There's a moment just before you make a mistake before the line is crossed, the curtain drawn, the plunge taken where the world pauses.
You know you could still stop it.
You could shut it all down, turn your phone off, pretend you were joking. Pretend you're not wet just thinking about what's coming. Pretend you're not broken in the exact shape of the man you can't let go, or that you're not about to make it worse by dragging another body into the wreckage.
But I didn't stop it.
I was halfway through my second glass of red, the deep kind that tastes like smoke and regrets. My robe clung to my thighs like a secret, the silk still warm from the shower, a whisper of sin brushing my skin with every shift. My apartment was silent, dim, thick with candlelight and nerves. I was sitting in the space between choices, waiting for two men to walk through my door and either ruin me, save me or some complicated, filthy version of both.
One of them was Igor.
The man I loved. The one I hurt. The one I kept hurting, over and over again, because I didn't know how to love him right. My ex, my mistake, my fucking addiction. I could still taste him. Still hear the way he said my name when he hated me enough to want me.
The other was Stefan.
Igor's friend. Not close, but close enough. Tall, quiet, with eyes that missed nothing and a mouth that rarely said what it was thinking. A man who didn't owe me anything but was apparently willing to show up tonight and wrap his hands around my waist anyway.
It wasn't supposed to go like this.
This wasn't a plan. This was a domino line of mistakes, each one toppling faster than the last. It started with a text. A "hey." A "can we talk." Me trying to find my way back to Igor, even though the road was littered with broken glass and old arguments.
We talked. Kind of.
Mostly, we fucked.
It happened again after drinks. Then again after an apology I never really finished. The sex was raw ugly and toxic and full of teeth. We clawed at each other like animals, like we were trying to rip the pain out by the root. He slammed into me like he was punishing himself for coming back. I let him. I wanted him to. I came twice and cried after the third.
But it wasn't enough.
Even when he was inside me, it still felt like something was missing.
I knew he wasn't trying to fix anything. Neither was I.
So I offered him the only thing I had left.
"Whatever you want, Igor," I whispered one night, sweat cooling on our bodies, my throat raw, my body already bruised. "No rules."
He didn't answer. Just stared at me.
Eyes hard. Chest heaving. His cock still hard between us, like even his body didn't believe me.
A few days passed.
I thought maybe he'd forget it. Or pretend I hadn't said it. Or maybe that he didn't want anything from me anymore.
But then he asked.
"A threesome," he said. "With Stefan."
I laughed. Out of instinct. Shock. Nerves. I thought it was a joke. I hoped it was a joke.
But Igor didn't laugh. He didn't even blink.
"Why him?" I asked, sitting up in bed, still naked, the sheets tangled around my waist.
"Because we talked about it once," he said simply. "Back when things were good. He said he'd be down. And... he's the only guy I'd trust not to be a dick about it."
I hesitated. "And... you're okay with it?"
He didn't look at me when he said it.
"I just want to get it over with."
The words were a punch to the gut cold, final, bitter. Like sex was something to check off the list. Like he needed to exorcise me from his system and this was how he'd do it. With another man watching.
And maybe... maybe I deserved that.
Because I didn't say no.
I didn't fight it. I didn't even cry.
I just said, "Okay."
I didn't think he'd actually call Stefan.
But he did.
Apparently, it only took one phone call. A single, quiet conversation. A low voice. A long silence.
And Stefan said yes.
They showed up ten minutes apart. Stefan was first. He knocked lightly, probably trying not to seem eager. I opened the door in my robe, barefoot, and his eyes dropped just a little lower than they should've.
"Tina," he said with a small smile. "Looking... committed."
I laughed. "It's the outfit of a woman who's either making a huge mistake or finally learning to shut up and listen to what she wants."
He raised a brow. "So is this really happening?"
"That depends on both of you," I said, stepping aside.
