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Assistant: Title: The Laws of Love
        Author: Polin_dreamscape Polin_dreamscape 
        Chapter: 2/2 
        Summary: When Penelope lands a job as an assistant at a prestigious law firm, like other assistants she too spend much of her time speculating about the love life of her brilliant, enigmatic boss Francesca and her dangerously charming partner Michael. What she doesn’t expect is to become the object of desire—and affection of both Francesca and Michael.But that's the catch!Laws of love defy all the logic. And Penelope is about to find it.
        Contents: Chapter 2
    

    

        
          
          
            Penelope couldn’t stop watching them. Not in the way she used to—distant admiration, quiet longing—but with the astonished realisation that they were here. With her.Francesca caught her looking and smiled over her tea. “What’s going on in that clever head?”Penelope bit her lip, but her eyes sparkled. “I like to watch you hissing at each other like cats.”Michael looked up from where he was slicing a pear, brows rising. “You’re making fun of us?”Penelope shrugged, far too pleased with herself. “A little.”Francesca’s grin went slow and wicked. She reached for a strawberry, slid it between Penelope’s lips, and leaned in close, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I’ll show you how cats fight.”Penelope gasped around the fruit—and bolted.
          
        

      
        
          Here's a culmination of this office romance. I hope I did justice to it. Hope you like it @celestial_mess1
      
  

  
  
    
     The scent of coffee stirred her in the morning before anything else did. Not strong and bitter, but mellow—caramelised somehow. Something floral in the background. A hint of citrus. Penelope stretched under soft sheets, the ache in her body sweet and heavy, and blinked her eyes open. Sunlight streamed across Francesca’s penthouse bedroom, warming the sheets tangled around her thighs. She was alone in the bed—but not for long. Francesca padded in first, barefoot and glorious in a wine coloured silk robe, holding a tray balanced with effortless grace. “Look who’s finally awake,” she said lightly, placing it on the bed. “Was starting to wonder if we’d worn you out permanently.” Penelope laughed, a bit sheepish. “Close call.” Michael followed a moment later, dressed in joggers and a Henley that clung lovingly to his chest. He carried nothing but a spoon, which he promptly dipped into a tiny jar of honey on the tray and held out. “Open up,” he said with a lopsided grin. She opened her mouth instinctively, and he placed the spoon between her lips. The honey was absurdly good—lavender and something richer. She let it melt on her tongue, blinking up at him. “Mmm…’s too good,” she mumbled. Michael chuckled and sat beside her, sprawling comfortably, his hand slipping under the sheets to rest over her hip, as he pulled her in a kiss. Francesca settled on her other side, tucking one leg beneath her and handing Pen a small cup of that heavenly coffee when they parted from the kiss. The silence stretched, easy and warm, and Penelope took a few sips from the cup,not knowing what exactly to say and how to say it. Thankfully Fransecsa finally broke it with a soft, “Can we talk about last night?” Penelope'sheart gave a nervous flutter. “Sure,” she said cautiously. Michael leaned in, kissing her temple. “Nothing bad. Just… honest.” Fransecsa took a breath. “I know what impression you are under. All that office gossip… well, let's just say, it's not true. But it's not untrue either. Michael and I—we’re not together. Not in the way people think.” Penelope blinked. “You’re not?” “We’ve known each other forever,” Francesca explained, voice soft. “Since uni. He’s my best friend. My—other half, in some ways. We’ve shared lovers before. Trusted each other in everything.” “We love each other. But we never fell in l ve with each other in the romantic way. And we’ve never fallen in love that way with the same person at the same time either,” Michael said, his voice quieter now. “Until you.” Penelope's breath caught.  Love? Fallen in love?? “We didn’t plan it,” Francesca murmured. “But you’re… you’re brilliant, and kind, and wicked. And every time you smile at one of us, the other gets jealous.” “So the angry glares you used to throw at me, was it because of jealousy towards each other?” Penelope asked, eyes widened, a thrill coursed through her veins at the idea of them getting jealous of each other because of her. And here she thought—“You two were playing this game of seducing me, while I was afraid I was stepping onto a perfect relationship between two perfect people.” Michael’s hand flexed gently against her hip. “Last night wasn’t just a game, Penelope. It wasn't a conquest. We don’t want it to be a one-time thing.” She looked between them.  Francesca—her composed, radiant boss suddenly looked vulnerable in a way Penelope had never seen before. And Michael—earnest, soft-eyed, the protective tension in his shoulders betraying how much he cared. Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you saying?” Francesca leaned in, brushing hair back from her face. “We’re saying,” she murmured, “if you want this—want us—we’ll take care of you. Together. We’ll make you feel adored. Every single day.” Michael’s fingers trailed down her thigh. “No pressure. No rush. Just honesty. We’re falling for you, Penelope. Both of us” She looked between them. Her chest ached—in that delicious, too-full way when the heart is stretching into something new. And still… the newness of this, the strangeness of this dynamics was giving her a pause. “I don’t know what to call this,” she whispered. “Or what it makes me.” Francesca smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “It makes you ours.” Michael kissed her shoulder. “Just ours.” Penelope closed her eyes. Let herself feel it. Could she be theirs? Maybe it was not what she had ever imagined herself to be. But being theirs felt an awful lot like a real and delightful thing to be.  —   It didn’t take long for the bubble of happiness—caused by being desired by godlike creatures—to burst, dropping her on her b@m into the mortal world with a thud She just had to glance at herself—ratty pyjamas, tired eyes, standing in the yellow light of her basic little flat—for the illusion to shatter. Just like that, she was back to being Penelope Featherington: average, ordinary, unremarkable. Nothing like the girl who’d been worshipped by her impossibly elegant boss, Francesca, or her devastatingly charming partner, Michael. Nothing like the woman she’d seen reflected in Francesca’s ceiling mirror—flushed, beautiful, adored. Surely, they couldn't be serious about all the things they said that previous morning. Be ours. Ours?  As if it was that easy.  She got ready in a daze on Monday morning. Nibbled absentmindedly at her sandwich. Poured the rest of her tea down the drain halfway through drinking it. Stepped onto the tube and was on her way to the office well before her usual time. Penelope arrived ten minutes early. Not because she wanted to impress anyone—though she still sort of did—but because she needed those extra minutes to get her head on straight. She had not slept well. Which was to say: she had slept too well—tucked between two far-too-beautiful bodies on Friday night, after hearing something that turned her insides to champagne bubbles and static. Then she’d gone home that Saturday and spent the entire weekend sleeping in—because that’s when she could dream. Dream about the life they’d painted for her. A life where she was theirs. A life that seemed absurd at first glance. But was it, really? Could it happen? For real? “We’re falling for you.”“We’ll take care of you.”