The rain had stopped hours ago, but the roads still shimmered black and wet beneath the dim flicker of streetlamps. Nathan gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, eyes squinting at the nearly empty road ahead as the car hummed quietly through the night. It was almost 2 a.m.
From the rearview mirror, he could just barely see the silhouette of his girlfriend--Rhea--slouched in the backseat, half draped over two strangers she insisted were "just some cool guys" she met at the bar. Nathan didn't even catch their names.
She had texted him earlier, half-coherent and full of bubbly emojis, begging him to come pick her up. And when he arrived, she was already outside, arms looped around two tall guys dressed in the same lazy kind of confidence that usually belonged to frat boys or fuckboys. Rhea wasn't picky when she was drunk--but she was always bold.
Now, the inside of the car was thick with quiet tension. The radio played softly--something ambient and forgettable. Nathan didn't dare turn it up. He kept glancing at the rearview mirror, trying to get a better look.
Rhea sat squarely in the middle of the backseat, dressed in her usual goth-clubwear--fishnet sleeves, black mesh crop top that dipped too low, and a ripped plaid mini skirt that barely covered her thighs. Her heavy black eyeliner had started to smudge beneath her eyes, giving her a messy, chaotic look she somehow pulled off better drunk than sober. Her thigh-high boots squeaked a little every time she shifted, legs pressed close together--until one of the guys on her left spread his legs lazily, his thigh bumping against hers. She didn't move.
Nathan cleared his throat. "So... you said they live an hour away?"
Rhea giggled, her voice thick with liquor and lipstick. "I think so. Don't worry, babe, they're super chill. Aren't you guys chill?" She leaned into the one on her right, her head dropping to his shoulder.
The guy on the right--tall, lean, with that shaved-under-cut look--grinned and slouched deeper into the seat. "Chill as hell," he muttered, voice smooth and low. The one on the left, slightly bulkier, smirked without looking at Nathan. "We're just enjoying the ride, man."
Nathan tried to smile. It didn't quite work. He looked back at the road, jaw tightening slightly. Something about the way they spoke felt... wrong. Too familiar with her. Too confident. And Rhea--usually half-asleep by now--was wide awake, giggling and whispering into their ears like she was still at the bar.
He tried to ignore it. But the quiet murmur of voices in the back never stopped.
"Your skirt's all bunched up," one of them said, too quietly.
Rhea laughed--low, throaty. "Then fix it," she teased, slapping at someone's hand.
Nathan flicked his eyes to the mirror again. She was leaning into both of them now, legs parted just enough to show skin between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her stockings. One of the guys had his arm draped casually along the backseat, knuckles brushing her shoulder. Her head tilted back against the headrest, exposing the curve of her neck, the black collar she always wore to parties catching the faint light.
"Cold back here?" Nathan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
She hummed. "Mmm... warm enough."
There was a brief silence. Then a sharp inhale--from one of the guys--and a wet smack of lips near her ear.
Nathan's stomach turned.
He forced himself to focus on the road. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was just drunken flirting, a little too touchy-feely. She was like that sometimes. She liked pushing buttons. Testing limits.
But the way her voice dropped... the way the car felt suddenly heavier... something was happening.
"...you got rings on all your fingers," one guy murmured. "That's so fucking hot."
Rhea giggled again, but this time it was softer, more intimate. "Bet you're wondering what else they're good for."
Nathan definitely heard that one. His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
A moment later, there was the faintest rustle of fabric. A breathless chuckle. Someone shifted in the backseat, and Rhea let out a muffled "Shhh..." like she was laughing at something obscene.
Nathan's heart pounded. He wanted to turn around. Wanted to say something.
But instead, he said, "We've still got like forty-five minutes."
Rhea responded with a small, airy "Mmmhmm." It was the sound of someone distracted. Someone busy.
The guy on her right murmured something too low to catch.
Then Rhea whispered, "You're such a tease," followed by the unmistakable sound of her breath catching.
Nathan's foot eased off the gas slightly. He didn't want to believe it--not yet. But in the mirror, he caught the faintest glimpse of movement: her arm shifting slowly in her lap... or maybe in someone else's. Her shoulder rose and fell in a rhythm too deliberate to be innocent.
The guy on her left sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth. His eyes fluttered closed for half a second.
Nathan blinked.
No. No way.
"Everything okay back there?" he asked, his voice cracked slightly.
Rhea answered too quickly. "Yup!"
One of the guys chuckled. "All good, man."
Nathan didn't say anything else. He just stared at the road, mind racing.
The car felt hotter now. Thicker. Like something was pressing down on him from all sides. From the mirror, he saw her arm shift again. Slower this time. Intentional.
And she smiled.
Not at him.
At them.
The world narrowed to the space inside that car.
The road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of darkness illuminated only by the headlights. Nathan's eyes flicked between the white lane lines and the rearview mirror, caught in a suspended moment of disbelief. His heart beat faster with every passing mile.
Rhea hadn't stopped moving.
At first, it was subtle--just the shift of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, her lips brushing someone's neck, someone's ear. But now... now it was unmistakable.
Her hands were buried between the two men.
Nathan didn't need to see them to know.
She was stroking them.
And she was enjoying it.
He could hear the wet sounds--the quiet drag of skin-on-skin beneath the hum of the car. Every now and then, one of the men would draw in a sharp breath. Suppressed. Barely audible. But real. So real.
Rhea whispered something and giggled--drunken but deliberate. One of the guys muttered "fuck..." under his breath, and she shushed him softly, as if they were hiding in plain sight.
Nathan didn't speak. Couldn't.
His fingers trembled around the steering wheel. His mouth was dry.
He hadn't turned the music up again. He wanted to hear everything. Even if it destroyed him.
In the mirror, he watched Rhea's profile. Her smile. Her parted lips.
Her tongue slowly swept across her bottom lip as she leaned closer to the guy on her left. She kissed the underside of his jaw, then whispered something that made him clench his thigh.
That's when Nathan saw her arm move--clearly.
A steady, deliberate pump.
Back and forth.
She wasn't hiding it anymore.
And neither were they.
The guy on her right let his head fall back against the seat. His mouth parted slightly, chest rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths. His left hand twitched on his thigh. Nathan saw it curl--then tighten into a fist as Rhea's other hand worked him beneath the edge of his hoodie.
She was using both hands.
Nathan's stomach flipped.
She looked like she was born for it--head swaying slightly, drunk on lust, her arms moving with practiced rhythm. Her fingers were adorned in silver rings, and he imagined how cold they must've felt on those hardening cocks. She always liked using her jewelry during sex. Said it made her hands "meaner."
Now those rings were sliding up and down two strangers' shafts.
Nathan bit the inside of his cheek, too hard.
He didn't want to be hard. He didn't want to feel anything.
But beneath his jeans, something stirred.
His eyes darted to the mirror again--just as one of the guys groaned softly and shifted his hips. The sound was quiet, strangled--but full of need. The kind of sound a man made when he couldn't take much more.
Rhea smiled. Turned toward him. Whispered, "Not yet."
Then she bent lower. Her hand disappeared from view--but the guy's jaw clenched, his hand gripped the seat, and Nathan saw the outline of his jeans twitch as she gave him a sudden, firmer stroke.
The car smelled different now.
Faintly musky. Warm. Male.
Nathan's mouth was dry.
"Fuck," the leaner guy muttered, barely audible. "Your hands are filthy."
Rhea giggled again--soft and pleased with herself.
"You like it?"
"You know I do."
The other one chimed in, voice hoarse. "She's a fucking succubus, bro."
