I stared at my phone screen, my thumb hovering indecisively over the icon. Tinder. Just seeing the bright orange flame made a mix of dread and obligation swirl in my stomach. I had promised Mary I’d test out and review the ten biggest dating apps for her website, and while I’d procrastinated on this one, my time was up.
I’d deleted the app two years ago after a string of disastrous, superficial encounters that left me feeling more drained than desired. I wasn’t expecting much this time around, but duty called.
I downloaded the app, and to my annoyance, it immediately remembered me. My old profile was still there—a ghost of a Jessica from the past, complete with photos I’d since hidden in the depths of my cloud storage. I sighed, quickly deleting the evidence of my younger self and uploaded a fresh selection of shots. I chose a mix of high-fashion editorial shots and a few candid, relaxed selfies to show I was actually human.
Within minutes, the dopamine hit started. It was amazing how quickly the old addiction resurfaced. Swipe left, swipe right, swipe left. I’d sit on my couch, judging men in split seconds based on a single jawline or a terrible attempt at a witty bio. It was fun, in a mindless, video-game kind of way, but it felt hollow. I was looking for a spark in a digital haystack, and the needle was feeling sharp and elusive.
Then, I noticed something new: the “Double Date” feature. I clicked on it curiously. It allowed you to pair up with a friend and match with other pairs.
My mind immediately went to Carola. We’d met on a shoot a few months ago—she was the makeup artist who managed to make me look alive despite a four-hour call time—and we’d been inseparable since. We spent hours debriefing our dates over coffee, analyzing texts like FBI agents. I knew she was on Tinder. I sent her a text: “Check your Tinder. Invite me to a double date. Let’s cause some trouble.” Her reply came seconds later: “On it.”
Matching as a duo felt safer, less predatory. We swiped through pairs of guys together, laughing at the awkward duo-pose photos until we found “Mark and Paul.” Mark was handsome in a clean-cut, generic way, but Paul… Paul had dark, messy hair, a beard that looked like it would be perfect against the skin, and eyes that seemed to hold a secret joke. They were looking for a fun night out that Saturday. We swiped right. It was a match.
The date was set for Saturday night at a trendy downtown bar.
Saturday night arrived, and I met Carola at her apartment to pre-game. She looked incredible, wearing a tight red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, her makeup flawlessly applied as always. I opted for a sleek black jumpsuit that showed off my model shoulders—effortless chic.
We arrived at the bar and found Mark and Paul at a high-top table near the window. Mark stood up immediately, beaming with enthusiasm. He was friendly, loud, and ordered a round of cocktails for the table with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to charm a room.
Paul, however, was a different story. He was quieter, sitting back with an air of calm assurance. When he shook my hand, his grip was firm, and his eyes lingered on mine just a second longer than necessary.
The conversation flowed easily enough at first, mostly driven by Mark, who turned out to be a wealth of random trivia and animated storytelling. He was funny, I’d give him that, but my attention kept drifting. Every time I laughed at a joke, I found myself locking eyes with Paul across the table. He didn’t feel the need to fill every silence; he would just watch me with this half-smile, like he was waiting for the real conversation to start.
As the evening progressed, the dynamic of our quartet became undeniably clear. Mark was directing most of his energy toward me, leaning in, touching my arm when he made a point. He was a great guy—charming, successful, polite—but there was absolutely no spark. It was like being hit on by a golden retriever: enthusiastic and sweet, but entirely platonic.
Meanwhile, Carola and Paul seemed to have hit it off on a completely different level. Carola, usually the loud and boisterous one of our duo, was leaning in, twirling a lock of her hair, listening intently to Paul. But every time I glanced over, I caught Paul looking at me.
I saw it in Carola’s eyes, too—the dilated pupils, the way she bit her lower lip every time Paul spoke. It was a look of pure hunger. I felt a twist of something sharp and unpleasant in my gut. Jealousy? No, it was frustration. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke. We were in a situation where we were supposed to be a team, yet we were competing for the same prize without even signing up for it.
