FIRST BI-MONTHLY PENTHOUSE EXTRAVAGANZA.

The invitation cards arrived on every doorstep in the Minkus International Condo building on a Wednesday, slipped under doors by Riley herself, who wore a trench coat and sunglasses like she was delivering state secrets instead of cardstock printed with gold foil.

MAYA & RILEY'S SECOND ANNUAL — no wait, FIRST BI-MONTHLY — PENTHOUSE EXTRAVAGANZA.

Strip games. Free use. Bring drinks. Bring yourself. Don't bring inhibitions. They won't survive the night. Saturday. 9 PM. Top floor. Be there or be fully clothed somewhere else, which sounds more terrible?

Riley had designed them with a border of tiny dice and playing cards, and Maya had hand-written a P.S. on each one, personal to the recipient. For the couple on the fourth floor who'd had a threes-me at the last party: "Bring whoever you brought last time. They were great." For the retired professor on the eighth floor who'd watched everything from an armchair with a glass of scotch and never participated: "This time, Professor Kirsch, you're spinning the wheel." For Aubrey: "Wear something with buttons. Riley likes undoing buttons."

By Friday, the RSVPs had flooded in. Forty-three people from the building. Plus their core group of Topanga, Aubrey, Ava, and Smackle and a handful of sorority sisters from their college days who had been hearing about these parties for months and had finally, aggressively, demanded invites. Maya stood in the kitchen Friday night, spreadsheet open on her laptop, a glass of red wine in her hand, wearing nothing but an apron that said "KISS THE COOK" across the chest, which Riley had bought as a joke and Maya had adopted as a lifestyle. "We need more lube," Maya said. "We always need more lube," Riley said from the couch, where she was sorting through a box of custom game pieces they'd ordered online. "That's like saying we need more air."

"We need more air too. The penthouse only has so much." Riley held up a set of leather cuffs, inspected them, and set them in the "yes" pile. "What's the final game lineup?" Maya scrolled the spreadsheet. "Strip poker, obviously. Strip blackjack. The spinning wheel, with new categories. Strip Twister, which I'm excited about because the physics alone —" "Someone's going to pull a hamstring." "That's half the fun. And then the dice game, the one where each number corresponds to a body part and an act." Riley looked up. "We made that up."

"We make up a lot of things. We're visionaries." "And the free use rules?" Maya clicked to another tab. "Same as last time. The wheel has 'Free Use' slots. If it lands on you, you pick someone, they pick you back, ten minutes, no whining. But I'm adding a new category this time." "What category?" Maya turned the laptop around. The screen read: "BLINDFOLD PICK — Spinner puts on a blindfold. The room votes on who they get. Spinner doesn't find out until the blindfold comes off." Riley's eyebrows went up. "That's diabolical." "I know." "That's going to be chaos." "I know."

Riley set down the leather cuffs and walked to the kitchen, sliding her arms around Maya from behind, chin resting on her shoulder. "You're a menace." "You married me." "Best decision I ever made." Riley kissed the side of Maya's neck, just below the ear, the spot that always made Maya's breath stutter. "Keep doing that and we won't finish setup." "Setup can wait." Maya set down the wine glass. "No it can't. We have forty-some people coming tomorrow and the Twister mat still has a wine stain from last time that looks suspiciously like —" "I know what it looks like. I was there."

Maya turned in Riley's arms and kissed her properly, one hand in Riley's hair, the other pulling her close by the hip. Riley made a soft sound against Maya's mouth, her hands sliding down to grip Maya's ass under the apron. "Tonight's for setup," Maya murmured. "Tomorrow's for the party. And right now is for finishing the lube inventory." Riley groaned and let go, but not before biting Maya's shoulder lightly. "You're a tyrant." "I'm a project manager. There's a difference. The tyrant comes out during the party."

Saturday arrived with the kind of autumn crispness that made Manhattan feel like a movie set. Maya spent the afternoon arranging furniture, rolling out rugs, setting up game stations through-out the penthouse. The main living area held the spinning wheel and the card tables. The bedroom was designated the "Free Use Zone," with a sign on the door that Maya had lettered herself: WHAT HAPPENS IN HERE IS PROBABLY GOING TO BE WITNESSED BY AT LEAST THREE PEOPLE. The bathroom was stocked with towels, wipes, and a basket of condoms and lube packets that Riley had labeled "SUPPLIES — TAKE WHAT YOU NEED, LEAVE WHAT YOU DON'T, DON'T BE WEIRD ABOUT IT."

