Morning light sliced through the tall windows, pale and cold.
I woke tangled in sheets that smelled like cedar and five different men.
My body ached in places I hadn’t known could ache—thighs tender, n*****s sensitive against the soft flannel, a dull throb between my legs that reminded me of every finger, every tongue, every whispered promise from the night before.
I lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling beams, trying to convince myself last night was a fever dream brought on by hypothermia and desperation.
It wasn’t.
I could still taste Matthew on my lips.
Still feel Mark’s scar under my fingertips.
Still hear Luke’s low groan when I’d clenched around his fingers.
I sat up fast. Too fast. Dizziness hit. I gripped the headboard.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
I pul
