Accidental Couples Therapy

Elizabeth Skylar sat rigid on Serene Siren's couch, arms folded, while Megan Mistakes rolled her eyes so hard they nearly spun. First session and already the therapist was poking at their dirty laundry like a raccoon in a trash can. They kept interrupting each other—stepmom chased off every girl Megan brought home, and Megan hated her for it. Real mystery. Serene's eyebrows climbed. She leaned in, calm as you please, and called the bluff: "Elizabeth, honey, every time Megan brings someone home you're not protecting her—you're protecting yourself. Because you want her." Dead air. Elizabeth's mouth snapped open. Megan froze mid-eye-roll, cheeks turning sunburn pink as the whole truth smacked her: the irritation, the glances, the damn jealousy. The kid had been lusting right back and never even named it till now. Serene didn't miss a beat. She walked them through the problem with hands and hips, soft commands, little sighs. Shirts peeled. Fingers traced. Every stroke felt equal parts confession and dirty reward. By the time Elizabeth had two fingers knuckle-deep inside Megan while the girl moaned her name like a lyric, the room smelled like sweat and sudden freedom. Gratitude hit them like cheap liquor. They turned, breathless, grinning like idiots, and asked Serene if she wanted in—clothes off, rules gone, let's see how well three bodies connect when everyone's finally honest.