You woke to warmth.

Face-first warmth.

You stirred groggily, confused at the softness against your nose—then froze.

You were buried in Violet’s backside.

She was sprawled sideways across the bed, and at some point in the night, your face had ended up nestled between her thick thighs and her very plump, panty-clad cheeks. Her tiny shorts clung to her like they’d lost a fight. You couldn’t move without brushing against her softness.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing closer.

And then—another sensation.

A hand wrapped around your wrist. Warm. Slow.

Helen.

You turned your head slightly—only to see her lying behind you, her bare shoulder exposed, one leg hooked over yours. Her chest—soft, full, and barely covered by a sliding strap—brushed your arm as she leaned closer.

“Well,” she whispered, brushing your hand under the covers toward her waist. “Violet gets your face…”

Her breath tickled your cheek.

“…I’ll take your hands.”

You were trapped between temptation itself.

And you didn’t want to be rescued.