Chapter 12: Loose Relations

Rachel’s pen hovered over her notepad, her gaze flicking between the interlocked fingers of her clients—Diane’s manicured nails brushing Brianna’s knuckles, Devin’s thumb tracing slow circles on his mother’s wrist. The scent of sex still clung to them, subtle beneath citrusy shampoo and mint toothpaste. “Let’s begin,” she said, voice smooth as her crossed thighs. “How do you feel?”

Diane’s grin split her face, post-coital radiance softening the lines around her eyes. “Satisfied.” The word dripped with understatement, her tongue darting out to lick lingering salt from her lower lip.

Brianna giggled, the sound vibrating through where her shoulder pressed against Devin’s. “Stuffed.” She wriggled against the couch cushions, shifting her sundress to expose the faint red marks of teeth on her inner thigh—Diane’s, judging by the crescent shape.

Devin rolled his eyes, but the warmth in them betrayed him. “Loved. Fulfilled.” His fingers tightened around theirs, his other hand absently rubbing at the fresh scratches down his pectorals—Brianna’s doing, no doubt.

Rachel’s lips curved as she set down her pen. The atomizer in her drawer remained untouched; no chemicals were needed when their pupils were already blown wide with mutual adoration. “Good,” she murmured, standing with deliberate slowness. Her skirt whispered against her thighs as she rounded the desk, the click of her heels syncing with Devin’s sharp inhale. “Now let’s discuss why.”

Brianna’s grin turned predatory as Rachel stopped before them, her hand already reaching to skim the doctor’s stocking seam. Diane’s breath hitched when Rachel’s fingers carded through Devin’s sweat-damp hair, tugging just enough to make his Adam’s apple bob.

“Because,” Rachel breathed, bending until her lips brushed Devin’s temple, “some unions...” Her other hand slid up Diane’s bare calf, pushing her sundress higher. “ ... are sacraments.”

Brianna’s teeth flashed. “Amen.”

The couch groaned under shifting weight as Devin surged up, Rachel’s mouth meeting his in a clash of tongues and moans—Diane’s hands already working the buttons of her blouse, Brianna’s nails scoring red trails down her mother’s spine. The session, as always, had just begun.

Rachel counted seconds in the flutter of Devin’s pulse against her lips—thirty-seven, thirty-eight—her body arching into his grip without conscious thought. His hands spanned her waist through silk, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise, but she didn’t pull away. Not when his teeth grazed her lower lip (fifty-two), not when Diane’s whimper vibrated against her thigh (sixty-one). The atomizer’s ghost tingled on her tongue—unnecessary here, where devotion already hung thick as humidity.

“Enough,” Rachel gasped at seventy-three, tearing away with a wet sound that made Brianna snicker. Diane’s discarded blouse pooled on the floor like a fallen flag. “Bedroom.”

Brianna licked the shell of her mother’s ear. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The doctor’s heels clicked across hardwood as Devin rose—his erection straining against slacks, Rachel’s lipstick smeared across his chin—while Diane padded barefoot toward the adjoining suite, her bare ass dimpling with each step. Brianna trailed them both, unhooking her bra with one hand and flinging it at Devin’s head.

Rachel paused at the threshold, watching Diane climb onto the California King with the languid grace of a woman who’d already been fucked senseless twice that morning. Brianna’s panties—lace, teal—hit the carpet as the twins exchanged a look hotter than the midday sun pouring through the blinds. Devin’s fingers trembled on his belt buckle.

“Clothes,” Rachel reminded him, shrugging off her blazer with deliberate slowness. The sight of Diane spread across black satin sheets, thighs still glistening from earlier, made her own pulse stutter. “All of them.”

Devin’s zipper snarled its protest. Brianna’s laugh was pure sin as she crawled over her mother, hips swaying in time to some filthy rhythm only they could hear. Rachel’s breath caught when Diane’s hands rose—not to push her daughter away, but to guide Brianna’s mouth lower with a whispered “Show him how we taste.”

The bed creaked under fresh weight. Somewhere, a phone buzzed—unanswered, unimportant. Rachel’s stockings pooled around her ankles like shed skin.

Phase Fourteen had begun.

Brianna’s tongue carved scripture into her mother’s flesh—long, languid strokes punctuated by suction that made Diane claw at the headboard. The scent of Diane’s arousal clung to Brianna’s upper lip, mingling with the metallic tang of Rachel’s arousal still lingering from earlier. Brianna hooked her mother’s thighs over her shoulders, her nose buried in damp blond curls, her mouth working with the precision of a violinist—swirling, flicking, devouring with rhythmic intensity. Diane’s whimpers escalated into choked pleas, her hips lifting off the mattress in desperate little jerks, chasing the contact Brianna withheld just long enough to make her sob.

