My wife looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I want you to make my best friend come tonight.” I laughed. She didn’t. That single sentence is how the most intense night of my life started. I watched Sophia pour another glass of wine for Cassie. The three of us had been sitting in the living room for hours, the conversation drifting from work complaints to the quiet frustrations Cassie had been carrying. Her husband traveled constantly. When he was home, he was distant, mechanical. She had said it casually at first, then with a raw edge that made Sophia reach across the couch and squeeze her hand. “You deserve to feel wanted,” Sophia said softly. “Really wanted.” Cassie looked at me then, just for a second, before her eyes dropped back to her glass. I felt heat climb the back of my neck. Sophia’s gaze found mine and held it. There was no jealousy in it—only something deliberate and warm. “Tell him what you need,” Sophia murmured to her friend. Cassie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t even remember the last time someone touched me like they meant it.” Sophia stood, took Cassie’s hand, and drew her up. She looked at me again. “Come here.” I rose without thinking. Sophia guided Cassie to stand in front of me, then stepped behind her, resting her chin lightly on Cassie’s shoulder. “Kiss her,” my wife said quietly. “Slowly.” I cupped Cassie’s face. Her skin was warm, a little flushed from the wine. When my mouth met hers she made a small sound—surprise, then something softer. Sophia’s hands slid around Cassie’s waist, holding her steady while I deepened the kiss. Cassie’s lips parted. She tasted like wine and the faint sweetness of lip balm. Sophia’s voice stayed calm, almost instructional. “Her neck. She likes that.” I trailed my mouth down the side of Cassie’s throat. She tilted her head to give me more room. Sophia’s fingers worked the buttons of Cassie’s blouse open one by one, then pushed the fabric off her shoulders. Cassie’s bra followed. I cupped her tits, feeling the weight of them, the way her nipples tightened under my thumbs. Sophia watched, her own breathing changing. “Take her to the bedroom,” Sophia said. We moved together. Cassie walked between us, bare from the waist up, her hand linked with mine. In the bedroom Sophia turned on the low lamp beside the bed and began undressing with the same steady focus she brought to everything. I helped Cassie out of the rest of her clothes, then shed my own. When we were all naked Sophia guided Cassie onto the bed and motioned for me to kneel between her legs. “Look at her,” Sophia said. “Really look.” Cassie’s body was different from Sophia’s—softer in places, fuller hips, a small birthmark just above her left hipbone. I ran my hands up her thighs. She shivered. Sophia sat beside us, one hand stroking Cassie’s hair. “Use your mouth. Make her come before you even think about fucking her.” I lowered my head. The first stroke of my tongue drew a sharp inhale from Cassie. I worked slowly, learning her—the way she rocked when I focused on her clit, the soft curses that slipped out when I slid two fingers inside her and curled them. Sophia kept talking in that low, steady voice, telling me when to slow down, when to press harder, when to suck gently. Cassie’s hands found my hair. Her hips lifted. When she came it was with a broken sound, her thighs trembling against my shoulders. Sophia leaned down and kissed her through it, then looked at me with dark eyes. “Good. Now I want you inside her. Slow. Let her feel every inch.” I moved over Cassie. She reached for me, guiding me between her legs. The first push inside her made both of us groan. She was tight, slick, still pulsing faintly from her orgasm. Sophia’s hand rested on the small of my back, setting the pace—long, deep strokes that made Cassie dig her nails into my shoulders.