The air in the warehouse loft was thick with the smell of old wood and fresh paint. Late afternoon sun sliced through the high windows, catching dust motes in lazy spirals. Tara leaned against a chipped concrete pillar, her boots scuffing the floor as she scrolled through her phone, half-listening to the hum of the city outside. She was early , always was when she was restless. Her cropped leather jacket hung loose over a faded band tee, and her short nails tapped the screen with impatient precision. She wasn’t here to waste time.
“Yo, Tara, you beat us again?” Marcus’s voice echoed as he pushed through the heavy steel door, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. He was tall, wiry, with a shaved head and a grin that always looked like he was in on a joke you weren’t. His gym bag swung from one shoulder, and he carried a six-pack of cheap beer in his other hand. “What, you camp out here now?”
“Got bored,” Tara said, not looking up. “You’re late.”
“Blame this guy.” Marcus jerked his thumb at Javier, who trailed in behind him, locking the door with a deliberate click. Javier was shorter, broader, his dark hair mussed from the wind. He wore a plain gray hoodie and jeans that hugged his thighs, and his eyes flicked to Tara with a quiet intensity that made her stomach tighten. He didn’t smile as easily as Marcus, but when he did, it was sharp, like he’d just figured you out.
“Traffic,” Javier said, setting his own bag down. His voice was low, clipped, like he didn’t waste words. “You didn’t have to wait.”
Tara pocketed her phone and crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, I did. So let’s not drag this out.”
The three of them had been meeting here for months, ever since Marcus found the loft through a shady rental app. It was their spot , no roommates, no neighbors, just a raw, open space where they could do whatever they wanted. At first, it was just drinking, smoking, talking shit about their dead-end jobs. Tara was a bike courier, dodging cars and assholes all day. Marcus slung drinks at a dive bar, charming tips out of drunk regulars. Javier fixed cars at a garage, his hands always stained with grease no matter how much he scrubbed. They were all in their late twenties, stuck in the grind, and the loft was their escape.
But things had shifted lately. It started with a drunken game of truth or dare, the kind of thing you laugh off the next day. Except they didn’t. Marcus had dared Tara to kiss Javier, and she’d done it , hard, deliberate, her fingers curling into his hair. Javier hadn’t pulled away. Marcus had watched, his grin fading into something hungrier. The next time they met, the dares got bolder. Clothes came off. Lines blurred. Now, there was an unspoken agreement: they came here to push boundaries, to chase something raw and real, no strings attached.
Today, though, Tara felt a different kind of edge. She’d been restless all week, her skin itching for something she couldn’t name. Work had been brutal , some prick in a suit had nearly run her off the road, and she’d spent the rest of the day cursing under her breath. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to talk at all. She wanted to feel something, and she knew Marcus and Javier could deliver.
Marcus cracked open a beer and handed it to her. “You look pissed.”
“Always,” she said, taking a long swig. The cold fizz burned her throat, grounding her. “You gonna make it better or what?”
He laughed, but his eyes lingered on her, scanning her face like he was trying to read her. “Damn, straight to it? No foreplay?”
“Foreplay’s overrated,” she shot back, but her lips twitched into a half-smile. Marcus had a way of loosening her up, even when she was wound tight. He was cocky but not cruel, always testing how far he could push before she pushed back.
Javier, meanwhile, was unpacking his bag , slow, methodical, like he was stalling. Tara watched him, noticing the way his shoulders tensed under his hoodie. He was quieter today, his movements deliberate. She wondered what was eating him. Maybe a bad day at the garage, or maybe he was just as keyed up as she was. Either way, she liked how he held himself, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
“You good, Javi?” she asked, her tone casual but pointed.
He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting hers. For a second, she thought he’d brush her off, but then he shrugged. “Long day. Boss was on my ass.”
“Join the club,” she said, holding out her beer. He took it, their fingers brushing, and she felt a spark of heat shoot through her. His hands were rough, calloused, and she imagined them on her skin, gripping hard. She pushed the thought aside, but it lingered.
Marcus flopped onto the beat-up couch in the corner, kicking his feet up. “Y’all are moody as hell. What’s the vibe today? Cards? Shots? Or we skipping the bullshit?”
Tara’s pulse quickened. This was it , the moment they’d dance around until someone made a move. She could feel the tension building, thick and heavy, like the air before a storm. Marcus was playing it cool, but his eyes were sharp, watching her and Javier like a hawk. Javier, for his part, was still standing, his jaw tight as he took another sip of her beer.
