I didn’t leave the room for a full day.

My legs couldn’t hold me. My throat was sore from moaning, screaming, begging.

They’d taken me in every way a woman could be taken—on the desk, the floor, against the bookshelf, on Lorenzo’s lap, between Enzo’s thighs, under Matteo’s firm grip. My body was a canvas of bruises, bites, and lust.

And I’d loved every second of it.

I hadn’t been owned.

I’d offered myself.

And they accepted.

But now… now I was afraid ...