Friday night arrived with the kind of electric anticipation that made Simon West's legendary intuition buzz like a live wire. Dinner with Lily and Betty. What started as a casual "let's meet the new CFO" had, thanks to Lily's mischievous suggestion, morphed into something far more loaded. Simon wasn't sure if he was walking into a job interview, a date, or the opening scene of some premium-channel poly drama. His gut said: all three. And proceed.
He'd chosen the venue carefully—Eleven Madison Park, neutral territory, impeccable food, private enough for real conversation but public enough to keep things from going full R-rated too fast. Lily had texted him that afternoon: Dress hot, Oracle. I want her to see what she's missing. He'd replied with a single 🔥 emoji and picked a black Tom Ford suit that fit like sin.
Lily arrived first, sliding into the booth beside him instead of across, her thigh pressing against his under the table. She wore a sleeveless crimson dress that plunged just enough to make HR nervous and hugged every curve like it was custom-made (because it was—he'd had it rushed from a designer friend). Her hair was down in loose waves, lips painted the same red as the dress. She looked like trouble wrapped in velvet.
"Hi, babe," she murmured, kissing him slow and deep right there in the restaurant, not caring who saw. "Missed you today."
"You saw me this morning," he reminded her, voice already rough. They'd had a very thorough "good morning" on his kitchen island.
"Still missed you." She nipped his ear. "Behave tonight. Or don't. Your call."
Betty arrived ten minutes later, fashionably on time in a way that said she respected schedules but didn't live by them. She wore an off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress that showed off toned arms and a delicate gold necklace resting in the hollow of her throat. Elegant, sexy without trying too hard—the kind of woman who could walk into a boardroom and own it, then walk into a bedroom and do the same.
Simon stood to greet her, kissing both cheeks European-style. Lily followed, offering a warm hug instead of a handshake.
"Betty, right? I've heard so much. I'm Lily—the official troublemaker in Simon's life."
Betty laughed, a soft melodic sound. "I've heard about you too. The designer who's going to make our app look like sex on a screen."
"Guilty," Lily grinned, sliding back in so Betty sat across from them. "Though Simon's the one who makes everything look like sex."
The wine arrived—Simon had pre-ordered a bottle of 2016 Dom Pérignon because why not. Conversation started safe: Betty's excitement about joining WestTech, Lily's latest project drama, industry gossip. But the undercurrent was there from the jump—lingering eye contact, subtle touches, laughter that lasted a beat too long.
Betty was everything Simon's intuition had promised: smart as hell, funny in a dry understated way, and genuinely kind. She asked Lily real questions about her work, listened like she cared, complimented without sounding fake. Lily, in turn, was her usual charming self but with an extra sparkle—leaning forward when Betty spoke, touching Simon's arm when making a point, including Betty in every joke.
Halfway through the main course, Lily's heel slid up Simon's calf under the table. He nearly choked on his wagyu. She smiled innocently at Betty while continuing to stroke him with her foot. Simon shot her a look that promised retribution. She winked.
"So, Betty," Lily said, swirling her wine, "Simon says you two had instant chemistry at lunch. Spill. What was your first impression of our fearless leader?"
Betty's cheeks pinked slightly, but she didn't look away. "Honestly? Intimidating. Brilliant. And stupidly handsome. Like, unfair levels."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "Stupidly?"
"Completely unfair," Betty confirmed. "Then he opened his mouth and was actually charming and self-deprecating. Ruined my whole 'arrogant tech bro' narrative."
Lily laughed. "He does that. Reels you in with the brooding billionaire vibe, then hits you with dad jokes and emotional availability. Total catfish."
"Hey," Simon protested. "I have never catfished anyone."
"Debatable," both women said at the same time, then burst out laughing.
The vibe was perfect—flirty without pressure, chemistry crackling between all three. Simon's intuition was doing cartwheels: this could work. This could actually work.
Dessert brought the shift. The restaurant's famous chocolate palette arrived—deconstructed, artistic, basically food porn. Lily fed Simon a bite from her fork, then turned to Betty.
"Open," she ordered playfully.
Betty hesitated half a second, then obeyed, letting Lily feed her. Their eyes locked as Betty's lips closed around the fork. Simon felt his temperature spike about ten degrees.
"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath.
"Later," Lily whispered back, loud enough for Betty to hear.
Betty's eyes widened, but she didn't look shocked—more like intrigued. "You two are… intense."
"Understatement," Lily said. "But the good kind. The 'can't walk straight the next day' kind."
Betty laughed again, but her gaze lingered on Simon. "I can see that."
Coffee and after-dinner drinks moved them to the bar upstairs—dim lighting, plush booths, more privacy. Somehow Betty ended up sitting between them, Lily on one side, Simon on the other. Thighs touching thighs, arms brushing arms.
The conversation turned personal. Betty shared that she'd been single for two years after a bad breakup—"He couldn't handle my hours or my brain, apparently." Lily talked about past relationships, how she'd always felt stifled by traditional expectations. Simon admitted his pre-Lily lifestyle—fun but empty.