She decided to cut through the haze. “I’m not here to play cards,” she said, her voice steady. She stepped closer to Javier, close enough to smell the faint tang of motor oil on him. “You?”
Javier’s eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, it was just them. She saw the flicker of want in his gaze, the same want she felt clawing at her insides. He didn’t answer right away, but his hand tightened around the beer bottle, and she knew he was in.
Marcus let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. Guess we’re doing this.”
Tara’s heart pounded, but she kept her face neutral. This wasn’t about feelings or promises , it was about need, about scratching an itch they all shared. She glanced at Marcus, then back at Javier. “No talking. Just do.”
Javier set the beer down, his movements slow but sure. He stepped closer, his body heat radiating against her. Marcus was already up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, his grin replaced by something darker, more focused. The loft felt smaller now, the air charged with anticipation.
Tara’s mind raced. She wanted this , wanted them , but a part of her was still wired from the day, still braced for a fight. She pushed it down, focusing on the moment. Javier’s hand brushed her arm, tentative at first, then firmer. Marcus was behind her now, his breath warm against her neck. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation anchor her.
This was what she came for. No strings, just sweat.
The loft was a cocoon of heat and breath now, the outside world reduced to a faint hum beyond the walls. Tara stood between Javier and Marcus, her pulse hammering in her throat. Javier’s hand lingered on her arm, his grip steady but not forceful, like he was waiting for her to set the pace. Marcus, behind her, was closer now, his chest brushing her back, his fingers grazing the hem of her shirt. She could feel the shift in the air, the moment where words stopped mattering and bodies took over.
“Fuck it,” Tara muttered, more to herself than them. She turned her head slightly, catching Marcus’s eye. His grin was gone, replaced by a look that was all focus, all want. She reached back, grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Don’t make me wait.”
Marcus let out a low chuckle, but it wasn’t his usual cocky one , it was rough, edged with something raw. “Bossy,” he said, but his hands were already moving, sliding under her shirt, his palms warm against her stomach. His touch was firm, confident, like he knew exactly how to unravel her. She arched into it, her skin prickling as his fingers traced higher, brushing the underside of her bra.
Javier hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on her, dark and unreadable. Tara reached out, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him forward. “You in or what?” she asked, her voice low, challenging. She wasn’t about to let him overthink this.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance, his mouth crashing into hers. The kiss was hard, urgent, his stubble scraping her chin. She tasted beer and something sharper, like the edge of his restraint breaking. Her hands moved to his neck, nails digging in as she kissed him back, matching his intensity. He wasn’t gentle, and she didn’t want him to be.
Marcus’s hands were under her bra now, pushing it up, his fingers finding her nipples. She gasped into Javier’s mouth, the dual sensations hitting her like a shockwave. Marcus pressed himself closer, his hips against her ass, and she could feel him, hard through his jeans. “Fuck, Tara,” he muttered against her ear. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Try keeping up,” she shot back, her voice breathy but sharp. She broke the kiss with Javier, turning her head to catch Marcus’s mouth instead. His kiss was different , slower, teasing, like he was savoring it. She bit his lower lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him groan.
Javier’s hands were on her now, tugging at her jacket. She shrugged it off, letting it hit the floor, then yanked her shirt over her head. The air was cool against her skin, but she barely noticed, too caught up in the heat of their hands, their mouths. Javier’s hoodie came off next, revealing the lean muscle of his chest, the faint scars crisscrossing his ribs from years of wrenching on cars. Tara traced one with her finger, her touch lingering, and he shivered.
“Bed,” she said, nodding toward the old mattress in the corner. It wasn’t much , just a bare frame with a worn sheet , but it was better than the floor. Marcus was already moving, kicking off his sneakers as he went. Tara followed, unbuttoning her jeans, her movements quick and deliberate. Javier hesitated for a split second, his eyes flicking between her and Marcus, but then he was with them, shedding his jeans with a quiet efficiency.
Tara’s mind was a blur of want, but a part of her was still hyper-aware, cataloging every detail. The way Marcus’s hands shook slightly as he pulled off his shirt, betraying his usual swagger. The way Javier’s jaw clenched when she stepped out of her jeans, her underwear clinging to her hips. She wasn’t here to perform or seduce , she was here to take what she needed, and they were right there with her.