Mark was telling a story about his trip to Cancun, gesturing wildly with his margarita. I took a long sip of my drink, buying time, but I knew I couldn’t keep this up. I didn’t want to be the reason the night crashed and burned. I valued my friendship with Carola way more than a chance with a guy I’d just met, no matter how magnetic he was.
I waited for Mark to pause for breath. “Mark, I’m so sorry,” I said, putting on my best apologetic smile. “I’ve had a lovely time, but I completely forgot I promised my sister I’d help her with something early tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to call it a night.”
Mark’s face fell, but he recovered quickly, flashing a polished smile. “Oh, no worries at all! It was great meeting you, Jessica. Maybe another time?”
“Definitely,” I lied smoothly, grabbing my clutch.
I hugged Carola tight, whispering in her ear, “I’m sorry to bail, but… have fun. Seriously. He’s into you.”
“I’ll text you later!” Carola whispered back, squeezing my hand before I let go.
I gave Paul a small wave, trying to ignore the flash of disappointment in his eyes that mirrored my own. “It was nice meeting you, Paul.”
“You too, Jessica,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Drive safe.”
The cool night air hit my face as I stepped out of the bar, but it did nothing to cool the flush on my cheeks. I signaled for a taxi, desperate to get home and out of this dress, to shake off the lingering feeling of Paul’s gaze. I slid into the backseat, giving the driver my address, and let my head fall back against the headrest. Stupid, I thought. Stupid to leave. Stupid to let her have him just to be the ‘good friend.’
My phone buzzed in my lap, startling me. I looked down. It was a message from Carola.
Don’t go home yet. I’m bringing Paul back to my place. Do you want to join?
I stared at the screen, the letters blurring for a second. I reread it three times, my heart hammering against my ribs. What did that mean? If Carola had successfully convinced Paul to leave with her, why would she want me there? Was she feeling awkward about monopolizing him? Did she want moral support?
Or… was this something else?
I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Do you want to join?
The taxi driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss? You said 42nd, right?”
“Change of plans,” I heard myself say, my voice sounding breathless and distant. “Go back to the bar. Actually, drop me at the corner of 5th and Elm.”
I stood in front of Carola’s building for a full minute, pacing the pavement and trying to talk myself out of it. Maybe she just wants to debrief? Maybe it’s platonic? But I knew better. The way she had looked at Paul, the way Paul had looked at me as I left… there was a heavy, current running between the three of us that hadn’t been extinguished just because I walked out the door.
I buzzed the apartment. “Come on up,” Carola’s voice purred through the intercom, sounding deeper than usual.
When I stepped into her apartment, the air felt thick, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and the sharp, tart aroma of open red wine. The living room was dimly lit by a single floor lamp in the corner, casting long, seductive shadows.
Paul was sitting on the velvet sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, nursing a glass of wine. He looked up as I entered, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He didn’t look surprised to see me; he looked… relieved.
Carola was sitting on the rug near the coffee table, her dress hiked up slightly, exposing her thighs. She waved a glass of wine at me, her eyes glassy and bright. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away,” she teased, but there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her own nerves.
“I… I wasn’t sure if I was reading the text right,” I admitted, closing the door behind me and leaning against it for support.
Paul set his glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink, the sound amplifying the sudden quiet in the room. He didn’t stand, just leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes dissecting me. “I’m glad you’re here, Jessica,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, rough and deliberate. “The night didn’t feel finished.”
Carola stood up, her movements fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking. She walked over to me, stopping just inches away. I could smell the wine on her breath, mixed with the vanilla of her perfume. She reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering on the sensitive skin of my neck.
“I told him,” Carola whispered, her lips so close to my ear that I could feel the warmth of her breath. “I told him we were both looking at him. I told him how much we wanted him.” She pulled back to look me in the eye, her gaze dark and hungry. “But I also told him… that I wanted to see this.”