Inside, we didn't touch right away. I offered drinks. We sat on the couch, awkward, talking about work and mutual friends and the weather like we weren't all quietly thinking about where this night was supposed to lead.
"I still think this is weird," Stefan finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... you and Igor. You guys were"
"A mess?" I offered.
He smiled. "I was going to say something nicer."
I nodded, gripping my wineglass tighter. "He deserves closure. Or revenge. Or a fantasy fulfilled. Maybe all of it. I just... I want to give him something real, even if it's fucked-up."
That's when Igor knocked.
And suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
When I opened the door, he looked the same and completely different. Same shaggy hair, same jawline that clenched when he was mad. But something behind his eyes had gone darker.
"Hi," I whispered.
He stepped inside without a word, nodding at Stefan, then walking right past us into the living room. He didn't sit. Just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at nothing.
We all sat in silence for a few long, thick seconds. The kind of silence that doesn't settle it tightens, curling around your ribs like a too-tight belt. My skin felt hot, but the air felt heavy. Unspoken things pressed in from every angle.
Then Stefan shifted in his seat, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and broke the silence.
"Look," he said, voice calm and grounded, like he was trying to set something straight. "We don't have to do anything tonight, alright? No pressure. If this was a one-time thing for fun or even a mistake we can just talk. Chill. It's not a trap."
He looked between us, his eyes pausing longer on Igor.
Igor didn't lean forward. He didn't say anything for a moment. Just snorted under his breath and shook his head, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his nose.
"I'm not here to talk," he muttered, not looking at either of us.
But Stefan stayed steady. "I know, man. I just..." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just want to make sure you're really okay. This kind of thing? It changes shit."
That made Igor look up. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were darker than they'd been all night.
"I'm not cool," he said, voice low. "But I want this. I need it."
That hit harder than I was ready for.
I felt something swell up in my throat regret, guilt, maybe. I wanted to say something, maybe apologize again, tell him he didn't have to go through with this if it hurt too much. But the words tangled up and died behind my teeth. All I could do was move.
So I stood.
I crossed the room slowly, the robe I wore swishing softly around my thighs, suddenly too warm. And I stopped between them, physically closing the space but not yet bridging the emotional divide.
"If either of you don't want to do this," I said quietly, "I'll understand. I really mean that. This has to be something all three of us want. Otherwise, it's just gonna leave more bruises."
Igor's eyes met mine. Something behind them cracked just a little.
"It's not about that," he said, and his voice was rough now, like it had been scraped across glass. "It's not that I don't want to."
He looked down, jaw clenching again, then back at Stefan.
Then, quieter, more vulnerable than I'd ever heard him:
"I just don't want to spend the whole night comparing myself to you."
For a second, I didn't understand.
Then Stefan blinked, eyebrows pulling together. "Wait... what?"
Igor let out another short, humorless laugh. "I don't need to see some goddamn big fat dick in front of me and feel like the lesser man while I'm trying to fuck my ex one last time, alright?"
His voice was sharp. A little embarrassed. Not angry at Stefan, just... cornered. Exposed. A man already holding broken pieces and not wanting someone else's confidence to make the cracks feel deeper.
The air shifted again.
And I felt it not just between them, but in me. Not arousal, not yet, but a swell of heat that wasn't just sexual. It was emotional. I felt the rawness of his words. How unguarded he was willing to be, right there, in front of both of us. And something about that made me ache.
Stefan stayed still for a second. Then his face softened. Not pity respect. He stood slowly and crossed the few feet between them, keeping his posture easy, open. When he spoke again, it was low and steady.
"Igor," he said. "Man. Listen. No one's measuring anything here."
He gestured between the three of us. "This? Tonight? It's not a pissing contest. It's not about dick size, or who gets her off more, or any of that insecure bullshit guys are trained to obsess over."
He stepped a little closer but didn't crowd him.
"We're here because we all want to be. Because last night wasn't just hot it worked. It was messy and honest and good. And we're here to do it again because we trust each other."
