"Yeah. And they play games. Some get pretty… hands-on."
Her lips twitched, almost like she was amused. "So, I take it you weren’t planning on bringing your cousin? How many of these have you been to?"
The car hummed beneath us as I navigated the dark roads, the low thrum of the tires filling the silence between us. I hadn’t said much since we pulled away from her house, but I'm still trying to process how exactly I had ended up here.
Her mother had all but pushed her out the door, insisting she needed a night out, oblivious that the party I had been invited to wasn’t exactly the kind of place you took your cousin to as a favor to your aunt.
I shot a glance at Samantha from the corner of my eye. The streetlights flickered across her face, tracing the sharp curve of her jaw and the high cheekbones that made her look almost untouchable. She turned to look at me, her lips parting slightly as though she could feel me watching her. I forced my eyes back to the road. I had to tell her.
"You know this isn’t a regular party, right?" My voice came out rougher than I intended.
She sighed and shifted in the passenger seat, the smooth fabric of her dress slipping higher up her thighs. Blue. The dress was a deep, royal blue, the kind that made her pale skin glow in the dim light. Tight around her stomach. Low-cut. A pleated skirt that faired at the slightest turn of her body. A dress meant to be noticed.
"I figured that out when you avoided telling my mom the details." Sam crossed her arms, pushing her breasts up slightly. "What kind of party is it, then?"
I gripped the wheel tighter. "It’s… a swinger’s party."
Silence. I risked another glance. Her brows lifted, but there wasn’t shock on her face. Just curiosity.
"Like… people trade partners?" She asked.
"Yeah. And they play games. Some get pretty… hands-on."
Her lips twitched, almost like she was amused. "So, I take it you weren’t planning on bringing your cousin? How many of these have you been to?"
"Obviously not and this is my first." I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "Look, we can still turn around. Dinner, a movie, normal stuff. You don’t have to go just because your mom pushed you out the door."
She hesitated, staring out the windshield, lost in thought. I knew what she was thinking about. Her husband. The fight. How he had looked at her tonight like she was broken like the reason they weren’t conceiving was somehow her fault. He had refused to get himself checked.
She exhaled sharply and shook her head. "No. Let’s go."
I frowned. "You sure?"
"Yeah." Her voice had an edge to it, something sharp and reckless. "I want to have fun."
I wasn’t sure if "fun" was the right word for where we were headed, but I nodded and turned onto the next road, letting the decision settle. Silence stretched between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Maybe it was the tension from her fight. Or that I had nearly punched him when he blamed her. Maybe it was my own distraction, my own recent breakup still fresh in my mind, the way my ex had said she never really felt passion with me. Or maybe it was her perfume, a soft, sweet scent that made me want to lean in, to bury my face against her neck just to breathe her in.
I swallowed hard. It wasn’t helping that her dress clung to every curve, the neckline dipping just enough to draw my eyes lower before I could stop myself. I adjusted my position in the seat, shifting my legs slightly. Shit. Not now. Not her.
I focused on the road and the distant glow of the house in the hills. Tonight was going to be a mistake. I just didn’t know how big of one yet.
The gravel crunched under the tires as I pulled into the long driveway, the glow of the house ahead spilling through the trees. Cars lined the property, some parked haphazardly, others neatly tucked against the edge of the lot. The place was packed.
I killed the engine and sat back, gripping the steering wheel as I let out a slow breath. For a moment, neither of us moved. I glanced at her. She was staring at the house, fingers drumming against her knee, her expression unreadable. The light from the porch cast a soft glow across her skin, making her black hair gleam like silk, her blue eyes sharp and thoughtful.
We had grown up together. After the crash after her dad, after my parents, we had become each other’s world. Same house, same memories. We weren’t just cousins; we were like siblings. And now we were here. At a place where, in a few minutes, she might strip down and spread her legs for someone in front of me. I shifted in my seat, a strange heat crawling up my spine.
"Are you sure about this?" My voice was lower than I intended.
Sam finally turned to me, her lips curving slightly. "You’re still thinking about it, huh?"
"About what?"
"Whether you’ll see me with someone tonight."
I stiffened, caught.
She laughed, soft and almost bitter. "You’re acting like I haven’t thought the same thing about you."
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I changed the subject.
"You’ve been on all those fertility treatments," I said. "With all the hormones in your system, this is risky. You know that, right?"
Her smile faded. For a second, I thought I saw something flicker behind her eyes, hesitation, maybe. But then she squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back, her chin lifting slightly.
