Episode 6
I shouldn’t be in here.
Not because I’m not allowed. I’ve got the keys. I work here. I’ve cleaned this place more times than I can count. But the private sauna is supposed to be booked by appointment only, and it’s marked as in use on the roster tonight.
But I didn’t see anyone go in.
I tell myself I’m just checking the thermostat. A maintenance excuse. But when I crack the door open, heat pours out like a wall, thick with eucalyptus and something heavier. Musk and sweat and… voices.
Laughter, deep and rich.
Then, a sound stops me. A breathless gasp. Not pained, but pleasure, sharp and caught, like someone didn’t mean to let it out.
I should back out, but of course, I don’t. Instead, I step inside, lured by curiosity and the heat.
The glass is steamed over. The muted amber light and shadows draw my eyes.
I can barely make out the shape of two men seated on the upper bench—legs tangled, shoulders pressed together.
One of them has his head thrown back, throat bare.
The other’s mouth is right there, devouring him like he’s starving for it.
My breath catches. One of them notices me, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, sliding his hands down his partner’s slick chest like he knows I’m watching now and he wants me to see.
I should apologize. I should leave. Instead, I shut the door behind me.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, voice rough.
“You didn’t,” the one doing the touching says, not looking away. “There’s room.”
His partner opens his eyes, and even through the fogged glass, I can make out hooded, flashing irises pinning me in place.
“Only if he wants to.”
And God help me, I do.
Without another thought, I strip off my shirt. It’s already soaked through from the heat. My skin feels like it’s humming under their attention. Stepping into the glass enclosure, I drop onto the lower bench, just a few feet away. Close enough to feel the steam off their skin.
The man on top—dark hair, solid frame—reaches out, fingers brushing my knee. His touch isn’t forceful, just resting his hand there like an open invitation.
“You watching or joining?”
I meet his eyes. “Maybe both.”
His mouth curves. “Good.”
And then I’m pulled into it. Heat and skin and mouths, the three of us tangled in the kind of contact that erases thought. Hands slide. Tongues meet. I taste one, then the other, then both at once as they trade kisses with me like we’re passing secrets.
The steam curls around us, and I lose track of whose hand is where. But I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not just watching anymore. I’m driven by pure instinct to get closer, to feel more, and to give more.
The man with the dark hair pulls me up to the top bench, into their heat.
Sweat slicks over our skin, every inch of contact hot and sliding.
The other man—leaner, and sharp-jawed—shifts closer, his thigh pressing hard against mine.
He smells like salt and eucalyptus, and his eyes lock on my mouth like he’s deciding whether to kiss me or eat me alive.
I don’t really care which he chooses, as long as his mouth is on me.
Dark Hair doesn’t give him the chance. His hand fists in my hair and pulls me into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, needy and unfiltered. My head spins from the combination of heat, scent, and the solid weight of him pressing me back against the wet tile.
Leaner brushes my knee, slow, deliberate, before his fingers slip higher—testing, coaxing, daring me not to flinch. I don’t because I want this so badly.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs, mouth grazing my jaw. “Let’s fix that.”
They work me over like they’ve done this before, like they know exactly how to play someone between them, which just makes me burn hotter. Dark Hair takes my mouth, holding me still while Leaner’s hands roam with no hurry, exploring like every inch of me is worth mapping.
The steam makes everything feel close and intimate. Every breath is shared. Every sound is amplified.
Leaner’s lips find my throat, and he sucks my sweaty skin. Dark Hair shifts, one big hand gripping my hip as the other slides low, bold enough to draw a sharp breath out of me.
“You like that,” Dark Hair says, voice low and satisfied.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. Because they both feel the way my body has stopped resisting and started leaning in.
Leaner’s mouth curves against my neck. “Good. Then let’s see how far we can take you.”
Dark Hair’s mouth drags from mine to my chest, teeth grazing, tongue following, while Leaner slides down in front of me. The steam swirls thick around us, making the air taste like salt and heat.
“Let him,” Dark Hair murmurs in my ear, holding me still, his grip firm on my shoulders. “Let him see how good you can be.”
Leaner’s hands bracket my thighs, urging them wider, his eyes locked on mine even as his mouth lowers.
He wants me to see how much he enjoys it.
The first slick pull of him makes me jolt, a needy sound catching in my throat.
Dark Hair feels it, his own breath roughening as he presses harder against my back, hips nudging me forward.
“Fuck—” It comes out raw.
Leaner takes his time, working me with an almost lazy precision, tongue circling before sinking deep again, each motion deliberate and maddening. Dark Hair keeps me anchored, his lips at my ear, whispering filth between sharp kisses to my neck.
“You’re shaking,” he says, like it’s something he’s proud of.
The heat’s unbearable, made hotter by the steam, slick skin, their mouths, their hands. Dark Hair slides one palm down over my stomach, his thumb stroking slow, dangerous arcs until I can’t tell which of them is going to undo me first.
Leaner hums low, the vibration sending sparks through my legs. Dark Hair’s voice dips lower. “Don’t fight it. Give it to him.”
It hits fast, too fast, and they hold me there, caught between them, every muscle tight, every breath stolen. Dark Hair’s grip on me turns bruising as Leaner pulls me under, swallowing every last tremor until I’m boneless against the bench, sweat running down my spine.
The steam hides most of their faces, but I can still see their mouths curve in the same, knowing way, like they’ve just claimed me in a place I didn’t know I could be taken.