By eight-thirty, the penthouse looked like a cross between a high-end cocktail lounge and a very organized orgy. Candles on every surface. Champagne in an ice bucket the size of a small bathtub. A playlist that started with Motown and would, by design, end with songs that had a tempo you could fuck to. Topanga arrived first, wearing a wrap dress in deep burgundy and carrying a bottle of tequila that could have served a fraternity. "Is this enough?" she asked, setting it on the bar. "For you? No. For the building? Also no. But it's a start," Maya said.
Topanga looked around the space, nodding approvingly. "The Twister mat." "Strip Twister mat."
"Right. The strip Twister mat. Where's the wine stain?" "Rotated to the bottom. We're being optimistic."

Topanga poured herself champagne and settled into what she'd clearly already decided was her chair for the evening — the armchair near the window with the best sightline to the entire main room. She kicked off her heels and tucked her legs beneath her. "I'm not spinning the wheel tonight," she said. "You say that every time," Riley said, emerging from the bedroom with a box of blindfolds.

"And every time I end up spinning the wheel." "Then why say it?" "Because the denial is part of my process, Riley. Respect the process." Aubrey came through the door at five to nine, tall and composed, wearing a green silk blouse that matched her eyes and charcoal trousers that hinted at the long legs underneath. She'd brought a crate of wine from a vineyard nobody had heard of, which she described as "small batch, organic, and strong enough to make questionable decisions feel inevitable." "That's my kind of wine," Maya said, accepting a glass.

Aubrey looked at Maya in the fitted black jeans, the cropped leather jacket over a white tank top, the way the whole outfit was designed to come off in stages and smiled. "You look like trouble." "I look like the host. Trouble is what happens after the third spin." By nine-thirty, the penthouse was full. The elevator had been delivering people in waves, couples from the lower floors, the sorority sisters in a pack, the retired professor in a tweed jacket that was absolutely going to come off at some point whether he liked it or not. Someone had brought a tub of chocolate body paint. Someone else had brought a vibrator still in its packaging, where they'd set on the bar like a centerpiece. "Is that a gift or a contribution?" Topanga asked, examining it.

"Both," said the woman from the fifth floor, a redheaded yoga instructor named Darby who had been the one making out with her partner by the bookshelf last time. "Whoever wins strip poker gets to keep it." Maya clapped her hands together. The room quieted. "Okay, listen up." She stood on the coffee table, Riley beside her, both of them grinning with the particular energy of people who had planned something elaborate and couldn't wait to watch it unravel. "Welcome to the first official bi-monthly Minkus International Penthouse Extravaganza. For those of you who were here last time, you know the rules. For those of you who are new" she looked at the sorority sisters, who were already clutching each other's arms in anticipation "you're in for a night. The rules are simple. Every game has a strip component. The wheel has free use slots. The bedroom is the designated free use zone, though honestly, we're not enforcing geography. If it happens on the Twister mat, it happens on the Twister mat." "That mat is already a biohazard," someone called out.

"Then it's a biohazard with nostalgia. Moving on." Riley took over. "The new category on the wheel this time is Blindfold Pick. If you land on it, you put on a blindfold, the room votes on your partner, and you find out who it is when the blindfold comes off. No backing out. No swapping. The room decides." A murmur went through the crowd. The sorority sisters exchanged looks that were equal parts thrilled and terrified. Professor Kirsch adjusted his glasses and took a long sip of scotch. "First game," Maya said, stepping off the coffee table. "Strip poker. Six tables, six hands of five-card draw. Losers at each table strip one item. When someone's fully naked, they are out and the table moves on. Last person with clothes at each table gets a free spin on the wheel."

The crowd dispersed to the tables. Cards were shuffled. Drinks were poured. The penthouse filled with the sounds of shuffling decks, laughter, and the particular charged energy of people who knew they were about to lose their clothes and were genuinely fine with it. Maya dealt at the main table herself, Riley, Aubrey, and Darby. The first hand was unremarkable. Maya lost and shrugged off her leather jacket. Second hand, Riley lost, pulled her tank top over her head, revealing a black bra that made Darby's eyes travel and linger. "Eyes on your cards, Darby," Maya said.

"My cards are terrible. My eyes are the only thing winning right now." Third hand, Aubrey lost, and unbuttoned the green silk blouse with a slowness that felt intentional. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Her breasts were full and pale, nipples already tight from the air conditioning or the anticipation or both. Nobody at the table looked away. The room beyond the table had noticed too. Several heads turned, conversations paused. "Deal," Aubrey said, stacking her chips like nothing had happened.

Fourth hand. Darby lost. She stood up and wiggled out of her leggings, revealing strong yoga legs and a pair of underwear that read "Lucky You" across the front. "Really?" Riley said. "I dressed for the occasion." Fifth hand. Maya lost. She stood, unzipped her jeans, and stepped out of them, leaving her in a black bra and matching thong that Riley had bought her for their anniversary and that had been specifically chosen because they looked good on the floor.
Sixth hand. Riley lost. The bra. Her breasts settled against her chest, brown nipples soft in the candlelight. She tossed the bra onto the growing pile of clothes behind their chairs and dealt the next hand without comment, like this was Tuesday night and not a room full of people watching her sit topless across from her wife.