"I’m not ovulating if that’s what you’re worried about." Her voice was casual, dismissive. "Besides, I didn’t come here to overthink things."
I searched her face, but she was already pushing the door open, stepping into the night like she belonged there. I exhaled and ran a hand over my face. This was a bad idea.
I got out and followed her up the steps. A gust of wind swept past as we climbed the steps, teasing the hem of her pleated skirt. For a split second, it almost lifted high enough to show me what was underneath.
Sam giggled and pressed it down with both hands, flashing me a playful smirk over her shoulder. "Not even inside yet, and already trying to peek?"
I swallowed hard and looked away, pretending the heat in my face was from the warm night air. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen everything before.
Four years ago. We had both been nineteen, living under the same roof. I had come home late, exhausted, not thinking, and pushed open the bathroom door. And there she was. Steam curled around her bare body, water sliding down the smooth slopes of her skin. Her curves were slick with soap, her long black hair dripping.
I should have turned away. I should have closed my eyes, left, and done anything but stand there like an idiot. Instead, I had frozen, drinking in the sight of her before my brain could catch up to what my eyes were doing. She had turned, blue eyes wide in shock, and for a single agonizing second, she didn’t move. Then she gasped, arms flying up just a second too late. I had muttered a curse, slammed the door shut, and spent the next eight years pretending I never saw how perfect she looked covered in nothing but soap.
And now she was walking ahead of me, flashing just enough skin to make me remember things I shouldn’t. Before I could dwell on it, she rapped her knuckles against the door. It swung open almost immediately, and my stomach clenched. Angela. The girl I used to have a crush on.
She hadn’t changed much—**short, toned, with just enough softness in the right places.** Her thin tank top clung to her small breasts, leaving little to the imagination, and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked us over. I stiffened. She was going to recognize Sam. She was going to ask why in the hell I had brought my cousin to a party like this. But she didn’t.
Angela just flashed a sultry smile and stepped aside. "Come in. You’re going to love this party."
Sam shot me a knowing look before stepping through the door. I hesitated. She seemed to be planning something. I wasn't sure I was ready for this party. Something about this night already felt dangerous. And I hadn’t even crossed the threshold yet. The moment we stepped inside, the heat hit me. Not just from the bodies packed into the living room, but from the atmosphere itself.
Soft, moaning music played in the background, barely covering the sounds of laughter, teasing, and the occasional breathy gasp. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and something unmistakably sexual. Angela led us in, plucking two cans of Coke from a cooler by the couch and handing them to us with a knowing smile.
"First-timers drink these," she said. "No alcohol unless you want to."
Sam took hers without hesitation, popped the tab, and took a sip. I followed, grateful for something cold to hold. We sat side by side on the couch, closer than we should have, but neither of us moved away.
A large circle had already formed in the center of the room, people lounging on the floor and in chairs. Most were in various states of undress bare legs tangled together, shirts missing, a woman in nothing but lacy black panties straddling a guy’s lap. I could clearly see he was inside her, even though they weren't moving. At the center of it all, a bottle sat waiting.
"Newcomers go first," Angela announced, her voice full of amusement. "Sam, you’re up."
Sam blinked, mid-sip, then lowered her can. "Wait, what?"
A guy across from us grinned. "You spin the bottle. Whoever it lands on, you do whatever the dice says."
Angela lifted a small red die and gave it a shake before tossing it onto the coffee table. It rolled once, then settled on a single word. "Oral." My throat went dry. Sam set her drink down, straightened her back, and reached for the bottle.
She spun. I watched it turn, my pulse hammering, each rotation bringing me closer to something I wasn’t ready to face. Then it slowed. Then it stopped. Pointing directly at me. The room erupted in cheers and laughter.
"Well, well," someone teased. "Lucky guy." I expected her to hesitate. To refuse. To say, We’re cousins. But Sam just glanced at me, her blue eyes unreadable, and started to kneel.
The room pulsed around us, the air thick with heat, cheers, and laughter, but all I could focus on was her. Sam knelt between my legs, her blue eyes flicking up to meet mine searching, teasing, daring me to stop her. I didn’t.
My breath hitched as she reached for my belt, fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the buckle. She wasn’t smooth about it, not practiced like some of the others here, but that only made it worse made it better. She popped the button. Eased the zipper down. The room felt smaller.
My heart hammered as she reached inside, her warm fingers brushing against me as she pulled me free. A ripple of approval ran through the crowd, a few murmured comments that barely registered over the pounding of my pulse. Sam swallowed and leaned forward, her breath warm against my exposed skin. Then she took me into her mouth.