Leaner leans back first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest rising fast. Dark Hair’s still behind me, but when I turn, he’s watching me like I’m something dangerous he can’t wait to taste.
I drop to my knees between them. The tile’s warm under me, the steam curling around our bodies, blurring the edges of everything but them. I can barely move my listless body, but two flushed and hungry men are waiting, and I’m dying to please them and return the favor.
I start with Leaner. My hands curl around his hips, my mouth opening for him, slow at first, just enough to make his head fall back and his breath hitch. I work him deeper, tasting salt, feeling him swell against my tongue, and when I hear Dark Hair groan behind me, I know he’s watching every move.
I pull back, a string of slick heat between us, and turn my attention to Dark Hair.
He’s already thick in my hand, his grip on my jaw guiding me closer.
I take him in, my lips sealing tight, my tongue teasing the sensitive underside until his control slips and he mutters something sharp in another language.
Back and forth I go, trading them like I can’t choose a favorite, the sounds of them—breaths, curses, low groans—echoing off the tile. They touch me in return, threading fingers through my hair, brushing my shoulders, guiding me with subtle pressure that says more, faster, yes.
Leaner’s the first to tense, his hands locking on my head, hips jerking forward as I take everything he gives. Dark Hair’s not far behind, his release hot and sudden against my tongue.
He touches my throat, urging me to swallow a mouthful of them. The look in their eyes as they watch my throat slide, taking their loads deep into my belly, makes me hungry for another mouthful.
When I finally sit back on my heels, the steam feels heavier, the air thick with the scent of us. They’re both watching me, not speaking, just breathing hard, eyes dark like they’re deciding if we’re done, or if this is only the start.
Leaner’s the first to move, stepping forward and catching my chin in his hand. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, smearing the damp slick there, and his gaze flicks over my mouth like he’s debating another round.
Dark Hair comes in close behind me, his chest a solid wall of heat, his breath against my ear. “You’re wasted out here,” he murmurs, his voice low, foreign syllables curling around the words like smoke. “You should be ours for the night.”
My pulse kicks hard. The tile’s still warm under my knees, but their attention makes my skin prickle. Leaner tilts my face up, Dark Hair’s fingers splay over my stomach, pulling me back against him, and for a moment I’m suspended, caught between them, claimed from both sides.
“You liked the way we watched you,” Leaner says. Not a question. His thumb presses against my lip until it parts, and Dark Hair’s hand slips lower, slow enough to feel like a dare.
I should walk away. I should. But their eyes are molten, their touch steady, and there’s something intoxicating about the way they want to keep me right here, pinned between them until I forget anyone else exists.
Leaner kisses me first—hard enough that I taste the faint trace of mint and heat on his tongue—while Dark Hair’s hand slips over my cock, finding me already hard. The groan that tears from my throat is swallowed into Leaner’s mouth, his grip on my jaw unrelenting.
Dark Hair presses forward until I’m caged between his body and Leaner’s. His hand closes around me, long fingers stroking in a rhythm that makes my knees want to give.
“Drop,” Leaner murmurs against my lips, guiding me down with firm pressure on my shoulder. I sink to my knees again, this time with both of them in front of me—Leaner stroking my hair back, Dark Hair grabbing his dick and stroking himself back to full hardness.
They’re both thick and flushed, and they crowd close until my breath hitches from the heat of them against my face.
Leaner pushes his tip over my lips first, slow enough to savor the stretch, the salt, the faint pulse.
I take him deeper, tongue working, while Dark Hair’s hand knots in my hair, angling me toward him.
It turns into a rhythm, one sliding into my mouth as the other pulls free, their bodies tense, breath ragged, voices low and hungry in a language I don’t understand. The sound of it makes me harder, my own release building with every muffled groan I pull from them.
Leaner’s hips jerk first, and I take every pulse of him down my throat, swallowing until his fingers go slack.
Dark Hair drags me up into his lap before I can catch my breath, pushing into me with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.
He holds me there, forehead pressed to mine, until he shudders and comes, his mouth brushing my cheek in something dangerously close to a kiss.
When it’s over, I’m left kneeling between them, chest heaving, the taste of both still on my tongue. They look at me like they’ve claimed something more than just my body.
Steam still clings to my skin, heavier than the air, curling damp tendrils of hair at my temples. The two of them have drifted a few feet away, leaning against the tiled wall, trading a few quiet words and glances that feel… intimate, even though I was just there between them.
I sit back on my heels, clothes somewhere behind me, heartbeat still a little too fast. My mouth tingles, and my throat’s raw in a way that’s both obscene and satisfying. My own release is still slick on my stomach, cooling in the thick heat.
Leaner looks over first, eyes dragging from my face to the mess on my skin. There’s no smirk, just that unreadable, heavy-lidded study, like he’s checking if I’m still here in my head. I am. Mostly.
Dark Hair tosses me a towel. “You’re good,” he says, voice low enough I almost miss it over the hiss of the steam pipes. The fabric’s rough against my over-sensitive skin, but I take my time with it, grounding myself in the scrape of cotton and the heat still radiating from my body.
By the time I stand, they’re already slipping out the door in a silent, wordless exit. No numbers, no names. Just the echo of their footsteps and the lingering throb of what we did, pulsing in places I’ll feel tomorrow.
I breathe deep, tasting them still on my tongue, and wonder if I’d take them again if they came back.