“Ours.” She had replayed those words in her head so many times during her morning shower that she nearly conditioned her hair twice. What did it mean, really? Was it l@st? An experiment? Would they get bored of her once the novelty wore off? Did she want to say yes? Did she already say yes with her body the other night? She’d barely sat down at her desk when Michael strolled past her cubicle. “Morning, Red,” he murmured, not pausing. “Sleep well?” She nearly knocked over her coffee. Francesca appeared ten minutes later, in sleek black trousers and a sleeveless white blouse that screamed money and poise and don’t even try me. Her hair was up in a sharp twist, her red lipstick a declaration of war. She paused beside Penelope’s desk just long enough to say, “You left your earring on my bedside table,” before walking into her glass office. Penelope blinked. She had. Her favourite pearl stud. Which meant Francesca had seen it that morning. Held it in her fingers. Possibly even— “Jesus,” Penelope whispered to herself. Now was not the place nor the time to conjure up images of her boss sucking on her pearl. The rest of the day was a slow descent into madness. She tried her best to act normal. She proofread the Henderson file, filed two motions, fetched coffee (for herself this time), and ate a suspiciously healthy salad at her desk while pretending not to glance up every time her boss moved through the office like a blade in heels. Michael, of course, was infuriating. He sent her one email. Subject: Urgent: Time Sensitive Body:  Are you free for dinner tonight?  Not a work thing. Unless you want it to be.  Mic. Penelope stared at the screen, mouthing Oh my God while trying not to visibly vibrate. But the worst part—the worst—was that no one else in the office seemed to notice. As far as admin assistant Taylor and paralegal Jamie were concerned, it was business as usual. Francesca was her usual terrifyingly competent self. Michael was a laid-back, infuriating flirt. The sky was blue. The espresso machine still needed descaling. Life rolled on. Only Penelope felt like she was coming undone by the minute. By 4:43 p.m., her will was crumbling. She pushed her chair back, intent on going to the kitchen to splash water on her face—or maybe douse herself entirely. That’s when Francesca appeared at her side. "Meeting in conference Room B. Five minutes. Bring a notepad." Penelope blinked. “What—what meeting?” Francesca smiled. “Consider it a personal one.” And then she left. Just like that. Leaving Penelope no time to panic properly. She glanced toward Michael’s office across the hall. He was watching. And smiling.  And then he winked at her.  Conference Room B was one of the smaller ones—no windows, one long sleek table, and a ridiculous number of ergonomic chairs for a space this size. It smelled like lemon cleaner. Penelope arrived two minutes early, notepad in hand, heart hammering. This is a professional setting, she reminded herself. You are wearing tights and a blouse and three layers of deodorant. Act like it. She was flipping her pen over in her fingers when the door opened. Francesca slipped in without a sound, closing it firmly behind her. No files. No laptop. No agenda. Just her. Poised. Dangerous. Leaning back against the door, arms crossed. Penelope cleared her throat. “What’s the—um—meeting about?” Francesca didn’t move. “You tell me.” Penelope opened her mouth. Closed it. “I thought,” she began, carefully, “we should set some rules.” Francesca arched one brow. “Rules?” Penelope sat a little straighter. “Yes. Boundaries. I mean, Friday night was… extraordinary. I’m not saying I regret anything, but I don’t want this to… bleed into the workplace. It’s confusing. It’s not professional.” Francesca said nothing. She just tilted her head slightly to one side, like a cat watching a trapped bird explain why it didn’t want to be eaten. Penelope rushed on. “I work for you. That’s not a small thing. If people noticed—if someone found out—it could undermine both of you. And I like my job. I want to be taken seriously. Not—” She stopped. Blushing. She wasn’t sure how to phrase ‘not looked at like someone who got ahead on her back.’ Francesca’s eyes didn’t waver. She stepped away from the door, walking towards Penelope with slow, measured steps that echoed in the silence. “You think we don’t take you seriously?” Francesca asked softly. “I—I didn’t mean that. I just—” Just then Michael opened the door with his usual disarming charm and a too-knowing glance between the two of them.“Everything alright in here?”Francesca leaned back on the table like a woman who’d won a round.“Penelope here thinks we don't take her seriously.”Michael blinked once. Then twice. Slowly shutting the door behind him with a soft click.“Wait,” he said, voice low, brows knit. “You think we’re not serious about you?”Penelope opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just stared between them, heart pounding like a war drum. Francesca’s expression had softened, and Michael’s eyes—God, his eyes—looked wounded, somehow.“I just—” she said at last, hugging her elbows to her chest. “This all feels like a game. Like… you’re both too perfect, too together. I don’t understand why you’d want me between you.”Michael took a slow step toward her. Then another. He didn’t touch her. He just stood close enough for her to feel the heat of him.“Penelope Featherington,” he said her name, as if it were a prayer. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been circling you?” “Sweetheart,” Francesca said, “you were hired because you’re clever. You’ve earned every bit of respect here. But do you honestly believe I haven’t been thinking about touching you since the interview?” Penelope’s breath caught. Francesca leaned forward slightly. “Do you think I gave a single d@mn about ‘professional distance’ when I saw the way you blush? When I heard you laugh?” Her fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from Penelope’s face, which made the redhead freeze. “And Michael?” Francesca continued, tone dropping. “He wanted you the moment you called him sir by accident, when he saved you from the printer jam the first week you worked here. I saw it happen in real time. He wanted to spank you so bad, he nearly choked on his coffee.” Penelope looked between them, astonished, shaking her head slightly. What were they saying?! “But… you’re you. Francesca—you’re brilliant and confident and stunning. And Michael—you’re… well. You belong in a magazine. And not just Legal Week. In an actual fashion magazine!” He smiled, gently, his voice a low hush. “And you’re Penelope Featherington. Do not forget that! You're a brilliant young woman who thinks three steps ahead of everyone. Who cares enough to rewrite the whole bl@@dy office handbook when no one asked her to. Who says ‘thank you’ to the coffee machine.” Francesca was beside her now, sliding her hand into Penelope’s. “And who blushes every time I call her darling. Even now.” Penelope bit her lip. “You’re both saying these beautiful things, but how do I know this isn’t just… novelty? Something exciting for a while?” Francesca didn’t flinch. “Because it’s already not that. Not for me.” Michael nodded slowly. “Or me.” Francesca drew Penelope’s hand to her chest, over her heart. “I don’t bring just about any woman home. I don’t make them breakfast. I don’t fall asleep holding anyone but myself.” Michael added softly, “I haven’t looked at anyone else in… months. I didn’t realise how long, until you smiled at me one morning and I thought—this is who I want.” Penelope's eyes brimmed before she could stop them. “I don’t know what to do with this.” Francesca leaned in and kissed her brow. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… let yourself believe it.” Michael pressed his forehead to hers. “Let us show you.” Penelope made a strangled noise of protest, even as her thighs pressed together. “I came here to talk boundaries,” she said weakly. “Not… relive… blush-inducing things.” Francesca leaned in, her mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “So talk. I’ll listen.” But Penelope could feel it—the shift in the air. Francesca was so close. Her scent was soft—jasmine and sharp citrus. Her lips found Penelope's earlobe and sucked on it. Her voice, velvet threat. Michael was sniffing her hair, as his hand skimmed over her rapidly hardening nipple. Penelope closed her eyes. “Please don’t kiss me in here.” Francesca smiled. “I haven’t yet.” Michael quipped, “But I'm tempted to.” His hand slid up Penelope's thigh, pausing right before the hem of her skirt. “Michael—” “You came in here to be professional,” He whispered, gliding his hand upwards till he was cupping her between her legs. “But you’re already soaking through your tights, darling.” Penelope whimpered. Francesca leaned back slightly. “So… where does that boundary go exactly, Penelope?” Penelope didn’t have an answer. She only knew that if they touched her down there again, her principles would dissolve like sugar on a hot tongue. Just then the door handle jiggled. Because of course. Penelope jumped to her feet, cheeks aflame. Francesca didn’t move an inch. She just smirked. “Saved by the door.” Penelope scrambled to collect her notepad and dignity, which had slid under the chair. “I—I have emails to send,” she muttered, fleeing the room.As the door clicked shut behind her, Francesca exhaled slowly. Michael leaned back against the table, lips quirking.