It wasn’t perfect. She was hesitant at first, figuring out her rhythm, her tongue unsure, her lips too tight, then too loose. But none of that mattered. It was her. Sam. And it was public. People were watching, whispering, some shifting closer to get a better view.
The combination of her mouth her soft, wet heat, and the sheer thrill of knowing everyone could see us made me lightheaded. I dug my fingers into the couch, forcing myself to stay still, to not thrust up into her mouth. Her nails scraped lightly along my thigh as she moved faster, a quiet moan escaping her.
I clenched my jaw, so damn close. Then, just as I was about to break, a voice cut through the haze. "Time’s up!" A chorus of disappointed groans followed, but Sam didn’t protest. She pulled back, licking her lips as she sat up.
Then as if nothing had happened she slid back onto the couch beside me and curled into my side, pressing her cheek against my shoulder. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge what she’d just done. We looked like lovers. Maybe we were. And I didn’t have the presence of mind to put myself away. I just sat there, exposed, throbbing, and aching for something I couldn’t even name.
Someone passed me the bottle, but my mind was still reeling. Sam was warm against my side, her body pressed close, her cheek resting on my shoulder like we were just another couple curled up on the couch.
Like she hadn’t just been on her knees for me. My fingers were still sore from where they had gripped the couch too tightly. My cock, still out, still hard, still aching, throbbed against my stomach, untouched.
“Your turn,” someone reminded me, and a hand nudged the bottle into my grip. I forced myself to focus, exhaling a slow breath as I spun. The glass twirled, catching the dim light, slowing, stopping.
Angela. My stomach tightened. She grinned, stretching like a satisfied cat as she reached for the die. It rolled onto the coffee table and landed on one word. Sex. The group erupted in cheers.
Angela climbed onto the couch, straddling my lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her skirt rode up, exposing bare skin and the faint glisten of arousal. She wasn’t shy or hesitant. Her fingers wrapped around me, guiding me against her as she shifted forward, taking me inside.
And yet, I turned my head, searching for Sam. She was still there. Still curled into my side, holding my hand like it was her body I was inside of. Angela moved, rocking her hips, drawing moans from both of us, but my focus was elsewhere.
Sam’s fingers tightened around mine. She didn’t look away. Didn’t blush. Didn’t seem embarrassed to be watching me. If anything she leaned in. Her breath fanned against my shoulder as she pressed her forehead there, her free hand settling lightly against my stomach, feeling every thrust, every motion.
Angela was good, too good, and it wasn’t lost on me that I wasn’t her first of the night. For her, I would happily take sloppy seconds. But that wasn’t what had me struggling to hold on. It was Sam. Her touch, her weight against me, her silent acceptance. I should have been ashamed. I should have pulled away. But I didn’t.
And when Angela moaned louder, her body clenching around me, I pushed my thumb onto her clit. I had wanted this woman for so long that I was determined to give her an orgasm. Her whole body shook as one tore through her. I barely heard her. Sam was still holding my hand. The woman I had wanted for so long didn't matter compared to that. When Angela had finished and gotten off of me I still hadn't managed to cum. Fuck I needed that right now.
Sam hadn’t moved from my side, her fingers laced with mine, her body warm against me. I didn’t know how much time had passed. The game continued, the bottle spinning, the dares escalating. Couples paired off stripped down, and moaned into each other’s mouths as if the rest of us weren’t there. But I only noticed her.
The way she shifted closer. The way her nails traced lazy circles on the back of my hand. The way she sighed, content, as though nothing that had just happened between us had changed anything at all. Then it was her turn again. The bottle spun. The die rolled. Oral. I tensed. This time, it wasn’t me.
A woman tall, blonde, with a toned body and a wicked smile, crawled toward her on the couch. Sam only giggled, stretching out like a cat, lifting her hips just enough for the blonde to push up her skirt and pull her panties down. My breath caught. Sam’s legs parted, and, fuck. She was bare. Hairless. Smooth. Glowing. I should have looked away. I didn’t.
The blonde took her time, running her hands over Sam’s thighs, spreading her open. Exposing her. And then she leaned in. The first touch of her tongue had Sam sucking in a breath, her fingers twitching against mine. The second had her exhaling a soft, shuddering moan. I felt it like a punch to my gut. The sound she made high, breathless, needy, was unlike anything I’d ever heard from her.
I gripped her hand tighter, watching as the woman licked her slowly, teasingly, tasting her. How would she taste on my tongue? How would she sound if it were me between her legs? Sam whimpered, hips lifting, thighs trembling. I swallowed hard, pulse hammering as the blonde licked deeper, her fingers joining her tongue. Sam gasped.
