Backstage of Suprise party - 2.

Mya’s deep bronze skin glows beside Sandy’s pale curves while they linger in the empty dressing room, half costumed, sipping drinks. Only Jamaica arrived early. He fills the doorway with his solid frame and lets the door swing shut behind him. Mya steps forward first, runs a nail down his chest, and the two women circle him like silk around steel. Sandy’s fingers make quick work of his belt; Mya pulls his shirt overhead. They work in rhythm, one stroking, the other tasting, and Jamaica’s breath catches when their tongues meet at the crown. They guide him onto the velvet couch, and the dressing-room lights throw soft shadows across three bodies moving without hurry. Mya settles over him, taking him inch by inch while Sandy straddles his face, hips rocking in time with Mya’s rolling spine. The air thickens with low moans and the wet sounds of skin meeting skin. They trade places without missing a beat, Sandy’s thighs trembling as she sinks down, Mya grinding against Jamaica’s mouth, hands fisted in his curls. Sweat beads on collarbones; the three of them crest together, the party still hours away.