“Do you think,” he said, voice low and amused, “we could arrange one more night like Friday?”Francesca’s smirk returned. “Darling, I’m counting on it.”—Penelope had just slipped her laptop into her bag when Francesca appeared at her desk.“Penelope,” she said crisply, “Could you take a look at the Martins file? There’s been an update from counsel, and I’d rather it didn’t sit until tomorrow evening.”Penelope blinked. “Of course.”She didn’t point out that it was ten minutes to six. She didn’t point out that Francesca had had all afternoon to hand it over. She simply took the file with a small nod, ignored the slight smirk playing on her boss’s lips, and returned to her desk.The office gradually emptied around her. Laughter and footsteps faded. Lights dimmed one by one.By the time the clock struck eight, Penelope was the last one still there—save for the quiet click of a door opening behind her.Francesca’s voice floated out from her office.“Penelope. Come in, please.”Her tone was too casual. Too smooth.Penelope stood, heart fluttering, file still in hand. She crossed the empty corridor and stepped into Francesca’s office, trying not to show how breathless she suddenly felt.Francesca was seated on the edge of her desk, one long leg crossed over the other, hair loosened from its usual knot.She didn’t glance at the file. Instead, she said, “Have you thought about it?”Something in that gaze made Penelope’s breath catch—heat curling up her neck like smoke. Francesca uncrossed her legs with slow, deliberate grace and stood. The sound of her heels against the polished floor was the only thing Penelope could hear.Penelope hesitated. Time for honesty. “Yes,” she said, breathless. “I mean—I haven’t stopped.”Francesca moved closer, her expression unreadable, the gleam in her eyes unmistakable. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Penelope’s face. Her fingertips lingered.“You’re so bl@@dy beautiful when you’re flustered,” she murmured.Penelope swallowed hard, heart thudding. “This is… probably not the kind of thing HR would approve of.”Francesca smiled. “Lucky for us, HR clocks out by six.”Then she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Penelope’s like she was testing a theory. And when Penelope kissed her back—hesitant at first, then deeper, hungrier—Francesca made a soft, approving sound in her throat and wrapped her arms around her waist to pull her closer.It wasn’t long before the kiss grew heated. Penelope’s back hit the desk as Francesca turned her around and cornered her there, hands exploring, lips finding that sensitive spot beneath her jaw. Penelope whimpered helplessly, her body arching into every touch, every sigh.And then Francesca stepped away, smoothing her skirt with composed elegance and walking around the desk.Penelope, panting and dazed, watched her like a woman enchanted.Francesca sat in her high-backed chair like she was born to it, like she belonged in portraits and power, with her blouse slightly undone and that wicked glint in her eyes.“Come to me, baby,” she said, voice velvet-wrapped steel.Penelope took a hesitant step forward.Then another.She dropped to her knees like gravity insisted on it.Francesca hitched her skirt, parted her thighs in a silent invitation revealing smooth skin and her…lack of underwear. Her c@nt glistened with wet heat, her breath uneven, eyes half-lidded. Her body language was power—but her face was flushed, vulnerable, open in a way Penelope had never seen.Francesca nodded. “Put your mouth where it belongs, baby,” she said. “See how much I want you. Feel my need for you.”And that was all Penelope needed. Whatever nerves had lingered melted away under her boss’ command. Penelope felt wanted. Really, truly wanted.She leaned forward, hands resting on Francesca’s thighs, and kissed the inside of her knee. A sensual, tender open-mouthed kiss. Then she began peppering kisses on the inside of her thighs. She glanced up once more, saw the longing in her boss’s eyes, and then—She put her mouth on Francesca’s hot core, and gave in to the pull between them completely. She licked the glistening slit a few times, giving it kitten licks before swirling her tongue around Francesca’s cl@t. Time blurred into heat and breath, into sighs and soft moans.“Yes! Oh god yes. That's it baby! You're so good to me.”Francesca’s fingers threaded into Penelope’s hair, guiding, holding her just where she wanted the redhead to be. Penelope gave willingly, eagerly. She wanted this. Wanted to please Francesca the way her boss had pleased her. She wanted to explore. To learn every way her boss—this woman who terrified and intrigued her in equal measure—could unravel due to her attention.Penelope was breathless, her knees cushioned by the plush carpet, fingers curled lightly around the armrests of Francesca’s chair. The air between them thrummed with heat and tension. Francesca’s head was tilted back, lips parted in a sigh, one hand in Penelope’s hair in quiet encouragement. The quiet of the deserted office made everything feel more intimate, more electric.And then, the door clicked open.Michael.He paused for the briefest second on the threshold, the amber light from the corridor cutting a frame around his tall silhouette. His eyes took in the scene before him—Penelope kneeling, Francesca flushed and radiant like a queen on her throne, her hand still tangled in Penelope’s hair.“You started without me,” Michael said, voice low, but not angry. He stepped in and shut the door behind him with a decisive click. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth. “But f@ck, isn’t this a sight.”Francesca didn’t look the least bit guilty. She arched a brow, stroking Penelope’s cheek fondly. “We were warming up. Thought you might like to see your surprise in full bloom.”Michael crossed the room in measured steps, the tension in his shoulders easing with every pace closer. He cupped Penelope’s chin and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”Penelope, still dazed and trembling with anticipation, nodded slowly. “I—I did,” she whispered. “Miss you…I mean.” It was true. Even the thought of his c@ck stuffed inside her made her thighs quiver.He leaned down and kissed her, tasting Francesca on her lips.“F@ck this is so hot. I can taste your boss on your lips, baby.”Michael’s fingers brushed against Penelope’s jaw again, cradling her face. He knelt behind her, one hand caressing her spine, the other trailing up to rest against the nape of her neck. The warmth of his palm grounded her even as her world tilted with sensation.Francesca sighed above her, lashes fluttering, her breath catching as Penelope returned to her task once again—her movements guided by instinct now, by the low, breathy encouragement Francesca gave her with every sultry moan.Behind her, Michael moved closer and grinded his erection on her clothed @rs@.“Feel this? This is what your work skirts do to me, darling.” He whispered in her ears.He kissed the nape of her neck first, slow and firm, as though memorising her skin. Then the small of her back. Her hips. Then he bit her @rs@cheek, making her groan against Francesca’s cl@t that she was sucking on now. The vibrations shot a surge of heat deep in Francesca’s belly.“F@ck! I’m so close. Keep it up. Keep doing what you’re doing Michael.” Francesca rasped. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against Penelope's skin. “Do you see now what you do to us?”Penelope whimpered as he flipped her skirt up and rubbed his large, warm palms up and down her thighs and her bottom. “God you are soaked, aren't you?” He murmured in awe as he leaned closer to her exposed lacy black knickers. “Do you always wear such slutty underwear under your work clothes, Penelope? Or was today an exception?”Penelope mumbled something unintelligible, her face still pressed against Francesca’s core, the brunette was now holding her red tresses and grinding herself on Penelope’s face quite desperately. “Did you wear this scrap of lace to entice us, Pen?” Michael sniffed the crotch of her soaking wet knicker, “Which one of us did you think about when you put it on?”