunger I'd been carrying all morning—that was still there, burning low and steady—but something else. Something that felt almost like being seen.

"Then let me give you what you need," Dana murmured against my lips. "All of it."

She lowered me to the ground.

The damp earth was cool against my back, the packed dirt soft from years of foot traffic and creek mist. I could feel the moss beneath my shoulders, slick and green, and the smell of wet stone filled my nostrils. Dana knelt over me, her knees on either side of my hips, and I looked up at her—at the way the dim light under the bridge caught the sweat on her skin, the way her blonde hair had come loose from its ponytail and hung in damp strands around her face.

"You're beautiful," I said, and I meant it.

Dana's smile softened something in her eyes. She leaned down and kissed me, slow and deep, and I felt her hands slide down my body, pushing my running top up, exposing my stomach to the cool air. Her mouth followed, trailing down my jaw, my throat, the hollow between my collarbones. She kissed the sweat from my skin like she was tasting something precious, and I arched into her, my hands finding her hair, tangling in the damp strands.

"I want to taste you again," she said, her lips brushing my sternum. "But slower this time. I want to make you beg for it."

A shiver ran through me. "I don't beg."

Dana laughed, a low sound that vibrated against my skin. "You will."

She pulled my top up higher, exposing my breasts to the cool air, and I felt my nipples harden immediately, the sensitive peaks aching for her mouth. She didn't touch them. Instead, she kissed a line down my stomach, her tongue tracing the ridges of my abs, the dip of my belly button, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my shorts.

"You ran five miles," she said, her breath warm against my skin. "You're all sweat and salt and desperation. And I can smell how wet you are."

My face burned. "Dana—"

"Shh." She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down, slow, inch by inch. The cool air hit my soaked cunt and I gasped, my hips twitching up toward her. She pulled them all the way off, tossing them aside, and then she spread my thighs with her hands, baring me to the dim light under the bridge.

"God, look at you." Her voice was rough, almost reverent. "Soaked. Glistening. Your little clit is swollen and desperate, and you haven't even been touched." She ran a finger through my slick folds, not entering, just parting me, and I whimpered. "You said you're insatiable. Prove it."

She lowered her head and licked me.

Not the fast, hungry strokes from before. This was slow. Deliberate. Her tongue traced the length of my slit from bottom to top, tasting me, savoring me, and then she circled my clit with the flat of her tongue, light and teasing, barely there. I bucked against her mouth, desperate for more pressure, but she pulled back, her breath warm on my skin.

"I said beg."

"Please," I gasped. The word came out broken, desperate. "Please, Dana—"

"Please what?"

"Please eat my pussy. I need your mouth on me. I need to come so bad—"

She smiled against my thigh, and then she gave me what I wanted.

Her mouth closed over my clit and she sucked, hard, her tongue flicking against the sensitive nub in a rhythm that made my vision blur. I cried out, my hands flying to her hair, gripping the damp strands as she worked me. She was relentless, her tongue moving against me, her lips sealed around me, and I could feel the orgasm building already, coiling low in my belly, tightening every muscle in my body.

"That's it," she murmured against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. "Come for me. Come on my tongue."

I shattered.

The orgasm ripped through me, harder than the first one, and I heard myself cry out—a raw, animal sound that echoed off the wooden planks above us. Dana didn't stop. She kept licking, kept sucking, drawing it out until I was trembling beneath her, my body spasming, my vision white at the edges. She drank every drop of me, her tongue lapping at my slick folds until the waves finally receded, leaving me boneless and gasping.

She crawled up my body, her mouth finding mine, and I tasted myself on her lips—musky and sweet, the taste of my own desperation. She kissed me slow and deep, letting me taste it, letting me know what she'd done to me, and I moaned against her mouth, my hands finding her hips.

"More," I breathed. "I need more."

Dana laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "I know you do." She reached down and undid her own shorts, pushing them down her thighs, and I saw that she was soaked too—her cunt glistening with her own arousal, her thighs slick with it. "But this time, I want you to taste me."

She straddled my chest, her knees on either side of my head, and lowered herself until her cunt hovered over my mouth. The smell of her hit me first—musky and intimate, the scent of a woman who'd been running for miles and thinking about sex the whole time. I reached up and grabbed her thighs, pulling her down, and she gasped as my tongue found her.

She tasted different than Autumn had. Sweeter, saltier, the taste of the run still on her skin. I licked her slowly at first, learning her, exploring the shape of her with my tongue. She was slick and swollen, her clit hard against my lips, and I closed my mouth around it and sucked, the way she'd done to me.

"Oh god," Dana breathed. Her hips bucked against my face, grinding against my mouth, and I held her thighs, keeping her there, letting her use me. "Just like that. Don't stop."

I didn't. I licked her until she was trembling, until her thighs were shaking around my head, until she was gasping my name like a prayer. And when she came, it was with a cry that echoed off the water, her body convulsing against my mouth, her cunt clenching as she flooded my tongue.

I drank her down, every drop, and when she finally pulled away, collapsing onto the damp earth beside me, we lay there for a long moment, breathing hard, staring up at the dark underside of the bridge.

"That was—" I started.

"Yeah." Dana laughed, breathless. "It was."

She turned her head to look at me, and I saw something in her eyes I hadn't seen before. Not hunger. Not lust. Something softer. Something that looked almost like care.