Seventh hand. Maya lost. The bra came off. She dropped it on Riley's lap. Riley tucked it into her pocket. "I'm keeping that." "You always keep them. We have a drawer full." "Memory box." "It's a drawer, Riley. It's a drawer full of my underwear." "Emotional drawer." The game continued. Darby lost her underwear and stood naked at the table, lean and tanned and completely unselfconscious, her red hair falling over her shoulders. She sat back down and picked up her cards like she was fully dressed at a business meeting. "I respect that energy," Topanga said from her armchair.

Aubrey lost her trousers next, then her underwear, and sat naked with the same composure she brought to everything her legs crossed, cards fanned, green eyes steady. Maya looked at her across the table and felt the familiar pull of attraction, the way Aubrey's calm made her want to disrupt it. The hand that ended the table was Maya's. She lost, stood, and slid her thong down, stepping out of it naked, blond hair messy, blue eyes bright. She curtsied. "Riley wins the free spin." Riley, also naked now, pumped her fist. "Wheel time."

The other tables were finishing up too. Across the room, a man from the third floor stood naked and laughing, his partner applauding from beside him. Two of the sorority sisters had lost everything and were sitting in their chairs with the flushed, giddy expressions of people who had just done something they'd remember for years. Professor Kirsch, remarkably, was down to his undershirt and boxers, and looked like he was having the time of his life. The crowd gathered around the wheel. Riley spun.

It landed on "Blindfold Pick." The room lost its mind. "Oh no," Riley said, but she was grinning.
Maya pulled a black silk blindfold from the box and tied it around Riley's eyes, her fingers gentle against Riley's temples, her mouth close to Riley's ear. "You trust me?" "With everything." "Then trust the room." Maya stepped back and addressed the crowd, keeping her voice low enough that Riley couldn't make out individual responses. "Okay. Whoever wants to be Riley's partner, raise your hand." Every hand in the room went up. Every single one. Including Professor Kirsch's, who raised it with the quiet dignity of a man who had finally stopped pretending.

"Jesus," Aubrey murmured. Maya looked at the options. Her sorority sisters, flushed and naked. Darby, lean and eager. The couples from the lower floors. Aubrey, tall and golden and watching Maya with those green eyes. Topanga, who had raised her hand with zero hesitation and a champagne glass still in the other. "Vote's got to be quick," Maya said. "Hands for Darby." A scattering of hands. "Hands for Aubrey." More hands. Aubrey's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind her eyes. "Hands for Topanga." A respectable number. Topanga waved. "Hands for —" Maya paused. "Hands for me."

The room erupted in hands. Maya looked at Riley, blindfolded and waiting, her naked body lit gold by candlelight, her lips slightly parted, her breath shallow. The room had voted. The room had voted for Maya, which felt like the room had voted for what everyone already knew that whatever happened next was going to be real. "Me," Maya said softly, stepping close to Riley again. "It's me." Riley's hands found Maya's face immediately, pulling her in for a kiss that started gentle and deepened fast, Riley's tongue sliding against Maya's, both of them naked in the center of a room full of people who had gone quiet in that particular way again. The held-breath silence, the recognition that they were watching something that wasn't a show. "Bedroom or here?" Maya murmured. "Here," Riley said. "Right here."

They sank to the rug. Maya kissed down Riley's throat, her collarbone, the space between her breasts. Riley's hands gripped Maya's shoulders, fingernails pressing half-moons into skin. When Maya's mouth closed over Riley's nipple, Riley arched up with a sound that cracked through the room like a starting pistol. Maya took her time. She kissed across Riley's stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thigh. Riley's legs fell open, and Maya settled between them, her breath warm against Riley's pussy, her tongue tracing one slow, deliberate line upward. "Fuck, Maya —" Maya's tongue found Riley's clit and circled it, slow and steady, the rhythm she knew by heart. Riley's hand gripped Maya's hair. Her hips rolled. The room watched some standing, some sitting, some leaning against walls with drinks forgotten in their hands. Darby had pressed herself against her partner, his hand between her legs, both of them watching. One of the sorority sisters was kissing another, hands exploring, the boundary between spectator and participant dissolving the way it always did at these parties.