Her lips were on mine before I could even process the words. It wasn’t a tentative, polite kiss; it was hungry and demanding. Carola’s mouth tasted of Merlot and desire. I stiffened for a fraction of a second, surprised by the suddenness of it, but as her tongue slid against mine, a switch flipped. I moaned into her mouth, my hands instinctively going to her waist, pulling her tighter against me. I felt her curves press against my body, soft and yielding, nothing like the hardness of the men I was used to.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, I looked over at Paul. He was leaning forward on the sofa now, his eyes wide, a dark flush creeping up his neck. The sight of him watching us—watching her kiss me—sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He looked like a man who had just won the lottery but couldn’t quite believe his luck.
“I think he approves,” Carola murmured against my lips, turning her head to look at him. She reached behind her neck, pulling the zipper of her dress down in one slow, deliberate motion. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a black lace bra and matching thong. Her body was incredible, her skin glowing in the low light.
She turned back to me, her confidence radiating off her in waves. “Your turn,” she whispered, stepping closer to invade my personal space again. Her fingers found the zipper of my black jumpsuit. In one smooth, practiced motion, she tugged it down. The cool air hit my skin as the fabric loosened, and she helped me shimmy out of it, letting it fall to the floor to join her dress.
I stood before them in a matching set of black lingerie—lace and silk that clung to my model frame. Carola’s eyes raked over me, appreciative and hungry, before she reached behind my back to unclasp my bra. As it fell away, exposing my breasts to the warm room air, I heard a sharp intake of breath from the sofa.
Carola didn’t give me a moment to feel self-conscious. She took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and together we turned toward Paul. He looked like a man caught in a trance, his eyes darting between the two of us, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees.
“We shouldn’t leave him waiting,” Carola murmured, her voice thick with lust. She tugged gently on my hand, leading me toward the sofa.
Paul didn’t move as we approached; he just watched us like we were the only two people on earth. When we reached him, Carola didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees on the plush rug, pulling me down with her. The position was submissive, yet the power in the room was entirely ours.
We reached for him simultaneously. Carola’s fingers went to his belt, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room, while I ran my hands up his muscular thighs, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. He leaned back, lifting his hips slightly to allow Carola to slide his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion.
The sight of him springing free drew a collective, appreciative sigh from both of us. Paul was undeniably impressive—thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip. Carola didn’t hesitate; she wrapped her hand around his base, stroking him slowly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Share,” she whispered, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.
I leaned in, my tongue darting out to taste the bead of moisture at his tip. He tasted clean and salty, a sharp contrast to the sweet wine still lingering on my lips. I swirled my tongue around the head, hearing his breath hitch sharply above me. Carola joined in, her tongue tracing the vein along the underside while I took him into my mouth. We moved in a rhythm, sometimes taking turns, sometimes our tongues meeting and tangling around him. It was messy, wet, and incredibly erotic. I looked up, locking eyes with Paul. His head was thrown back, his jaw clenched, his hands fisting in the cushions as if he was holding on for dear life.
The sight of him unraveling because of us was intoxicating, but the ache between my own thighs was becoming impossible to ignore. Watching Carola’s glossy red lips glide along his shaft, hearing the wet, rhythmic sounds of our combined efforts, had worked me into a frenzy.
I pulled back, gasping for air, my lips swollen and tingling. Carola looked up at me, questioningly, her hand still stroking him firmly.
“I need more,” I breathed out, the admission barely a whisper.
Carola’s eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. She understood immediately. She moved away from Paul, sitting back on her heels, and gestured to the plush rug beneath us.
“Lie down, Jess,” she commanded softly.
I didn’t hesitate. I lowered myself onto the thick, soft carpet, the pile cool against my overheated skin. I positioned myself on my back, my legs falling open, surrendering to the ache that had been building all night. The air in the room felt electric, raising goosebumps across my bare skin.
Carola didn’t make me wait. She moved with a languid, predatory grace, positioning herself on her hands and knees. She crawled over me, her hair creating a dark curtain around our faces, blocking out the room, the apartment, everything except her. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against my stomach, and planted a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down my torso.
“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmured against my skin, her voice vibrating against my ribs. “I’ve wanted to taste you since that swimwear shoot in Malta.”
