Chapter 5 You can’t hide from what you need

The words echoed in my skull like a curse I couldn’t shake.

No man will look at you.

Lucas had said it so many times now that it felt branded into my skin. Not anymore. Not with the extra curves I’d stopped hiding under baggy sweaters. Not with the stretch marks I traced in the dark when no one was watching. He’d delivered the line like casual fact while his girlfriend—twenty-four, flawless, wearing my favorite cashmere throw—curled against him on our sectional. I’d forced a smile then. Pretended it didn’t land. Tonight, sitting in my Mini in the dim underground garage beneath my office tower, engine cold, hands locked around the wheel until my knuckles ached, those words felt like battery acid in my veins.

And yet.

Three men had looked.

Not glanced. Not pitied. Devoured.

Lucien’s ice-blue stare had stripped me bare without apology. Vincent’s slow, filthy grin had promised every sin I’d ever fantasized about. Zane’s dark eyes had lingered on every soft inch like it was treasure, not flaw.

They hadn’t flinched.

They’d groaned.

They’d worshipped.

And in the heat of it, pinned between silk sheets and hard bodies on that rocking yacht, I’d believed every hungry sound they made.

Now daylight made it feel dirty. Wrong. Impossible.

I pressed my forehead to the cool steering wheel, breath shallow and ragged. My thighs still carried that deep, bruised ache—a reminder of how wide they’d spread me, how deep they’d gone, how many times I’d come apart screaming their names. My nipples tightened against the lace of my bra just thinking about Vincent’s teeth grazing them, about Zane’s tongue flicking slow circles until I sobbed, about Lucien’s thick cock stretching me open while he whispered good girl against my ear.

I clenched my legs together. Wetness slicked my panties instantly. I hated how easily my body betrayed me.

Stop it, Sarah.

I was unraveling. A guilty, throbbing, needy mess who’d let her brother’s best friends fuck her senseless while her husband was probably balls-deep in someone else.

My phone had been vibrating in my purse for hours. I hadn’t looked. Couldn’t. The cufflinks were still in the glove box—I hadn’t thrown them away. Hadn’t even opened the drawer to bury the lingerie and vibrator deeper.

A sharp trill cut the silence. My brother’s name lit up the dashboard screen—Bluetooth connecting automatically.

I swallowed twice before answering.

“Hey, Ethan.”

“You okay?” His voice was instant concern, the protective big-brother tone that used to make everything feel fixable. “You sound wrecked.”

“I’m fine.” Lie. “Just… long day. What’s up?”

A pause. “Lucien called me this morning. Said they saw you last night at the yacht party. Said you looked like you needed… company. They made sure you got home safe.”

My stomach dropped through the floor.

Everything inside me went cold, then molten.

“They said that?” My voice came out thin.

“Yeah. Kitten, talk to me. Did something happen?”

That word—kitten—hit like a slap. Vincent had growled it while his mouth was on me, tongue buried deep, fingers curling inside until I arched off the mattress.

I forced a laugh—high, brittle. “I’m good. Really. Just a rough night. I’ll call you later. Love you.”

I ended the call before he could press.

My thumb hovered over Lucien’s name in recent calls.

Don’t.

Don’t do it.

I did.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Sarah.” Dark. Warm. Expectant. Like he’d been staring at his phone waiting for my name to appear.

“Why the hell would you tell my brother?” The words came out gritted, jaw so tight it hurt. “You had no right.”

A low, lazy chuckle rolled through the speaker. “We were concerned.”

“Bullshit.”

“Careful with that mouth, princess.” Vincent now—deeper, teasing, sliding into the call like silk over skin. “You used it so sweetly on us last night.”

Heat flooded my face. My chest. Lower. My clit pulsed at the memory of him guiding my head, groaning my name while I swallowed him down.

“You don’t get to play worried big brothers after—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“After we fucked you until you couldn’t walk straight?” Zane’s voice—quiet, rough, intimate. “After you begged us not to stop?”

My breath caught. I pressed my thighs together so hard my muscles trembled. “That was a mistake. One night. Done.”

Lucien’s tone dropped, velvet wrapped around iron. “You opened your legs and asked for all three of us, Sarah. You came so hard you cried. Don’t pretend you didn’t love every filthy second.”

I remembered. Every thrust. Every whispered praise. Every time they rotated, filled me again, made me feel seen, desired, owned.

My core clenched around nothing. Slick heat soaked through my panties. I hated how right they were.

“You’re ours now,” Zane said softly. Almost tenderly.

I scoffed—too defensive. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

Vincent laughed, dark and certain. “Keep telling yourself that, kitten.”

“First taste,” Lucien continued, voice gravel-low, “and we’ll have you again. And again. Until the only name you remember screaming is ours.”

My nipples ached against the silk of my blouse. Butterflies rioted in my stomach. Ecstasy and shame twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“No you don’t,” Zane murmured. “You hate how much you crave us.”

I hung up.

The phone dropped into the passenger seat with a clatter. I pressed both hands to my face, trying to smother the flush burning my cheeks. My heart hammered. My pussy throbbed—empty, needy, traitorous.

I sat there for long minutes, breathing hard, thighs shaking.

Eventually I started the engine.

I didn’t go up to the office.

I drove.

Through downtown streets, past the glittering river, looping onto the highway as the sun dipped low and turned the sky crimson. Every red light felt like accusation. Every glance in the rearview showed a woman with kiss-swollen lips, faint purple marks peeking above her collar despite concealer.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the house was dark. Lucas’s car wasn’t there. Relief and loneliness hit at the same time.

Inside, silence pressed in. I kicked off my heels, climbed the stairs in stocking feet, and collapsed onto the unmade bed. The sheets still held the faint trace of my perfume from two mornings ago—before the world tilted.

I curled into a ball, hugging a pillow tight to my chest.

And cried.

Not dramatic sobs. Quiet, choking tears that burned my throat. For Lucas’s cruelty. For my own surrender. For the terrifying realization that last night hadn’t felt like betrayal at all.

It had felt like waking up.

I wanted to be back on that yacht. Surrounded by hard muscle and warm skin. Safe in their grip. Wanted so fiercely it hurt. I wanted Vincent’s wicked mouth on my throat, Zane’s reverent fingers tracing every curve, Lucien’s commanding hands holding me exactly where they wanted me.

I wanted to hear princess, kitten, good girl while they ruined me again.

And I hated myself for how badly I wanted it.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. Again.

Finally I rolled over, wiped my cheeks, and looked.

Three messages. One from each.

Lucien: Run all you want, princess. You can’t outrun what you need.

Vincent: We can still taste you. Come back when you’re done pretending you don’t miss us.

Zane: You’re not alone in this anymore, Sarah. We’ve waited years. We’ll wait as long as it takes. But we both know—you’re already ours.

I stared until the words blurred through fresh tears.

Then I turned the phone face-down.

I didn’t reply.

But I didn’t delete them either.

I lay in the gathering dark, body still humming with aftershocks, heart a battlefield, and wondered how long I could keep pretending I didn’t want to go back.

Not long.

Not long at all.