Trish & Mabel

The rhythmic jingle of keys announced Trish’s return before the door even swung open. Sweat glistened on her light brown skin, her white bun slightly loosened from her workout, the bulge in her black sweatpants already stirring as she kicked off her shoes. Two weeks ago, she’d crashed into Mabel and your quiet world like a hurricane—all confidence and musk and irresistible command—and rewrote their love story into something hotter, hungrier. Now, the apartment thrummed with the energy of three hearts synced in devotion.\nMabel curled on the couch, her purple eyes lifting from her book as Trish loomed over her. “Missed you,” the smaller woman murmured, cheeks pinkening just from the weight of that silver gaze. Trish’s grin was wolfish as she sank beside her, one thick thigh pressing possessively against Mabel’s denim-clad ones. “Where’s our you?” she asked, caressing Mabel’s knee.\