I barely had time to process the confession before she settled between my thighs. Her hands were soft but firm, spreading my legs wider, opening me up completely. When her tongue finally made contact, I cried out, my back arching off the floor. She didn’t tease; she went straight for my clit, circling it with firm, deliberate pressure that sent shockwaves radiating through my pelvis.
I was lost in a haze of pleasure, my fingers tangled in Carola’s hair, grinding against her face, when I felt the weight shift on the rug. I opened my heavy eyelids to see Paul moving behind Carola.
He hadn’t just been watching; he had stripped off the rest of his clothes. His body was lean and sculpted, his muscles coiled tight as he knelt behind Carola, who was still on her hands and knees, her face buried between my legs. He caught my eye over the curve of her back, and the raw hunger in his gaze made my breath catch.
He reached out, gripping Carola’s hips, and she moaned into my pussy, the vibration sending a fresh jolt of electricity through me. I watched, mesmerized, as he guided himself to her entrance. He didn’t rush. He teased her, sliding the head of his cock along her slick folds, coating himself in her wetness.
Carola let out a long, muffled moan against my flesh as Paul finally pushed forward, burying himself inside her with one slow, powerful thrust. The force of his movement rocked her forward, pressing her mouth harder against my clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. I dug my fingers into the pile of the rug, gasping for air as I watched the tableau unfold before me.
It was hypnotic. Paul’s jaw was tight with concentration, his hands gripping Carola’s hips with bruising force as he established a rhythm. Every time he drove into her, Carola was pushed forward, her tongue becoming an instrument of Paul’s momentum. It was a feedback loop of sensation: his pleasure dictated her movements, and her movements dictated mine.
“She feels so good, Jessica,” Paul groaned, his voice ragged, his eyes locked on mine as he continued to thrust. “She’s so wet… she’s loving this.”
Carola didn’t miss a beat. She lifted her mouth from me just long enough to gasp, “He’s so deep, Jess… you have no idea,” before diving back in, her tongue flicking rapidly against my sensitive bundle of nerves.
The sight of Paul taking Carola from behind while she devoured me was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. The three of us were connected by a chain of movement and sound. I could hear the slap of skin against skin, the wet, eager noises of Carola’s mouth, and the heavy, ragged breathing that filled the room. I was getting close, the pressure low in my belly building to a breaking point, but I wanted more. I wanted to feel him.
“Paul,” I breathed out, my voice trembling. “Trade places.”
Paul didn’t hesitate. He slowed his rhythm, pulling a groan from Carola’s lips as he withdrew. The loss of contact left the three of us panting in the dim light, the air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat.
“Come here,” I whispered, reaching out for him.
Paul moved over me, his skin hot and damp. He positioned himself between my legs, his knees pressing into the soft rug. Carola shifted, giving him space, and immediately moved to straddle my face. I looked up at her, seeing the flushed curve of her breasts and the dark desire in her eyes, before she lowered herself onto my mouth.
I ran my hands up the smooth skin of Carola’s thighs, guiding her hips down until she settled firmly against my mouth. I was immediately surrounded by her taste—sweet, salty, and overwhelmingly intoxicating. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers tangling in my hair, pressing me closer as I began to explore her with my tongue. I wanted to give her the same pleasure she had just given me, to make her lose control completely.
I felt Paul’s hands grip my ankles, spreading my legs wider as he positioned himself at my entrance. He teased me for just a moment, dragging the head of his cock through my wetness, coating himself in my arousal. The anticipation was maddening. I bucked my hips up, silently begging him to fill me, and with a guttural groan, he thrust forward.
He didn’t start slow. He buried himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke, stretching me exquisitely. I cried out against Carola’s pussy, the vibration of my moan causing her to shudder above me. The sensation was overwhelming—Paul filling me completely, hitting a spot deep inside that made my toes curl, while Carola ground down against my face, her wetness coating my chin.