Across the bed, Devin’s sweat dripped onto Rachel’s collarbones as he held himself suspended above her, his elbows trembling with the effort of restraint. His cock breached her in unhurried increments—each millimeter a revelation, each retreat a devastation—until Rachel’s nails scored crescents into his forearms. The stretch bordered on unbearable, but the way he looked at her—like she was oxygen, like she was the only compass point in his universe—made her clench around him in involuntary pulses. His fingertips traced the shell of her ear, feather-light, then skimmed down her jawline in a mimicry of Brianna’s earlier ministrations. The technique works on everyone, Rachel realized, her breath hitching as Devin’s hips rolled in a slow, obscene circle that ground his pubic bone against her clit. The pleasure was secondary to the terrifying warmth blooming behind her sternum.

No. Rachel’s clinical mind rebelled even as her body arched into him. This wasn’t protocol. Clients didn’t own her. Yet Devin’s possessive grip on her hips—claiming without bruising—sent a jolt of white-hot rightness through her veins. His next thrust knocked the air from her lungs, his gaze pinning her more thoroughly than his body ever could.

Brianna’s triumphant cry shattered the moment. Diane’s orgasm ripped through her with enough force to lift her clean off the mattress, her thighs clamping around Brianna’s head as she screamed her daughter’s name. Rachel’s own climax crested in sympathetic waves, her walls fluttering around Devin’s cock in helpless spasms. He groaned her name—not Doctor, not Renworth—and the intimacy of it shattered her completely.

The bedsprings squealed as Brianna crawled toward them, Diane’s essence glistening on her chin. “My turn,” she breathed against Devin’s shoulder. Rachel should’ve recoiled. Should’ve reasserted professionalism. Instead, she guided Brianna’s mouth to hers, tasting the proof of their shared depravity—and welcomed the collision.

Devin’s withdrawal left Rachel hollow—aching. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat as Brianna’s thighs bracketed her head, the younger girl’s damp heat radiating inches from her lips. A whimper escaped her, raw and unbidden. Brianna’s answering chuckle vibrated through her. “You like belonging to us,” she murmured, sinking down.

Rachel’s tongue met Brianna in midair, the first contact sparking white behind her eyelids. Salt and musk and something indefinably Brianna flooded her senses. She clutched the girl’s hips, pulling her closer, deeper—losing herself in the rhythm Brianna set. Above her, Diane’s moans rose in pitch as Devin’s hips pistoned upward.

Brianna rode Rachel’s face with the same ruthless efficiency she’d used on the uneven bars—arched, precise, perfect. Rachel’s fingers dug into supple flesh as Brianna ground against her, each juddering thrust smearing arousal across her nose, her cheeks. The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard pounding the wall in time with Devin’s strokes.

Rachel’s climax hit with the force of a bullet—her body bowing, muffled screams vibrating against Brianna’s core. Dimly, she registered Devin’s roar, Diane’s sob, the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh with desperate abandon.

When Brianna finally lifted away, Rachel gasped for air, her lips swollen and glistening. Across the rumpled sheets, Diane lay sprawled atop her son, their limbs tangled in exhausted surrender. Brianna stretched lazily beside her, tracing idle patterns on Rachel’s stomach.

The doctor’s fingers trembled as she reached for Brianna’s hand—not to stop her, but to hold on. The realization settled like a stone in her chest: She’d orchestrated their ruin, only to become its most willing casualty.

And as Brianna’s sleepy fingers laced through hers, Rachel understood with terrifying clarity: There’d be no going back.

She stretched like a cat, her thigh brushing Brianna’s, and watched Devin’s cum leak from his mother’s well-used pussy—thick, white pearls sliding down Diane’s inner thigh to stain the black satin sheets beneath her. Diane sighed in her sleep, her fingers flexing against Devin’s chest where she’d collapsed atop him, her mouth slack against his collarbone.

Rachel smiled—slow, secret—and swallowed around the sudden tightness in her throat.

She’d been owned before—by clients, by procedures, by protocols—but never like this. Never with Devin’s teeth marks still throbbing on her hip, Brianna’s taste lingering on her tongue, Diane’s whispered confessions echoing in her skull. And yet—paradox of paradoxes—it only made the next step more vital.