“I bet it was me.” Francesca bit out breathlessly, although the teasing tone behind her words was unmistakable.“Unlikely. She craves my c@ck too. Don't you, baby?” Penelope felt herself nodding eagerly, even as her mouth still remained occupied on the task of making her boss c@m.Michael chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Well, then. If the lady asks so nicely, who am I to deny her the pleasure of my manhood?” He fished his already hard c@ck out of his trousers and started rubbing the tip on her clothed c@nt, making her moan loudly. It wasn't enough. No. She wanted it deep inside her. She pulled back from Francesca for a second to ground out in frustration, “Please, put it inside me already!” Michael laughed throatily, then slowly dragged her knickers down till they were stuck around her bent knees. He ran a finger through her slit. “Look at that juicy, wet, pink c@nt!” He grinned in delight, “Fran, you have to see how it's turning her on.” “I really want to. But not right now.” Francesca bit her bottom lip as she felt her @rg@sm fast approaching.Penelope heard the unmistakable tearing of a foil, and then the snap of rubber, as he rolled the condom on his c@ck, then pressed it on her entrance, his hands anchoring her hips, steadying her. Penelope’s mouth faltered in anticipation of taking his thick, hot length inside her. Just then, Francesca’s hand reached down, threading gently through her curls, her voice rich with pleasure.“Don’t stop now, darling,” Francesca whispered, breathless and smiling. “You’re doing so well, making me feel so divine.”Michael pressed into her at that moment—slowly, deeply—and Penelope gasped, her lips trembling against Francesca’s skin. She felt surrounded by them, filled and held, every part of her seen and wanted. And she licked and sucked Francesca with renewed vigour.Their rhythm built together—Francesca’s thighs trembling beneath her mouth, Michael’s breath ragged against her shoulder as he began moving inside her tight c@nt from behind. The room swayed with the weight of their desire. Penelope's grip tightened on Francesca's thigh as she swirled her tongue around her boss' cl@t.Francesca cried out in pleasure.”Aaah… f@ck… that feels so good.”Her hands gripped the handles of her desk, knuckles white, head tilted back as a shuddering cry escaped her lips. Penelope felt it—how her boss trembled beneath her tongue, how the slow build of pleasure cracked open into something blinding. Francesca gasped her name like it meant something holy.Penelope barely had time to process it before Michael’s pace changed.He thrusted in and out of her with deeper urgency now, driven by the way Francesca, still panting, reached down to stroke Penelope’s hair in encouragement. The moment was blurred at the edges—just sensation, breath, and touch. Penelope could hardly believe it was real.Michael reached between her leg and rubbed her nub, and then her own body began to tighten—spiralling upward with a force she couldn’t fight. Francesca leaned in close, cupping her face, whispering encouragement that tipped her over the edge.“You are so beautiful when you are at the edge of it baby. Come on, let go, Penelope.”Pleasure tore through her in slow, pulsing waves, a soft cry caught between her lips and Francesca’s fingers. She collapsed forward into Francesca’s lap, dazed and dizzy, riding it out, boneless and glowing.Behind her, Michael was groaning now, his grip tightening around her hips, he paused for a moment, letting her ride out the waves of her pleasure. Then he was pumping in and out of her c@nt once again, almost wildly, using her c@nt the way he wanted. He felt his own release fast approaching and his rhythm faltered. He leaned over her back, his breath hot on her skin, and with a low, desperate sound, he came hard, his c@ck twitched inside her as he bit her shoulder lightly and whispered her name.For a moment, none of them moved.Just breath. Heartbeats. The quiet hum of the city through the window.Penelope was draped between them, body spent, cheeks flushed. Francesca stroked her hair lazily, while Michael kissed the curve of her spine.And somewhere beneath the ache and the bliss, something clicked.She felt it in her chest—this stretch of space she’d never quite named, now suddenly filled. She belonged here, with them. Her eyes fluttered shut again, a soft smile tugging at her lips.Yes, she thought, as Michael pressed another soothing kiss to her shoulder where he bit her and Francesca whispered her name like a prayer. I can be theirs, can belong to them. Both of them. At once.—Penelope Featherington had once imagined a life of quiet routine—commutes, office deadlines, the occasional weekend wine night with friends.She had not imagined a life where her boss or her boss’s partner-slash-best-friend were kissing her breathless before morning meetings. Or texting her during court recesses: “Be in Fran’s office in 5. Lock Door.”She certainly hadn’t imagined falling asleep tangled between them in more than one occasion, with Francesca’s hand on her stomach and Michael’s nose buried in her hair.And yet.Here she was.The weeks that followed blurred, as charged moments wove their way through even the most mundane tasks.Francesca left teasing notes in the margins of her case files: You look lovely in green. I refuse to focus. Michael started bringing her coffee without asking, always just right, always with that lopsided grin that made her insides flutter. Penelope eating her boss out as she went through the paperwork while sitting on her high backed leather cushioned throne. Michael pulling her into a storage cupboard and kiss her senseless while he would keep fingering her until she came all over his hand.And through it all, the undercurrent of them—of the fact that Michael and Francesca weren’t just individually intense. Together, they were magnetic. A double act honed by years of trust and shared ambition. Penelope watched them with fascination—how their banter crackled, how their strategies dovetailed perfectly in joint meetings, how they had an entire silent language of glances and raised brows.At first, she’d worried she was intruding. That she was a temporary thrill. A diversion.But then came the softer things.Francesca's hand on her back at a stressful client lunch. Michael pressing a gentle kiss to her temple after a brutal workday. Their warmth. Their quiet affection.And the way they looked at her when they thought she wasn’t watching—like she was not just wanted, but adored.She realised then—they were each other’s, yes. But they were hers, too. And she was theirs.They weren’t complete without each other.—Penelope hadn't known what to expect when Michael had turned up in her office doorway one Friday afternoon a few months later, a warm glint in his eyes and a little overnight bag slung over his shoulder.Francesca had emerged a moment later, breezing past with her usual confidence, as she tossed Penelope her own pre-packed bag.“You need a break,” Francesca had said. “And I know you never take one. So we’re kidnapping you. Pack your laptop if it makes you feel better.”Now they were three hours outside London, tucked in a converted barn nestled in the green sweep of the Cotswolds, all soft linen and bookshelves and a clawfoot tub Penelope couldn’t stop staring at.It was peaceful. Too peaceful, almost.She stood by the window in her socks, watching the golden light of late afternoon pour over the fields. Behind her, the low murmur of voices mixed with the clinking of mugs—Francesca and Michael were in the kitchen, mock-arguing about how much sugar belonged in tea and whether biscuits were an acceptable dinner.Penelope bit her lip to stifle a smile.Francesca caught her eye first, leaning casually against the counter in a soft jumper and leggings, her hair scraped into a bun, her face flushed from the wind. “There you are,” she called. “Come be useful and kiss me, would you?”Penelope padded over obligingly, her nose pink from the cold. Francesca met her halfway, sliding a hand into her hair and tilting her mouth up. The kiss was soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that made Penelope's knees a little wobbly even now.Michael snorted, coming up behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You two are already at it. I leave the kettle for one second.”Pen laughed, leaning into him instinctively as he wrapped an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss just below her ear, and she shivered.