She hit the mattress first, lying back, propped on her elbows. Marcus was on her in an instant, his mouth on her neck, his hands tugging her bra off completely. Javier knelt beside her, slower, his fingers brushing her thigh, then higher, slipping under the edge of her underwear. She sucked in a breath, her hips lifting instinctively.
“Fuck, Javi,” she said, her voice rough. “Don’t tease.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes glinted, and his fingers moved, sliding her underwear down. She kicked them off, spreading her legs slightly, unashamed. Marcus pulled back, watching as Javier’s hand moved between her thighs, his touch careful but firm. Tara’s breath hitched, her body responding faster than her mind could process.
Marcus leaned over, kissing Javier, their mouths meeting just above her. It wasn’t soft or tentative , it was hungry, almost aggressive, like they were both staking a claim. Tara watched, her arousal spiking at the sight. She’d seen them kiss before, but it hit different now, with Javier’s fingers inside her, curling just right, and Marcus’s hand still on her chest, pinching lightly.
“Get your pants off,” she told Marcus, her voice a command. He broke the kiss, grinning, and obeyed, shucking his jeans and boxers in one go. He was hard, his cock thick and ready, and Tara felt a pulse of anticipation. She turned her head, meeting Javier’s eyes. “You too.”
Javier pulled his hand away, leaving her aching, and stripped off the rest of his clothes. His body was compact, powerful, his cock already leaking at the tip. Tara’s mouth went dry, but she didn’t hesitate. She sat up, grabbing a condom from the pile they kept in a tin by the mattress. She tore it open, rolling it onto Javier with quick, practiced movements. He let out a low sound, his hands gripping her shoulders.
Marcus was back, his hands on her hips, pulling her toward him. “How we doing this?” he asked, his voice thick with need but still checking in. It was one of the things she liked about him , he pushed, but he never crossed the line.
Tara didn’t answer right away. She was too busy guiding Javier, positioning him so he was lying back, his head against the wall. She straddled him, her knees sinking into the mattress, and lowered herself slowly, taking him in. The stretch was sharp, intense, and she bit her lip, focusing on the sensation. Javier’s hands went to her hips, his fingers digging in, but he let her set the pace.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Tara…”
She didn’t respond, just started moving, slow at first, finding a rhythm. Marcus was behind her, his hands roaming her back, her ass. She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. “You know what I want,” she said, her voice steady despite the heat building inside her.
Marcus’s grin was back, but it was darker now. “Yeah, I do.”
He grabbed another condom, rolling it on, then reached for the lube they kept with the condoms. Tara leaned forward, her chest brushing Javier’s, her movements slowing but not stopping. She felt Marcus’s hand, slick and careful, prepping her. The sensation was strange, invasive, but she wanted it , wanted both of them, wanted to be pushed to the edge.
“Ready?” Marcus asked, his voice low, serious.
She nodded, her breath ragged. “Do it.”
Tara’s world narrowed to the press of bodies, the heat of skin, the ragged rhythm of their breathing. She was straddling Javier, his cock deep inside her, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers bruising, his eyes half-lidded but locked on hers. Behind her, Marcus was ready, his lubed fingers withdrawing as he positioned himself. The anticipation was a live wire in her gut, sharp and electric.
“Slow,” she said, her voice rough but firm, more for herself than him. Marcus murmured something she didn’t catch, but his hand on her lower back was steady, grounding. She leaned forward, her palms braced on Javier’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Javier’s breath hitched, his hips twitching up into her, and she hissed at the jolt of pleasure.
Marcus moved, pressing himself against her, careful but insistent. The stretch was intense, a burn that made her clench her teeth, but she pushed back, urging him on. “Keep going,” she said, her voice tight. He did, inching forward, his breath hot against her shoulder. The fullness was overwhelming, almost too much, but she wanted it , craved the way it made her feel like she was splitting apart and coming together all at once.
“Fuck, Tara,” Marcus groaned, his voice strained as he bottomed out. “You’re so tight.”
“Shut up and move,” she snapped, but there was no real venom in it. She was too far gone, her body humming with the dual sensations of Javier inside her pussy and Marcus in her ass. She started moving again, small shifts at first, testing the rhythm. Javier matched her, his thrusts shallow but steady, his hands sliding up to her hips. Marcus followed, his movements careful but growing bolder as she relaxed into it.
