The bruises on my thighs had faded by morning, but the memory hadn’t. I could still feel them—their hands, their cocks, the sting of being filled and stretched and owned by two at once. I could feel the echo of that second man’s tongue, the way Adrian had looked at me like I was just a vessel to be poured into, claimed, conquered, broken. And worst of all—I could still feel the shameful flutter between my legs every time I remembered how loud I had screamed, how desperately I had begged ...