“This place is ridiculous,” she said, voice muffled in his chest. “Like it’s been ripped from a Jane Austen adaptation.”“I did promise a countryside escape,” Francesca said smugly. “And a clawfoot tub.”“Oh yes,” Michael said, wagging his eyebrows. “We all saw how long you were staring at it.”“I wasn’t—!” Penelope spluttered, cheeks going hot.“You were,” Francesca and Michael said in unison, grinning.Penelope groaned and tried to escape, but Michael caught her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly, spinning her in the air. She shrieked, laughing as she kicked her feet.“Michael!” she squealed. “You’ll drop me, I'm too heavy!”“Nonsense! I’m very careful with precious things,” he murmured, setting her down and brushing a soft kiss on her lips. “You especially.”She blinked up at him, warmth blooming in her chest, and then Francesca was at her back, looping her arms around her from behind.“I think it’s time we show her the bedroom,” Francesca whispered, “purely for the reading nook, of course.”Penelope rolled her eyes, but she let them guide her through the wide wooden doorway into the bedroom, with its sloped ceiling and fat white duvet and fairy lights strung up like stars. She melted into the bed as they all collapsed together in a tangle, laughter echoing around the quiet room.There were kisses. Teasing ones from Francesca, slow ones from Michael. Fingers threading through her hair, brushing her cheek, tracing lazy shapes on her thigh. The kind of affection that didn’t ask anything, didn’t demand anything—just offered itself, easy and warm.Penelope had never known it could be like this.Soft.Steady.Fun.Safe.She lay between them as the light outside turned amber, her head on Francesca’s chest, her fingers tangled with Michael’s. Francesca was reading aloud from a terrible romance novel they’d found on the bookshelf, voice full of exaggerated drama, while Michael heckled from the other side and Penelope giggled helplessly.It felt like breathing.Like something she didn’t know she needed.And when Francesca paused to sip her tea and Michael bent to kiss her temple, Penelope realised—this wasn’t absurd. This wasn’t impossible.It was real.And it was hers.Later that evening, when Michael ushered her into the bathroom, his big palms covering her eyes, she got the sweetest surprise of the day.The bathroom was glowing with candlelight.Francesca had insisted on it—on atmosphere, on music, on bath salts that smelled faintly of lavender and clove. Penelope wasn’t sure when exactly she’d agreed to a shared bath, but by the time the water had steamed and the soft notes of a cello concerto filled the air, she found herself slipping out of her clothes, guided gently by Michael’s warm hands. He kept pressing kisses on each patch of skin that was revealed, every time she took off an article of clothing, while Francesca—clad in a deep maroon satin robe—watched from the edge of the tub where she was perched, sipping bubbly from an expensive stemmed glass, watching them both with heat in her eyes.The tub was deep, luxurious, and far too big for one, or even two. Which worked out perfectly, as it turned out.Michael disrobed himself then, and stepped in first, groaning appreciatively as the heat hit his skin. Francesca followed his suit, hair pinned up carelessly, the line of her neck long and lovely in the candlelight, and Penelope couldn't wait to kiss it up. Then Penelope was being pulled between them, carefully, gently, as though she might shatter from being touched too quickly.She settled in the middle, her back against Michael’s chest, her legs stretching to rest over Francesca’s long ones. They were all quiet for a moment, content with the heat and the flicker of candlelight and the way everything felt suspended—slow, luxurious, utterly theirs.“You’re tense,” Michael murmured, mouth near her temple, hands slipping underwater to cradle her hips.“I’m not used to relaxing,” Penelope admitted, eyes fluttering shut as Francesca began to trace gentle circles on the inside of her knee. “You two are very… good at this.”“At relaxing?” Francesca asked softly.Penelope shook her head. “No. At taking care of me.”Francesca leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “We like it.”Michael hummed resting his chin on the top of Penelope's head. “We *love* it.”The mood began to change—at first, just warmth and safety. Then Penelope became aware of the pressure of Michael’s thighs bracketing her from behind, of Francesca’s fingers skimming higher with every pass. Her body melted and coiled all at once.Francesca tilted her chin. “You’re flushed, sweetheart.”“I… the water’s hot,” Penelope mumbled.Francesca smirked. “Mm. Is it?”Her hand slid higher, slow and purposeful, while Michael’s mouth sucked at her neck. Penelope gasped as Francesca’s fingers found the soft part of her inner thigh, teasing, not quite touching.Penelope let out a soft sound that was half-moan, half-whimper.Francesca’s fingers slipped between her legs at that, and Penelope’s back arched instinctively against Michael’s chest. He held her steady, groaning low in his throat as he turned her head and kissed her lips. As soon as she gasped in his mouth he inserted his tongue inside it, and deepened the kiss. “You’re already shaking,” Francesca murmured, voice like silk, like sin.Penelope couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Michael was swallowing every moan, every little sound she made while Francesca was turning her insides in jelly. As soon as they parted for air from the kiss, she reached for Francesca, pulling her into an equally searing kiss, messy and full of need. Francesca groaned against her mouth, deepening it. And all the while, Michael’s hands moved across her stomach, anchoring her in place while Francesca teased her apart.Water sloshed gently, candlelight flickered, and the air was thick with sighs and kisses and soft gasps.And when Penelope finally shattered with Francesca’s mouth on hers and Michael’s arms around her, it was pure ecstasy.Later, when they lay tangled in damp towels and kisses on the oversized bed, Penelope smiled sleepily against Francesca’s shoulder and whispered, “You’re both going to ruin me.”Michael chuckled, dragging the covers over her.“Good,” Francesca murmured, curling an arm around her waist. “That’s the plan.”Penelope lay there for a moment, her heart full to bursting, the weight of love pressing gently down on her chest. She turned slightly, her lips brushing Francesca’s collarbone, then lower, till she was kidding the peaks of her br@@sts, switching between the two. Francesca exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening in Penelope’s curls as Penelope’s mouth grew bolder, more deliberate.Michael shifted beside them, his hand sliding over Francesca’s hip, the going higher cupping one of her br@@sts and tweaking the nipple as Penelope took her time with the other one, sucking, licking, coaxing soft, broken sighs from Francesca's lips. Then she moved lower, until her head was between her boss’ legs and she was making the poised, brilliant Francesca fall apart between her hands and mouth. Penelope felt a small burst of pride as Francesca gasped her name, shuddering as pleasure overtook her.When Francesca’s eyes finally fluttered open again, hazy and damp, Michael leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet, his fingers tangling in her brown hair.“Look at you,” Francesca whispered to Penelope as they parted from the kiss, stroking her thumb along Penelope’s cheek. “My little wonder.”Penelope’s skin flushed, warm and glowing under their gaze. She turned next to Michael, kissed him with open hunger, and climbed into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. She rubbed her sopping wet heat in his rock hard erection, grinding on to him as she rolled her hips playfully.