Maya slid two fingers inside Riley, curling them upward while her tongue kept its pace. Riley's back arched off the rug, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her free hand gripping the rug so hard her knuckles went white. "Don't stop — Maya, don't —" Maya didn't stop. She fucked Riley with the kind of focused intensity that made everything else in the room disappear. The crowd, the candles, the city outside until there was only her mouth and her hand and Riley's body responding to both. Riley came with a sound that tore from her throat and echoed off the penthouse's high ceilings, her whole body clenching around Maya's fingers, her hips bucking once, twice, then pressing up into Maya's mouth as the waves rolled through her. Maya held her through it, tongue slowing, fingers still, until Riley pushed her head away gently, gasping.

"Your turn," Riley breathed, pulling Maya up and reversing their positions with a strength that still surprised Maya every time. Riley pushed Maya's knees apart and settled between them, her mouth finding Maya's pussy without hesitation, her tongue working in the way that only someone who had done this a thousand times could knowing exactly where to press, how fast, when to slow down and when to push. Maya gripped Riley's hair and bucked against her face. "Right there — fuck, right there —" Riley's tongue was relentless. She slid a finger into Maya, then two, fucking her while her mouth worked Maya's clit, and Maya's sounds filled the room raw, unfiltered, the kind of sounds that made nearby partygoers inhale sharply and reach for each other.

Aubrey had moved closer. She stood three feet away, green eyes dark, watching with the focus of someone memorizing something. Her hand rested on her own stomach, fingers just above the line of her pubic hair, not touching, but close. Maya caught Aubrey's eye and something passed between them. Permission, invitation, acknowledgment. Aubrey knelt beside them, her long fingers finding Maya's breast, rolling the nipple between her thumb and forefinger while Riley's mouth kept working. The dual sensation of Riley's tongue, and Aubrey's hands sent Maya over the edge. She came with a cry that shook through her entire body, her thighs clamping around Riley's head, her hand gripping Aubrey's wrist, her back arching off the rug in a way that made the crowd inhale collectively. When she came down, Riley was grinning up at her, chin wet, and Aubrey was pressing a kiss to Maya's shoulder, her blond hair falling across Maya's skin.

"The blindfold," someone said. "She still has the blindfold on." Maya reached up and untied it. Riley blinked, eyes adjusting to the candlelight, and saw the room, the crowd, the scene, Aubrey's hand still on Maya's breast, the sorority sisters now fully entangled on the couch, Professor Kirsch standing at the bar with his boxers finally gone and his scotch in hand, looking like a man who had been reborn at seventy.

"Hi," Riley said to the room. The room applauded. The night unfolded from there. The wheel kept spinning. "Lose Two Items" sent a ripple of undressing through the crowd. "Pick Someone to Kiss" created a chain reaction that turned into a full group make-out session near the bar. "Full Monty" claimed three more victims, each of whom handled it with varying degrees of grace and one of whom did a handstand that nobody expected and everyone appreciated. The strip Twister game happened at midnight, and true to prediction, someone pulled a hamstring. The man from the third floor, who collapsed onto the mat laughing, his wife stepping over him to reach the next dot, her bare foot landing on a wine stain that was definitely not from a glass.
"That's not wine," he said from the floor. "It is now. Keep playing."

Aubrey spun the wheel at one in the morning and landed on Free Use. She looked at the room. The room looked at her. "I pick both of them," she said, pointing at Maya and Riley. "You can't pick both," Topanga said from her chair. "Says who?" "Fair point," Maya said. "Bedroom. Both of us. Ten minutes." "Twenty," Aubrey said. "Fifteen," Riley countered. "Done." The bedroom door closed behind them and the sounds that emerged over the next fifteen minutes included Aubrey's measured breathing breaking into something urgent, Maya's sharp gasps, Riley's low moans, the rhythmic creak of the bed kept the partygoers in a state of pleasant distraction. Someone started a betting pool on who came first. Topanga won, having bet on Aubrey, because Topanga had been watching Aubrey all night and understood her capacity for patience and its eventual, explosive payoff.

By three in the morning, the penthouse had settled into its natural end state. Bodies everywhere on the couch, on the rugs, in the armchairs, on the Twister mat, which had accumulated at least two new stains that would require creative explanation. The chocolate body paint had been opened and used on at least six people, one of whom still had a handprint on her inner thigh that she'd declared she was never washing off. The vibrator had been won by Darby in a tiebreaker round of strip blackjack and was already being put through its paces in the corner while her partner watched with an expression of profound contentment.

Professor Kirsch was asleep in the armchair next to Topanga, fully clothed again, his tweed jacket draped over him like a blanket. Topanga was still awake, champagne in hand, watching the room with the satisfied expression of a woman who had spun the wheel at two in the morning, landed on Free Use, and had a thoroughly excellent time with a woman from the seventh floor whose name she couldn't remember but whose technique she would never forget.

Maya and Riley ended up on the rug again, tangled together, a blanket over them, the city quiet outside the windows. Aubrey was on the couch behind them, one arm dangling off the edge, her fingers occasionally brushing Maya's hair.