Page 27 of Shared Obsession

Zayn snorts. “That’s nothing. I snuck into a Rolling Stones concert, front row, using a fake press badge. Got kicked out, but totally worth it.”

Dean adds, “I once ate an entire cheesecake on a dare. Regretted it for days.”

Ayla giggles, and I can see her shoulders start to relax, laughing with us.

Dean turns to her, gentler now. “What about you, Ayla? Craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

She blushes. “Honestly? Running away with you guys probably tops the list.”

Zayn winks. “Stick with us, city girl. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Ayla laughs and nudges Dean again. “I’m counting on it.”

The fire crackles, and for a while, we just pass stories and jokes, the laughter weaving us together.

We all laugh, and for a moment, it’s just friends having fun. But when my turn rolls around, I decide to raise the stakes a little. I look at Ayla, letting the silence stretch. “Truth or dare?”

She hesitates, then says, “Truth,” playing it safe.

I lean forward, voice quiet. “Why are you so afraid of wanting all three of us?”

The question lands heavier than the others—suddenly, the laughter fades, replaced by a hush as everyone waits for her answer. The mood shifts, the game turning from harmless fun to something deeper and more unguarded.

Ayla’s cheeks flush, and she glances down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. For a moment, she’s quiet, the firelight dancing over the uncertainty in her eyes.

Ayla remains quiet for a long moment, chewing her lip, her gaze fixed on the fire. When she finally speaks, her voice is thin, but honest: “It just… feels wrong,” she says softly, her words heavy with old pain. “My father always taught me that I was supposed to serve men. That my worth was in what I could do for them, how obedient I could be. I was never supposed to want anything for myself. Especially not something like this—something that feels good, or something I actually chose.”

She looks up, her eyes shining in the firelight, voice trembling as she pushes through the confession. “So when you all look at me the way you do, and I feel myself wanting all of you… it scares me. It makes me feel guilty, like I’m breaking some rule that’s been branded into me since I was little. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for someone to tell me I’m too much, or not enough.” Ayla’s hands twist together nervously. “Wanting this—wanting you—is unnerving. Like I’m cheating, or stealing something I don’t deserve. Like I’m going to wake up and find out it was all a trick, and I’m right back where I started.”

She swallows, meeting my gaze, tears glassing her eyes. “I’m scared because I don’t know how to want for myself. I’m scared because for the first time, I want more than just to survive. I want to feel safe, and happy, and maybe even loved. And that’s new—and it’s terrifying.”

Zayn leans forward, a slow, crooked grin playing at his lips. “You know, Ayla, there’s nothing wrong with wanting what you want,” he says, his voice low and warm. “We’re all grown, all choosing this—every look, every touch, every damn feeling is ours, not something forced or taken. And there’s nothing dirty about it.”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly over her knee, his gaze locked on hers. “Screw anyone who ever made you feel like you’re just here to serve, or like you’re only good for what someone else wants. Your dad, Derek—fuck ‘em. You’re not a piece of meat. You’re strong, and real, and you deserve to want what you want—us, anything, everything. There’s nothing wrong with it. That’s not just okay—it’s living, gorgeous.”

He winks, the atmosphere in the space shifting—charged, but softer, more honest. “And for the record… I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Ayla

I can’t ignore the way my skin prickles when Zayn’s hand lingers on my leg, a heat blooming beneath his touch that leaves my thoughts spinning. Butterflies riot in my stomach—part nerves, part anticipation, part the overwhelming tension in the air. I need a distraction, something to pull the spotlight off my own tangled feelings. “Dean,” I say, trying to sound confident, “truth or dare?”

He arches a brow and grins. “Dare.”

I hesitate, my heart thudding in my chest. Did I really see something earlier between Dean and Zayn, or am I just making it up because I want a way out of my own vulnerability? Their glances, their private smiles, the way Zayn’s knee brushed Dean’s under the firelight—it all felt like a secret language I wasn’t supposed to notice. But what if I’m wrong? What if it was nothing?

Still, curiosity and the need to know win out. “I dare you to kiss Zayn,” I say, forcing a playful edge into my voice even as doubt creeps in.

The group goes silent, the fire crackling in the hush. Uncertainty twists in my gut—maybe I imagined it all. Maybe I’m the only one who noticed. Fuck, did I just make myself look like an idiot?

Dean cocks his head at me, eyes darkening with a familiar mischief. “Is that all?” he teases, and as he stands, Zayn’s hand tightens almost possessively on my thigh. Dean doesn’t hesitate, stepping right over to Zayn, his movements fluid and confident. He leans in, but instead of going for Zayn’s mouth, Dean presses his lips to the sharp line of Zayn’s jaw, then trails kisses down his throat, tracing the snake tattoo with the tip of his tongue. The air thickens, and I can’t look away.

Dean’s hand slides up Zayn’s thigh, slow and sure, fingers kneading the muscle before boldly cupping him through his jeans. Zayn’s grip on my leg grows tighter—almost painfully so—as Dean massages him, moving up to nuzzle and taste along Zayn’s neck until, finally, their mouths meet. The kiss is deep, tongues tangling, and there’s an easy, practiced heat in the way they move—a chemistry that says this isn’t new for them, not even a little. The sight of them kissing has my whole body tensing with desire; I press my thighs together, heat blooming between them, unable to believe how turned on I am by the show.

When Dean finally pulls back, he gives Zayn a sly, satisfied smile before returning to his seat. Only then do I realize Alex has been watching me the whole time, and the grin on his face tells me he noticed exactly how much I felt it.

“My turn,” Dean says, turning to face me directly. I take a deep breath, heart pounding—there’s no denying I just raised the stakes. “Truth or dare, beautiful?”

Fuck it. I remember what Zayn said—there’s nothing wrong with wanting. “Dare,” I say, the word rolling off my tongue with a mix of bravado and nerves. The wicked glint in Dean’s eyes makes me squirm, heat pulsing low in my belly.