“Don't be a tease darling, I'm already so desperate for you.” He ground out through his teeth, trying very hard not to come all over her thighs in his excitement.Penelope giggled, but then took pity on her lover and held his c@ck at the base as she aligned herself over it. Then she pressed down on it slowly till he was nestled deep inside her. She took a shuddering breath as she savoured the sensation of his thick, bare c@ck filling her up so fully. Penelope had found, sometime in the quiet of their second month together—after the champagne fizz of newness had settled into something deeper, steadier—that there was no need for barriers. No condom, even. She was already on the pill, and trust had bloomed slowly, intentionally. The first time she’d whispered it—you don’t need to—Michael had paused, searching her face, checking.“I want to feel your bare c@ck inside me.”What followed was an intense slow-f@ck when Michael had looked into her eyes the whole time and Francesca had held her hand and kissed her temple as she came undone.Now as Penelope began riding his c@ck, their rhythm was quiet at first, slow and sensual.But soon she began bouncing hard and fast on Michael's c@ck, hips rolling, her heavy t@ts jiggling, Francesca watched from her side, propped on her elbow, her dark lashes heavy, a lazy smile curving her mouth as she traced idle patterns on Michael’s thigh, occasionally brushing over Penelope’s flushed skin.“Don’t mind me,” Francesca murmured, voice husky and fond. “I rather like the view.”Penelope buried her face in Michael’s shoulder, giggling helplessly through the pleasure when she felt her @rg@sm approach. His arms wrapped tightly around her as he took control then and flipped her over and f@ck@d her hard till she was screaming his name. And then, with a loud gasp, they both came together. Later, Francesca reached for Penelope'shand, twining their fingers together. Michael kissed her shoulder and rolled over when he was completely spent. A sigh escaped Penelope’s lips, content and dreamy.Penelope stirred only slightly as she was drawn further into the cocoon of blankets, her damp hair fanned across Francesca’s arm. Michael’s fingers were idly tracing the curve of her waist, a lazy rhythm like he didn’t quite want to stop touching her, even now.The room was silent except the soft breaths of three people trying to find space in a bed that somehow felt just right for all of them.Penelope blinked slowly, heavy-lidded and pliant, her cheek tucked against Francesca's shoulder.“Can I ask something?” she murmured into the quiet.Francesca’s voice was a gentle hum. “Of course.”“Is this… real?” Penelope’s voice was almost childlike in its vulnerability, as if she was afraid the spell might break just from naming it.Michael leaned in, brushing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “It’s real, Pen. It's the most real thing I've ever felt.”Francesca lifted a hand to stroke Penelope’s hair back from her face. “It’s not a dream, darling. We aren't doing this lightly.”“I know,” Pen whispered. “I just… I didn’t expect to ever feel this way. Safe. Wanted. Loved. I've never been so loved, Fran, not even by my own mother. ”“Sweetheart, this is how you will feel each day. Loved.” Michael added, his voice hoarse, as if the word meant something immense. A promise. “We do, you know. Love you.”She turned, just a little, to look at him. “Both of you?”“Of course.” Francesca chuckled softly. “Especially when you blush like that.”Penelope let out a breathy laugh, hiding her face in Francesca’s neck.Michael reached over her and let his fingers thread through Francesca's. “We’ve always had each other,” he said, quieter now. “But somehow, you… *you* made us better. Brought us closer.”Francesca pressed a kiss to the top of Penelope'shead. “You filled the space we didn’t even realise we’d left empty.”Penelope’s eyes prickled. D@mn them. D@mn their perfect timing, their ridiculous softness, the way they looked at her like she was some precious, sacred thing. She’d only meant to take the job for experience. Never imagined she’d fall in love—*with both of them*.Because it wasn’t just s@x anymore. It was love.They listened to her—her dreams, her goals. They built her up, boosted her confidence in ways no one ever had.One night, while tangled together in bed, she’d offhandedly expressed her admiration for the way Francesca looked while cross-examining witnesses.Francesca had smiled, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I bet you’d look even sexier doing it.”Michael had seconded the opinion without hesitation.Penelope had scoffed, reminded them—half-serious, half-defensive—that she was “just a paralegal.”But they hadn’t let it go.They’d taken it up like a personal challenge, telling her she could absolutely practice law if she wanted to. That she was more than capable. That all she had to do was say the word—and they’d help guide her there, step by step, until it became real.Casual flings didn’t care like that.Casual flings didn’t think so deeply about their partner’s dreams and future.“You’re going to spoil me,” she whispered in response to their earlier words.“I know,” Francesca said with a smirk, pulling her closer. “Utterly rotten.”Penelope blinked up at the ceiling, the wooden beams hazy above her, a smile tugging at her lips. She could still smell the lavender in the air. Still feel the afterglow on her skin.“Promise me something?” she asked.“Anything,” they said in unison, then chuckled.“That no matter what happens—win or lose in court, or when I inevitably make a t@t of myself in front of clients—you’ll still look at me like this. Like I’m…”“Everything,” Michael said firmly.Francesca kissed her shoulder. “Ours.”Penelope exhaled shakily. “Alright then,” she whispered.She rolled over to face Francesca, snuggled into her, and reached one hand blindly behind her to find Michael’s.Fingers linked. Legs tangled. Hearts full.And as the wind rustled the trees outside and the candles burned low, the three of them drifted to sleep like that—wrapped in one another, safe in this beautiful truth they’d built together.—Penelope stood in the kitchen the next morning, cradling a warm mug of coffee, still barefoot and tousled from sleep. She wasn’t used to this—this quiet, this affection that didn’t demand anything from her.Just behind her, Francesca was slicing strawberries for breakfast. Michael was flipping pancakes, because apparently the man could cook. Of course he could. And they were bickering. Like always. It's was amusing to watch.Penelope couldn’t stop watching them. Not in the way she used to—distant admiration, quiet longing—but with the astonished realisation that they were here. With her. Francesca caught her looking and smiled over her tea. “What’s going on in that clever head?”Penelope bit her lip, but her eyes sparkled. “I like to watch you hissing at each other like cats.”Michael looked up from where he was slicing a pear, brows rising. “You’re making fun of us?”Penelope shrugged, far too pleased with herself. “A little.”Francesca’s grin went slow and wicked. She reached for a strawberry, slid it between Penelope’s lips, and leaned in close, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I’ll show you how cats fight.”Penelope gasped around the fruit—and bolted.She took off barefoot down the hallway, giggling like mad, her cardigan flapping behind her like a cape. She heard the scrape of Michael’s chair, Francesca's amused “Oh no you don’t,” and then the chase was on.They hunted her through the converted barn . Penelope darted into the library, nearly knocking over a stack of books, only to yelp as Michael appeared at the other end like a shadow. “Cornered,” he said darkly.“I am not,” she declared—and ran again.Through the kitchen, behind the massive dining table, past the French doors and back into the lounge, where Francesca finally caught her at the waist and tackled her gently onto the rug with a triumphant, “Got you, darling.”Michael arrived seconds later, laughing breathlessly as he collapsed beside them. “Didn’t know we were doing cardio before breakfast.”Penelope beamed, breathless and pink-faced beneath them both. “Serves you right for thirst-trapping me by just flipping the pancakes.”Francesca straddled her waist with a mock glare. “Cheeky thing. I ought to punish you.”Michael leaned down and nuzzled her cheek. “Oh, I think she wants that.”Penelope let her head fall back on the carpet with a giggle, utterly content between the two of them. “Maybe I do.”Penelope looked between them—Francesca's elegant confidence, Michael’s gentle steadiness—and felt something strange unfurling in her chest. A kind of warmth she hadn’t let herself hope for.Michael’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, you definitely do.”Before she could blink, he scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, making her shriek and slap lightly at his chest. “Michael! No—put me down—”“Not a chance,” he said, grinning wickedly as he carried her straight into the kitchen. “Time for breakfast.”She was still catching her breath from laughing when he put her down on the kitchen island like a mischievous offering. Cool marble under her thighs, extremely hot man in front of her. “You are ridiculous.”