There’s no light outside my window. What time is it?
What day is it?
It doesn’t matter.
I’m bent over the side of the bed, my knees weak, my face pressed into the sheets. I can hear Liam and Maddox talking in low, serious tones. Something about a delivery, about the airstrip. I can’t hear clearly, their words muffled, distant, because Knox is behind me, his big hands spreading my ass cheeks, his mouth on my most sensitive place.
He eats me out like a man starving, his tongue a hot, relentless force. Two fingers slide into my hole, twisting and turning, scissoring inside me, finding spots I didn’t know existed. The conversation in the other room fades away completely, replaced by the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on me, the frantic pounding of my own heart. He curls his fingers just right, and I come with a shudder, a violent, full-body quake that leaves me boneless and gasping for air.
“I can’t come anymore,” I beg.
They have been fucking me for hours. One of them made me squirt. I don’t remember who.
Now, I’m lying on my side, caught between them. Liam is in front of me, one of his legs slung over mine, holding me open. Knox is behind me, his body a warm, solid wall. They rock into me sideways, a lazy, unhurried rhythm that’s somehow more intense than the frantic fucking from before. It’s a shared, rolling wave of pleasure.
Liam’s hand is on my breast, his thumb stroking my nipple, while Knox’s arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me tight, his face buried in my hair. I’m so full, so surrounded by their warmth, their scent, their strength. Every nerve ending is on fire, a constant, thrumming hum of pleasure.
I think I died and went to heaven.
I wake up thinking I’m in hell.
My body is one giant, throbbing ache. My head pounds and my mouth tastes like cotton and something vaguely metallic. Every muscle screams in protest as I try to shift, a symphony of soreness I’ve never known before.
I’m in bed. The sheets are too crisp, the mattress too firm. And I’m wearing a T-shirt, a soft, worn thing that’s miles too big for me. It smells of pine and clean, cold air. Knox’s.
The memories come back in fragments, a collage of skin and teeth and desperate, pleading whispers. Memories of being held, of being filled, of three sets of hands on my body, three voicesmurmuring my name. The heat. It was a beast, and it devoured me whole.
I can hear voices downstairs, muffled and indistinct. The low rumble of male laughter, the sharp, electronic chirps of a video game. Normal sounds. Everyday sounds. They feel alien.
I push myself up, my body protesting with every movement. I stumble into the bathroom, my legs unsteady. I pee for what feels like an eternity, the relief immediate and overwhelming. Then I look in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Her face is pale, her eyes shadowed with dark circles that look like bruises. Her lips are chapped and swollen. And her neck, her chest, her breasts… they’re a roadmap of the last few days.
A constellation of purple and blue bruises, small, red bite marks, a faint, silvery scar from where Knox’s teeth sealed his claim. I look wrecked. I look claimed. But my eyes… they look clear. The feverish, desperate glint is gone. In its place is a quiet, exhausted peace.
I splash cold water on my face, the shock of it a welcome jolt. I take a deep breath, my hand resting on my chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of my own heart. I can do this. I can go downstairs.
The smell hits me first. Not just the lingering scent of sex and pack, but something else. Pizza. Coffee. And that clean, piney scent that’s Knox, mixed with the warm, woodsy smell of Maddox and the familiar, comforting aroma of Liam. It’s the scent of home.
They’re in the living room. Liam and Maddox are on the couch, their backs to me, controllers in their hands, their eyes glued to the TV screen where race cars are careening around a track. Knox is in the armchair, a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand, a look of intense concentration on his face.
Liam is the first to notice me. He drops his controller onto the cushion without a second thought and is on his feet in an instant.
“Millie,” he says, his voice soft, careful. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I croak. It’s a lie, but it’s the only one I have.
He nods, as if he understands. He leads me to the sofa, gesturing for me to take his spot. I sink into the cushions, my body grateful for the support. The video game is forgotten.
Knox stands up, walking into the kitchen. “I made you a steak and fries,” he says. “You need to get your energy back.”
Liam points to the coffee table, where a mug sits steaming. “Hot chocolate,” he says. “Extra marshmallows.”
Maddox is already moving, grabbing the wool blanket from the back of the armchair and draping it over my legs, tucking it around me with a gentle, practiced care.
They’re all looking at me, their expressions full of concern, relief, and something else. Something soft and tender. It’s too much. The steak, the hot chocolate, the blanket… it’s not the food or the warmth. It’s the care behind it. The overwhelming, unconditional love.
“What day is it?” I ask, barely a whisper.