Paul set a rhythm that was nothing short of devastating. He didn’t make love; he fucked, with a raw, primal intensity that I hadn’t experienced in years. Every thrust drove the air from my lungs, forcing me to gasp against Carola’s slick heat. The dual sensation of being filled so completely while having my mouth occupied by the soft, demanding weight of my best friend was a sensory overload that made my head spin.
I could feel the muscles in Paul’s thighs tense against the backs of my legs as he drove into me, his grip on my hips tightening enough that I knew I’d have fingerprints in the morning. “You feel incredible, Jessica,” he gritted out, his voice strained. He was looking down at me, watching my face contort in pleasure as Carola rode my tongue.
Carola was lost in her own world above me. Her head was thrown back, her long dark hair cascading down her back, tickling my stomach with every movement. She rolled her hips, grinding herself against my mouth, silently guiding me to where she needed it most. “Yes, right there,” she moaned, her voice breathy and high-pitched. “Don’t stop, Jess, please don’t stop.”
I focused everything I had on them. I tightened the muscles of my core around Paul, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprised even me. The wet slap of skin against skin was loud, a carnal rhythm that seemed to echo off the walls. Carola’s taste was intoxicating, and I drank her in, my tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while my hands gripped her ass to hold her steady against my face.
“I can’t… I’m close,” Paul groaned, his rhythm starting to falter. The control he had been holding onto was slipping.
“Yes, Paul, cum for us,” Carola gasped, looking down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. She reached out, her hand finding the back of Paul’s neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss while she continued to grind against my mouth.
The sight of them kissing passionately above me, with Paul thrusting deep inside me and Carola grinding relentlessly against my tongue, was the final push I needed. The tension that had been coiling in my belly snapped, and I cried out, the sound muffled by Carola’s flesh. My orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tidal wave, making my whole body tremble uncontrollably. My inner walls clamped down around Paul’s cock, gripping him tight as the pleasure overwhelmed my senses.
Carola felt me shudder beneath her, and the combination of Paul’s desperation and my own climaxic vibration against her sent her over the edge too. “Oh god, yes! Jess!” she screamed, her body arching like a bow. She convulsed, her thighs squeezing tight against my head as she came, flooding my mouth with her sweetness. I held onto her hips, drinking her in, prolonging her pleasure as long as I could while my own body continued to spasm around Paul.
With a guttural roar that sounded more like a growl, Paul tore his mouth away from Carola’s. “I’m going to cum,” he warned, his voice ragged, his rhythm becoming erratic and jagged.
With a final, guttural groan, Paul pulled back, his hand moving to stroke himself frantically. I watched through half-lidded eyes, my body still trembling in the aftershocks of my orgasm, as he found his release. Thick, hot ropes of cum striped across our faces, landing on my cheeks, my lips, and dripping onto Carola’s chest and stomach.
The room fell into a heavy, panting silence, broken only by the sound of our collective breathing. Paul slumped back on his heels, his chest heaving, looking down at us with a mixture of awe and exhaustion. Carola slowly lifted herself off my face, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of her body.
I looked up at her. She was a masterpiece of debauchery—her lipstick smeared, her skin flushed a deep pink, and Paul’s release glistening on her collarbone. She looked down at me, her eyes finding the sticky mess on my cheek, and let out a breathless, incredulous laugh.
The laugh started deep in Carola’s chest, bubbling up until it spilled out, bright and uninhibited. The tension in the room shattered with it, replaced by a warm, sated haze.
“Oh my god,” Carola gasped, wiping a smear of moisture from her chin and looking down at me. “Look at us. We are a mess.”
I reached up, touching the sticky warmth cooling on my cheek, and started to laugh too. It was the only appropriate reaction to the sheer absurdity and intensity of what had just happened. We kissed before we were tangled together on the floor—a heap of limbs, sweat, and other fluids—and yet, it didn’t feel awkward. It felt liberated.
The laughter eventually faded into a comfortable, companionable silence, the kind that usually takes years to build but had somehow materialized in the span of a single, chaotic hour. We were a tangled heap of limbs on the rug, the cool air of the apartment finally starting to register against our overheated skin.
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