“You love it.” He leaned in and kissed her—slow and deep, tasting like lazy mornings and syrupy promises. His hands grabbed her hips, anchoring her as her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, returning the kiss with soft eagerness.Francesca was already dishing out pancakes onto three plates, entirely unbothered. “Am I feeding you or do I need to hose the two of you down first?”Michael laughed against Penelope’s lips. “We’re multi-tasking.”“Greedy boy,” Francesca replied dryly. She plated three golden pancakes with a flourish, then added perfectly sliced strawberries and a drizzle of honey, the domestic act somehow made very posh by her flourish.Then she walked over, nudged Michael aside with her hip, and placed a hand beneath Penelope’s chin. “Open up, darling.”Penelope blinked. “What—?”Francesca popped a strawberry slice between her own lips, leaned forward, and fed it to Penelope with a kiss—sweet, tart, and just enough tongue to make her moan softly against her mouth. Michael groaned behind them.“I’m suddenly very jealous of that slice of strawberry,” Michael muttered grumpily, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen island.Francesca raised a brow, amused. Penelope tried to stifle her smile but failed gloriously.“Oh, poor thing,” Francesca murmured. “Left out and unloved.”“Tragic, really,” Penelope added, eyes gleaming.In unspoken unison, they turned their attention on him.Francesca popped a piece into her own mouth, then tugged Michael in by the collar, kissing him slow and deep, transferring the fruit between them. “Better?” she asked teasingly when they parted for air.Before he could answer, Penelope leaned forward, plucking another strawberry slice from her plate with her teeth and offering it to him, lips barely parted. He took the strawberry from her mouth with a soft groan, brushing a kiss to her lips as he did, but Penelope slid her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.By the time they broke apart, Michael was flushed and breathless, looking between the two of them with a look of wonder. He dropped back into a breakfast chair, hand over his heart. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”Penelope giggled, cheeks warm as she reached to smooth his hair back affectionately. “You really are.”She caught Francesca’s eye across the table. The other woman raised her coffee cup in a lazy toast, eyes sparkling.Honestly, he wasn’t wrong.—By evening, the cottage had sunk into silence. Penelope had curled herself up on the sofa, tucked under a knit blanket, her head resting on a cushion and a book open but forgotten on her chest.She’d meant to read.She really had.But then Michael had sat beside her, warm and solid and freshly showered, the scent of cedar and clean linen clinging to his jumper. His arm found its way across the back of the sofa. His fingers brushed her hair.And suddenly, her heart was thudding far too loudly to make sense of words on a page.She turned slightly to look up at him, only to find him already watching her.His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Can I kiss you?”Her breath hitched. “Yes.”He bent down slowly, like he didn’t want to startle her. But there was nothing tentative about the kiss once it landed—his lips soft but sure, his hand cupping her jaw as he deepened it. He tasted like honeyed tea and the apple crumble Francesca had made for dessert.Penelope let out the tiniest noise—content and overwhelmed all at once—as she tipped her head back further, inviting more.But then—“Oi!” Francesca’s voice, laughing but with a tinge of jealousy. “This was not the plan!”Michael didn’t move. “What plan?”“You two getting started without me!”Francesca padded barefoot across the rug and planted herself squarely on the sofa between them. Michael gave a mock-scowl.“I was here first.”Francesca grinned at Penelope, eyes sparkling. “You alright, darling?”Penelope nodded, slightly dazed. “Very.”“Good.” She turned, gently shoving Michael’s shoulder. “Move over, lover boy.”“You’re very bossy tonight.”“I’m always bossy.”Michael groaned, but gave way, sinking into the other corner of the couch. Francesca turned back to Pen, now curled in the centre like a precious thing being fought over. She slid an arm around her waist and brought their foreheads together.“You just say the word and we kick him out,” Francesca murmured. “You know that, right?”Penelope nodded. She didn't wish to kick him out though.“And if you want more…”Penelope reached up, curled her fingers into Francesca’s hair, and whispered, “Fran, I do.”Francesca kissed her then—warm, playful, familiar. Her mouth was softer than Michael’s, but there was nothing uncertain in the way she claimed her. A small hum escaped her throat as she tilted Penelope backward gently against the cushions.Michael watched them with reverent silence, one arm draped behind the back of the sofa, a soft smile playing on his lips. Francesca broke the kiss, brushing her nose against Penelope's cheek. “You taste like wine.”Penelope smiled, breathless. “Michael’s been drinking.”Michael chuckled. “I was. But I didn't get drunk until I kissed Penny.”And there they stayed for a long while—entwined on the sofa, trading kisses and stories, hands drifting lazily, brushing skin through fabric.No expectations. No demands.Just warmth, and wonder, and a growing sense of belonging. These were the moments when Penelope felt the most loved though. Because this felt like dating. Dating the most beautiful, intelligent, capable people she had ever met.When things started escalating, Francesca walked up to the bed and peeled back the thick, ivory duvet. The sheets were cool and freshly laundered. She climbed in first, propping herself against the pillows and crooking a finger in invitation.Michael was standing there in the doorway with Penelope, his hands wrapped around her midriff possessively. He kissed Penelope’s temple before nudging her forward with the lightest touch. “Go on, sweetheart.”Penelope crawled onto the bed and nestled between Francesca’s legs, heart hammering as soft hands drew her close. Then Michael joined them, wrapping around her from behind.She was cocooned. Adored. Kissed on both sides. Soon, the kisses got sloppy and they tumbled down on bed, Penelope on her back and Francesca and Michael on either of her side. They kissed each other for a bit before turning back to the redhead.Francesca ran her fingers through Penelope’s hair, letting it fan out on the pillow. “You still with us, darling?”Penelope nodded, voice caught in her throat. “I’ve never been more in the moment.”Michael's voice was lower now, nearer to a whisper as he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. “Good girl.”The room felt hushed. Hallowed. Like time had slowed for just the three of them.Francesca's hand slipped beneath Penelope’s top, her palm warm against bare skin holding her breast. The kisses resumed—softer now, deeper, filthier. She couldn’t tell whose hand was where, whose breath tickled the skin just beneath her ear, whose hand snaked inside her panties and whose fingers pumped in and out of her tight c@nt. All she knew was how right it felt.Michael undressed her in stages, like unwrapping a precious thing, leaving kisses on each new stretch of exposed skin. And Francesca took her time stripping michael off his clothes, giving penelope a little strip show as she ground her core that was still covered by her sleep shorts on his c@ck. Michael cradled her face as Francesca’s mouth found the hollow of his collarbone. Penelope watched, completely enthralled, as Michael dragged Francesca’s top up just to reveal her beautiful t@ts, and then cupped them and made them jiggle. It felt like she was watching an erotic movie, but only, it was better because this one—she was starring in this!She sat up and grabbed one of Francesca’s tit and put her mouth on it, as Michael dragged her shorts down. Francesca wiggled out of it and let Penelope pull her into her arms.