"I thought I'd be okay with casual forever," he said. "Then this one walked into my launch party in a red dress and called my pickup line bullshit."
Lily grinned. "Best decision I ever made."
Betty watched them with something soft in her eyes. "You two are relationship goals. Like, actual healthy communication and ridiculous attraction."
"We're working on it," Lily said. "Part of that work is… being open to good things. Good people."
She reached across Betty to touch Simon's hand, but her other hand rested lightly on Betty's knee. Not sexual—yet—but definitely intentional.
Betty didn't move away.
The check came. Simon signed without looking. Outside, the night air was cool, city lights glittering.
"My driver's here," Simon said. "Can drop you both home."
Betty hesitated. "Actually… I'm only ten blocks away. Could walk."
"Or," Lily said casually, "you could come back with us for a nightcap. No pressure. Just… see where the night goes."
Betty looked between them, eyes wide but not scared. Simon's intuition screamed yes yes yes.
"I…" Betty swallowed. "I'd like that."
The ride back was twenty minutes of charged silence and small touches—Lily's hand on Betty's thigh, Simon's arm around both women. No one spoke much, but the tension was delicious.
At the penthouse, Simon poured cognac while Lily gave Betty the tour. When they reached the master bedroom, Lily paused dramatically.
"And this is where the magic happens."
Betty laughed nervously. "It's huge."
"That's what she said," Lily deadpanned.
Simon groaned. "You did not just—"
"I absolutely did."
The laughter broke the ice. They ended up on the massive bed, still dressed, drinking and talking. The conversation drifted to fantasies, boundaries, desires.
"I've never…" Betty admitted, cheeks flushed from alcohol and arousal. "With more than one person. Or with a woman."
Lily's eyes sparkled. "No pressure. But if you're curious…"
She leaned in slowly, giving Betty every chance to pull away. Betty didn't. Their kiss started soft—tentative, exploratory—then deepened as Betty responded. Simon watched, heart pounding, cock straining against his trousers.
When they broke apart, both women breathing hard, Lily looked at Simon. "Join us?"
He didn't need to be asked twice.
What followed was slow, careful, mind-blowing. Clothes came off piece by piece—Simon unbuttoning Betty's dress while Lily kissed her neck, Betty's hands shaking as she undid his belt. They explored with reverence and hunger: Lily showing Betty how to touch her, Simon worshipping both women with hands and mouth until they were trembling.
The first time Simon slid inside Betty—slow, watching her face, Lily kissing her through it—was transcendent. Lily watched with dark eyes, touching herself, then guiding Betty's hand between her own legs. The sounds they made—gasps, moans, Simon's name and Lily's name tangled together—were the hottest thing he'd ever heard.
They shifted positions fluidly: Betty riding Simon while Lily sat on his face, then Lily and Betty sixty-nining while Simon took Lily from behind. Every configuration felt natural, consensual, perfect.
Afterward, tangled in sheets and limbs, they dozed in a puppy pile. Simon woke once to find Lily and Betty kissing lazily, hands wandering. He joined, hard again impossibly fast.
Round two was slower, sweeter—Simon making love to Betty missionary while Lily spooned her from behind, whispering encouragement. When Betty came, tears in her eyes from intensity, Lily kissed them away.
Dawn found them exhausted and glowing. Betty curled against Simon's chest, Lily spooning her from behind.
"So," Lily murmured sleepily, "still think we're intense?"
Betty laughed softly. "Intense is underselling it. That was… life-changing."
Simon's intuition, for once, was quiet—satisfied. This wasn't just sex. This was connection.
Over breakfast (delivered, because no one had energy to cook), they talked boundaries. Betty admitted she'd been attracted to both of them from the start. Lily confessed she'd felt the chemistry too and wanted to explore it honestly. Simon, usually so articulate, mostly said "yes please" and "whatever makes you both happy."
They agreed on rules: honesty, communication, no sneaking around. Betty would join when she wanted, no pressure. Work stayed professional—mostly.
As Betty left for home (with Simon's driver and a promise of "text me when you're ready for round three"), Lily collapsed against him in the elevator.
"Well?" she asked. "Your golden gut happy?"
He kissed her slow and deep. "Ecstatic. You're a genius."
"Obviously." She grinned. "But seriously—that was hot as fuck and also… sweet? Like, she fits."
"She does."
The weekend passed in a haze of sex and planning. Betty texted Saturday night: Thinking about you both. A lot. They invited her over Sunday. Round three involved the hot tub, toys Lily had ordered overnighted, and multiple orgasms all around.
By Monday, WestTech's office buzzed with the usual chaos, but Simon walked in floating. Betty was already at her desk, professional as ever in a power suit, but when their eyes met across the bullpen, she blushed and bit her lip.
Lily texted mid-morning: Saw that look. You owe me details later.
Simon: Deal. Dinner tonight? All three?
Lily: Abso-fucking-lutely.
Simon's empire was expanding—not just in business, but in ways he'd never imagined. His golden intuition had led him here, to two incredible women who somehow made everything better together.
The sparks of romance weren't just flying anymore.
They were a full-on wildfire.