Just got back from a spontaneous road trip with Agnes and Yori—windows down, music blaring, Yori’s hand creeping up Agnes’ thigh while I drove. The way Agnes squirmed, trying to act like she wasn’t soaking through her panties every time Yori’s fingers brushed higher… fuck, it was hotter than the sun beating through the windshield. Stopped at some shady motel just to tear each other apart—Yori pinned Agnes to the wall while I sucked her cock, Agnes moaning into my mouth like she’d die if we stopped. The best part? Waking up tangled together this morning, sheets sticky with cum, Yori’s face still buried in Agnes’ pussy like she was trying to memorize her taste. Polyamory isn’t just about sharing a bed—it’s about sharing the hunger, the messy, desperate kind that makes you pull over at the first shitty rest stop because you can’t wait another mile. (Also, Agnes owes me a new shirt. Yori ripped it off me with her teeth. Worth it.)