“God, you're so beautiful.” Penelope whispered in awe.“You both are so stunning.” Michael murmured gently, watching them in awe.Francesca smiled quietly, voice barely audible. “You’re not bad yourself, Mic.”They kept touching, kneading, sharing kisses, bringing each other on the brink of release several times, before it was too much and Michael let Penelope ride him and f@ck him senseless at the same time Francesca ground her c@nt on his mouth, as he brought her to an @rg@sm with his skillful tongue.There was a lot of moaning, screaming, and then it was quiet. As they fell in a boneless heap on the bed. Just quiet moans and deep sighs and fingers threaded together. They kissed each other, taking turns, as if to memorise the shape of each other’s mouth. Francesca dipped her head between Penelope's thighs, licking off Michael's c@m. She was so thorough, it made Penelope cry out in bliss, her hand clutching Michael’s leaving small crescent shaped marks.They drifted in and out of sleep—tangled together, bare skin against bare skin, limbs in a careless knot. Penelope lay in the middle, a hand resting on each of their chests, her breathing slowly returning to normal.Francesca was the first to speak, her voice soft in the quiet. “Are you alright, darling?”Penelope turned her head. Smiled. “Better than alright.”Michael chuckled lowly, brushing his lips against her temple. “Well I'm glad. You were fire tonight.”“I sometimes still don’t understand how this happened,” she whispered, voice hoarse from moaning. “Both of you, me, and then…we…”Francesca's hand found hers beneath the sheets. “When will you believe that you are as beautiful and brilliant as you accuse us to be?”“You think so?” Penelope asked, barely daring to believe it.“We know so.” Michael reached across and linked their fingers. “Now get some sleep. I'm gonna make breakfast in bed tomorrow for both of you. Then, if you want we can go explore the caves nearby.”Penelope smiled into the pillow, body aching in the best way.“Or we can stay in bed and f@ck each others brains out through the weekend.” she suggested.“Penelope!” Francesca gasped mock scandalously, “You little minx!”“But she is our minx!” Michael quipped.“Totally agree.”Penelope smiled into the pillow shyly, body aching in the best way.She wasn’t used to being wanted before falling for these two.But on nights like these, she believed it wholeheartedly.—They’d talked about it several times earlier, but that weekend—they really went over the practicalities of it—during breakfast, in whispers, between kisses, at night after making love. About what this was. About the labels.And they’d all agreed:No need for the usual rules. What they had wasn’t conventional. But it was real.It was love.Next week, Penelope moved into Francesca’s penthouse. They decided that was for the best. Michael already had a room in there, as he used to crash at Francesca's almost every other day for years now. He carried Penelope’s suitcase with one hand and Francesca held her hand in hers the whole way up. They made her dinner that night. Francesca cooked, barefoot in black satin negligee, as Penelope ogled her boss. Michael brought her a glass of wine, whispered against her ear, “You’re home now. How does it feel?”“Peaceful.” She whispered against his mouth before devouring it with a passionate kiss.Later, the three of them curled into bed, the city lights glittering beyond the glass walls.Michael wrapped an arm around Penelope’s waist and kissed her shoulder.Francesca rested her head just above Penelope's heart.Penelope felt full. Steady. Held.“I never thought I’d end up as a throuple,” she whispered, blinking up at the ceiling mirror. They looked picture perfect. Beautiful. Loved. All three of them.Francesca hummed sleepily. “You make it sound like a medical condition.”Penelope laughed, eyes still glued to their reflection. “No—I mean... this. All of this. You two.”Michael brushed her hair back. “We didn’t think we’d end up here either. But then you walked into that interview... all soft curves and sharp edges and big blue eyes.”Francesca chuckled, voice drowsy. “And now look at us. Addicted.”“Hopeless,” Michael agreed.Penelope smiled into the dark, kissed by heat and comfort and everything unexpected.It wasn’t what she imagined for herself. It was better.It was hers.It was theirs.“I like watching us like this, you know… afterwards…” Penelope whispered into the darkness.Michael smirked, “Me too. But I like watching us during it too.”Francesca hummed in satisfaction and turned on her side to actually look at them both, not just the reflection, and murmured sleepily, “I like watching us together any time of the day. Every day.” Two Years Later The courtroom was still humming when Penelope stepped outside, the late afternoon sun blinding, the sound of her own heartbeat thunderous in her ears.She’d done it.Her first major case. Her closing arguments, her meticulous research, her own voice standing steady against crossfire from a notoriously prickly opposing counsel.And she’d won.The judge’s ruling echoed in her head still, like music.The courtroom doors swung behind her, and then suddenly—arms. Michael’s arms first, strong and secure around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground as he spun her with a quiet, disbelieving laugh.“You bl@@dy brilliant woman,” he murmured into her ear.Penelope laughed, breathless. “I did it—I really did it.”“You did,” came Francesca’s voice, smoother, more composed—but no less proud. She appeared beside them with a bouquet of yellow tulips and a bottle of champagne in her other hand. Always prepared.Penelope blushed as Francesca pressed a kiss to her cheek, soft and lingering. “I’ve never been more smug about hiring someone in my life.”The court clerk passed by with a grin, and Penelope realised, again, that they were being watched. Still, she didn’t pull away. Not anymore.They were careful—yes. Professional in the public eye. But no longer afraid. Because they were solid, the three of them. Built on something deep and enduring. And most importantly: they were happy together.The three of them returned to the penthouse. Francesca insisted on a home-cooked dinner (“Don’t argue, Penelope, I’m celebrating you”) while Michael opened a second bottle of champagne, this one pink and sparkling.They toasted in their kitchen. Penelope, barefoot, still half in her court clothes, half out of them—her jacket off, shirt open at the neck, hair falling wild from stress and triumph.“To Penelope Featherington,” Francesca said, raising her glass. “A rising star, and a pain in my arse for ruining my case win streak.”“To Penelope,” Michael echoed, “who made opposing counsel so flustered he forgot his own objections.”“To my mentors,” Penelope added, softly. “Both of you. And to us.”They clinked glasses. And when she tasted the fizz and sweetness of the champagne, she felt it down to her toes: This is real.They sat curled on the sofa, plates balanced on laps, music low. Penelope’s head rested on Michael’s shoulder, her legs tangled over Francesca’s.“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “Were you two worried I’d blow it?”“Terrified,” Francesca said without hesitation.Michael laughed into her hair. “Not because you weren’t ready. But because it mattered to you. And when something matters, it shakes you.”Penelope nodded slowly. “I want more of this. Not just the cases. Us. Everything.”“You have us,” Francesca said simply.Michael leaned in to kiss her. “You have everything, darling.”And in the soft light of their home, with champagne on her lips and the people she loved wrapped around her, Penelope smiled.One year ago, she was just a law graduate who’d walked into an interview with two intimidating lawyers and no idea what was coming.Now?Now, she was a lawyer, thanks to them—her lovers—and she was building something brilliant—with them.Not just career, but a full, satisfying, loving relationship.And this was just the beginning.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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