The loft was a blur of sound , skin slapping, low moans, the creak of the mattress frame. Tara’s mind was a haze, but fragments of thought cut through. The way Javier’s jaw ticked when she clenched around him, like he was fighting to hold on. The way Marcus’s fingers dug into her hips, possessive but not controlling. She felt powerful, like she was driving this, like they were both chasing her lead.
“Harder,” she said, her voice breaking. Javier’s eyes flashed, and he thrust up sharper, hitting a spot that made her gasp. Marcus matched him, his pace quickening, his hands pulling her back to meet him. The coordination wasn’t perfect , there were moments where they clashed, out of sync, but it didn’t matter. The rawness of it, the messiness, made it better.
Tara’s breath came in short bursts, her body coiling tighter with every thrust. She reached down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast, desperate. Javier watched, his gaze burning, and she felt his cock twitch inside her. “You close?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he rasped, his hands tightening on her. “Fuck, you’re killing me.”
Marcus let out a shaky laugh behind her. “Same.” His thrusts were less controlled now, more erratic, and she knew he was on the edge too. The thought of them both losing it because of her sent a spike of heat through her, pushing her closer to her own release.
She focused on the sensations , the stretch, the friction, the pressure building low in her belly. Her fingers moved faster, her hips grinding down onto Javier, back onto Marcus. “Don’t stop,” she said, her voice raw. “Both of you, don’t fucking stop.”
They didn’t. Javier’s thrusts grew sharper, his breath hitching with every movement. Marcus was vocal now, muttering curses under his breath, his hands gripping her so hard she knew she’d have marks tomorrow. Tara didn’t care. She wanted the marks, wanted the proof of this moment.
Her orgasm hit like a freight train, sudden and brutal. She cried out, her body seizing, waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her pussy clenched around Javier, her ass tightening around Marcus, and they both groaned, their rhythms faltering. Javier came first, his hips jerking up as he spilled into the condom, his face contorting with the intensity of it. Marcus followed seconds later, his thrusts erratic as he came, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, his breath hot and ragged.
For a moment, they were frozen, locked together, the aftershocks rippling through them. Tara’s limbs felt heavy, her body spent, but she didn’t move, savoring the weight of them, the heat. Slowly, Marcus pulled out, careful not to hurt her, and she winced at the emptiness. He flopped onto the mattress beside her, his chest heaving, one arm thrown over his eyes. Javier stayed where he was, his hands still on her hips, his cock softening inside her.
Tara eased off him, collapsing onto the mattress between them. Her body ached in the best way, her skin slick with sweat. She stared up at the cracked ceiling, catching her breath, her mind slowly clearing. The loft was quiet now, just the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the city.
“Fuck,” Marcus said after a minute, his voice hoarse. “That was… intense.”
Tara snorted, too tired to laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”
Javier didn’t say anything, but when she glanced at him, he was watching her, his expression unreadable. She raised an eyebrow, and he looked away, a faint flush on his cheeks. It was the closest he’d come to looking shy, and it made her smirk.
They lay there for a while, not touching, just existing in the same space. Tara’s mind wandered to the practical , condoms to toss, clothes to find , but she pushed it aside. She didn’t want to move yet, didn’t want to break the spell. This wasn’t about feelings or futures; it was about the now, about what they’d just done and how it had felt.
Eventually, Marcus sat up, grabbing his boxers from the floor. “I need a beer,” he said, his grin creeping back. “You guys good?”
Tara nodded, stretching her arms over her head. “I’m good.”
Javier just grunted, pulling on his jeans with slow, deliberate movements. Tara watched him, then Marcus, and felt a strange kind of clarity. This was enough. No promises, no complications. Just three people who knew what they wanted and took it.
She got up, wincing slightly as she moved, and started gathering her clothes. The loft felt different now, like the air had settled, the tension burned off. She didn’t know when they’d do this again , maybe next week, maybe never. It didn’t matter. They’d had this, and it was exactly what she’d needed.
“Same time next week?” Marcus called as she pulled on her shirt, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Tara shrugged, her lips twitching. “If I’m bored.”
Javier didn’t say anything, but he met her gaze as she headed for the door, and the look in his eyes said enough. She nodded at him, then at Marcus, and walked out, the steel door clanging shut behind her. The city was waiting, and she was ready to dive back in.