Because Devin would father children on his mother. On his sisters. On her.

And he would never abandon them—never abandon any of them—because Devin Nolan was that rarest of creatures: a man who took responsibility.

Rachel exhaled, her fingers tightening around Brianna’s.

“Do you ever worry...” she murmured, pitching her voice just loud enough to wake Diane, “ ... about protection?”

Diane’s lashes fluttered—once, twice—her sleepy gaze focusing on Rachel’s face with dazed confusion.

“Even the pill,” Rachel continued, stroking Brianna’s knuckles with her thumb, “isn’t perfectly effective.”

Diane’s breath hitched. Her tongue darted out, swiping across suddenly dry lips.

Rachel raised her eyebrows—a practiced, delicate arch.

Cue the gasp, she thought.

“What if...” She let the words hang—ripe, forbidden—before finishing: “ ... it’s already too late?”

Diane’s eyes widened—shock, yes, but beneath it, something darker. Something hungrier.

Devin stirred beneath her, his cock twitching against her thigh.

Brianna’s nails bit into Rachel’s palm—not in protest, but in anticipation.

And Rachel—doctor, manipulator, lover—knew with bone-deep certainty:

Phase Fifteen had begun.

Brianna’s laugh bubbled up like champagne fizz—sharp, bright, knowing—as Rachel’s words settled between them. The doctor’s fingers stilled where they’d been tracing idle circles on Brianna’s palm, but the girl only tightened her grip, refusing to let her pull away.

“Rachel,” Brianna murmured, rolling the name around her tongue like a candy she’d been savoring for days, “you cheeky bitch.” The puzzle pieces clicked into place with near-audible finality—the directed sessions, the lingering touches, the way Rachel’s breath always hitched whenever Devin mentioned future plans. Brianna’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but her voice stayed languid, amused. “All this time ... you just wanted him to breed us.”

Across the bed, Diane went rigid atop Devin, her thighs clenching around his hips in an instinctive spasm. Brianna watched her mother’s throat work—once, twice—before Diane managed to swallow. She suddenly realized she’d never seen her mother’s pills. She’d never come across them even once.

Brianna’s lips curved in a giggle.

Oh Mom.

Devin’s hand found Diane’s hip, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the divot of her pelvis. “You’re not...” His voice cracked, rough with sleep and spent passion. “You’re not on anything?”

Diane’s lashes fluttered—guilty, terrified, thrilled. Brianna could practically see the arguments forming in her mother’s mind: It’s too soon, it’s too risky, what will people say— all the while her body cradled Devin’s spent cock with possessive heat, her muscles fluttering in subconscious pulses Brianna recognized from shared baths and locker rooms.

Diane was built for this.

Brianna’s toes curled against Rachel’s calf, her other hand drifting to her own flat stomach. The phantom weight of a child—Devin’s child—settled low in her belly, warm and inevitable.

Soon, she promised herself. But not yet.

Rachel’s fingers twitched against hers—calculating, nervous. Brianna smirked and brought the doctor’s knuckles to her lips, biting down just hard enough to make Rachel gasp.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Brianna murmured against her skin. “You’ll get your happy ending.”

She glanced at her mother’s trembling form, at Devin’s dawning comprehension, and grinned.

“We always do.”

Diane’s voice cracked like thin ice, her fingers splaying across Devin’s chest—anchoring herself to the steady rise and fall of his breath. The pill had never been an option; she’d learned that at seventeen, when her first dose swelled her throat shut and sent her crawling to the E.R. with hives painting her body in angry scarlet. “Condoms,” she whispered, her gaze darting to Rachel’s unreadable face. “Sean ... we never—”

A shudder ripped through her as the realization struck: the stretched-out Trojan wrapper in the upstairs trashcan, the condoms still sealed in Sean’s nightstand drawer, the way Devin had filled her raw every time—no barrier, no hesitation. Her thighs clenched around him reflexively, the motion squeezing a thick droplet of cum from her battered entrance. It smeared hot against Devin’s thigh, glistening under the midday sun like an accusation.

Brianna’s sharp inhale cut through the silence. “Holy shit.” Her fingers dug into Rachel’s wrist, her pupils swallowing green irises whole. “You could be—”

“Don’t.” Diane’s nails bit crescents into Devin’s pectorals as the enormity of it crashed over her—the scent of their incest still clinging to the sheets, the way her womb ached from his relentless pounding. She’d let him. Wanted him. Every creampie a gamble, every orgasm a roll of the dice. Russian roulette with her fallopian tubes as the chamber.