He kissed me slowly at first, mapping the place where my collarbone met the swell of my throat, then deeper, as if the world’s hunger could be answered by being wholly known. There was a way his lips asked for permission in each motion and a way my body answered in trust. Angel took the time to find the places I liked left unattended—the small curve behind the ear, the soft inner thigh—and her mouth made peace notes against my skin that belonged to an older kindness.
We moved together like a language three mouths could make into harmony—an odd thing that had become familiar to us. There were moments of tenderness that felt like prayer: Conley’s palm pressing the small of my back as if grounding me to the earth; Angel’s breath on my collarbone a promise of continuity; my hands threading th