Her grip on me tightened, and suddenly I wasn’t thinking about the party anymore. Wasn’t thinking about how wrong this should be. All I could think about was her. Her flushed skin. Her parted lips. The way her body responded. The way she melted under someone else’s touch when it should have been mine.
The room had changed. Or maybe it was just me. The air felt heavier, thick with heat, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of sex. All around us, the party dissolved into what it was always meant to be, a blur of tangled bodies and breathless moans. Sam didn’t look at them. She didn’t look at me, either. She just stood, smoothing down her skirt, her chest still rising and falling with the remnants of her last orgasm.
Then, without a word, she took my hand. Her tug was so insistent that I allowed my pants to hit the floor and stepped out of them. I hadn't fastened them after her blowjob. She led me down a dimly lit hallway. The sounds behind us faded, muffled by the thick walls, but still present reminders of what we left behind.
We passed closed doors. Some cracked open just enough to glimpse what lay inside—**a man kneeling between a woman’s thighs, a pair of lovers tangled together, a body pressed against a mirror. Sam didn’t stop. Not until she reached the last door. She turned the knob and pulled me inside.
Darkness. Not complete, but enough. Just the glow of a streetlamp slipping through the sheer curtains. Just enough to see the outline of her blue dress, black hair, and flushed skin. She let go of my hand. Turned to face me.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she reached for the thin straps of her dress, sliding them down her shoulders, slowly, deliberately. The fabric pooled at her feet. No bra. No panties. She had left them in the living room. Just her. Naked, vulnerable, waiting.
I swallowed hard. “Sam…” The way the lines from the window shades played across her curves nearly made my heart jump out of my throat.
“Shh.” She stepped closer, pressing her fingertips to my lips before trailing them down my chest, stopping just at my belt. Her voice was soft but sure.
“Make love to me.” She wasn’t asking. She wasn’t begging. She was telling me. And fuck, I was going to listen.
I should have stopped. I should have pulled away and told her no. But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t just about lust. It wasn’t about the party, or the way her body felt beneath mine, or the way her fingers clung to my back, pulling me deeper, guiding me where she wanted me to be.
This was her plan. She knew what she was doing the moment she made me bring her here. The moment she refused dinner and a movie. The moment she spun that bottle and didn’t stop. And now, wrapped around me, her body so hot, so soft, so completely open to me, she whispered the words I should have been prepared for. “Inside me.”
My hips stilled, shaking. She held me tighter, her nails pressing into my skin, her lips against my ear, pleading.
“Please.”
My mind screamed at me to stop. To pull away before it was too late. Before I crossed a line I could never uncross. But my heart... My heart already knew it was too late. She wanted this. Needed this. And I wanted to give it to her. Not as an act of selfishness. Not as an act of recklessness. But as a gift. A gift of life. A gift of mine.
My fingers tangled in her hair as I kissed her, deeply, desperately, and let myself go. Her body clenched, arching beneath me as she gasped, taking all of it, all of me. And in that moment, I knew. She was going to be pregnant. And her husband would never know the truth.
The Drive home.
The road stretched out before me, dark and empty, the only sound was the hum of the tires against the asphalt. The air inside the car was thick with the lingering scent of her perfume, a mix of jasmine and something sweet, something uniquely Sam.
She was asleep in the passenger seat, her head tilted toward the window, her breath slow and even. Peaceful. Her dress had shifted in her sleep, the loose fabric slipping just enough to bare the curve of her breast. The soft glow of the dashboard light traced the outline of her skin, but I didn’t feel the same pull of lust I had earlier in the night.
I still saw her beauty, still felt the undeniable allure of her. But it wasn’t the same. Now, I only thought about what we had done. And why. She would go home to her husband. She would hold him, kiss him, and pretend nothing had happened. And in a few weeks, maybe a month, she would tell him the news.
She would smile through her tears as she whispered, "We're pregnant." And he would believe it was his. Because it had to be. Because that was how she would save her marriage. After all, she had been out with her cousin. She wouldn't sleep with him. I tightened my grip on the wheel.
She had cheated on him with me. But not to betray him. To fix what was broken. To give him the family he wanted but couldn’t have. And I had given it to her. Not because I wanted her for myself. Not because I wanted to steal her away.
But because she had needed this. Because I could help. And if she ever needed me again, if she ever asked—I already knew my answer. I would never bring it up. Never tell her husband the truth. Never tell the child what I had done. But if she came to me again, I would give myself to her. Just like I had tonight.