"You're going to break her heart, you know," Dana said quietly. "Casey's. She's going to fall for you, and you're going to break her."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"She's never met anyone like you." Dana's voice was thoughtful, almost sad. "She's had a hundred girls. Maybe more. But they all leave, eventually. They graduate, they move on, they find someone their own age. And Casey's always been fine with that. She's never wanted more than a night or two." She paused. "But you're different. You're not just a girl she wants to fuck. You're a girl she wants to keep."

My heart was hammering. "I don't—"

"I saw the way she looked at you in the studio last night." Dana's eyes were steady on mine. "The way she watched you with Lupe. The way she touched you after. She's not just collecting you, Macy. She's falling for you."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and strange. I thought about Casey's blue eyes, the way they'd held mine while I came apart on the studio floor. The way she'd said my name, low and rough, like it meant something. The way she'd claimed me as hers, not like a possession, but like a promise.

"What about Lupe?" I asked, and my voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.

Dana was quiet for a moment. "That's the question, isn't it?"

I stared up at the wooden planks above us, the sound of the creek filling the silence. I thought about Lupe, warm and trusting in my bed this morning, her hand tracing patterns on my stomach. I thought about the way she'd said I love you, and the way I'd said it back. I thought about Casey's eyes, and the way my body responded to her like she was the sun and I was a flower turning toward the light.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted. "I don't know what I want. I just know I can't stop."

Dana reached over and took my hand, her fingers lacing through mine. "You don't have to know right now. You're nineteen. You're supposed to be confused." She squeezed my hand. "Just don't hurt Lupe. She's a good one. And don't let Casey break you. She's not as strong as she pretends to be."

I turned my head to look at her. "Why are you telling me this?"

Dana shrugged, a small, sad smile on her face. "Because someone should have told me when I was nineteen. Because I fell for Casey too, once. And I'm still picking up the pieces."

Before I could respond, she sat up, reaching for her shorts. The moment broke, and we were back under the bridge, two runners on a training run, the morning light filtering through the pines.

"We should get moving," Dana said, pulling her shorts up. "The team will wonder where we went."

I nodded, pulling my own shorts up, wincing at the feel of the damp fabric against my still-sensitive skin. I stood, my legs shaky, and Dana steadied me with a hand on my elbow.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." I took a breath. "I think I am."

We stepped out from under the bridge, the morning light hitting us full in the face, and I blinked, my eyes adjusting. The trail stretched ahead of us, winding through the pines, and I could hear the distant sounds of the team somewhere beyond the trees.

Dana started running, her stride easy and unhurried, and I fell in beside her. We ran in silence for a while, the sound of our footfalls filling the space between us, and I let my mind drift.

Casey's eyes. Dana's words. Lupe's hands. The drawing. The studio. The way all of it seemed to be pulling me in different directions, demanding pieces of me I wasn't sure I had to give.

But I was insatiable. That was the truth of it. I wanted Lupe's softness and Casey's command and Dana's patience and Autumn's hunger. I wanted to be seen and claimed and desired and loved. I wanted everything, all at once, and I wasn't going to stop wanting it just because it was complicated.

We rounded a bend in the trail, and I saw Casey standing at the fork ahead.

She was wearing her usual track gear—black shorts, a gray polo shirt, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was holding a clipboard, but she wasn't looking at it. She was looking at us. At me.

My stride faltered. Dana glanced at me, a knowing look on her face, but she didn't slow down.

"Coach," Dana said as she passed, her voice casual. "We did the full five."

Casey nodded, her eyes never leaving me. I slowed to a stop in front of her, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat. I could feel the aftermath of what Dana and I had done under the bridge—the ache between my legs, the dampness of my shorts, the flush on my cheeks—and I wondered if she could see it. If she could smell it on me.

"Macy." Casey's voice was low, steady. "Walk with me."

She turned and walked down a narrow side path that led away from the trail, into the trees. I followed, my heart hammering, my legs unsteady. The path curved through the pines, and when we were out of sight of the main trail, Casey stopped and turned to face me.

Her blue eyes moved over my body, slow and deliberate, taking in the sweat on my skin, the flush on my chest, the way my shorts clung to me. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me, and I felt myself laid bare under her gaze.

"Dana told me she was going to take care of you," Casey said finally. "I didn't think she'd take it so literally."

My face burned. "I—"

"Don't." Casey stepped closer, and I could smell her—soap and sweat and something floral, the scent of her shampoo. "I'm not angry. I gave her permission." She reached out and touched my chin, tilting my face up to meet her eyes. "I just want to know one thing."

"What?" My voice came out barely a whisper.

Casey's thumb traced my lower lip, slow and deliberate. "Did you think about me?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. My breath caught, and I felt the heat flood my cheeks, my chest, the space between my legs. Because I had. I'd thought about Casey while Dana's mouth worked between my thighs, while Dana's fingers pushed inside me, while I came apart on the damp earth under the bridge.

"Yes," I said, and my voice was steady. "I thought about you."

Casey's eyes darkened. She leaned in, her mouth brushing my ear, her breath warm on my skin.

"Good girl."

The words sent a shiver through me, and I felt the wetness between my legs pulse, fresh and hot. Casey pulled back, and I saw the hunger in her eyes—the same hunger I'd seen in the studio, the same hunger that had claimed me as hers.

"Tonight," she said. "Eight o'clock. Em's studio." She paused, her eyes holding mine. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget every other name you've ever said."

She turned and walked back toward the trail, leaving me standing in the pines, my heart hammering, my thighs trembling, the promise of tonight already burning in my blood.