I woke up at 1 a.m. tangled in sheets that cost more than my car payment, smelling like questionable life choices. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed accusingly, like it knew exactly what kind of fuckery I'd just participated in.
Four bodies. One bed. Zero regrets—at least not yet.
The brothers were still knocked out, looking disgustingly peaceful for men who'd just blown my entire worldview to smithereens.
Raphael had one arm thrown over his face like he was blocking out the world even in sleep.
Titus was on his stomach, face buried in a pillow that probably had a higher thread count than my entire linen closet.
And Stephen—fucking Stephen—was sprawled like he owned the place, which technically he did.
My body felt like I'd run a marathon while being struck by lightning. In the best way possible.
But the post-orgasmic haze was wearing off, replaced by the dawning realization that I'd just fucked my father's business partners. All three of them. At the same time.
Time to go.
I extracted myself from the bed with the grace of a newborn giraffe, trying not to wake anyone. My clothes were scattered across Stephen's stupidly expensive bedroom like breadcrumbs marking my descent into madness.
"Leaving already?" Titus's voice cut through the darkness, rough with sleep but fully alert. Of course he'd wake up. The man probably had motion sensors built into his DNA.
"I need to go," I said, yanking my dress over my head and trying to look like a woman in control rather than someone doing the world's most awkward walk of shame. "This was... this happened. But I need to process it. Alone."
"At least let us call you a car," Stephen mumbled, stirring but not opening his eyes. "It's not safe—"
"I'm a grown woman who can handle her own Uber, thanks." I shoved my feet into my heels, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. "This happened on my terms, remember? That includes the exit strategy."
Raphael sat up, sheet pooling around his waist in a way that was entirely too distracting. "Dakota—"
"Nope. No post-game analysis. No relationship talk. No awkward 'what does this mean' conversation." I held up a hand like I was directing traffic. "I'll see you all at the office. We'll be professional adults who definitely didn't just do what we just did. Cool? Cool."
I fled before they could respond, stabbing the elevator button like it had personally offended me.
The ride down felt like descending from some alternate universe where Dakota Freeman made spectacularly bad decisions and somehow didn't spontaneously combust from shame.
The Uber driver took one look at my sex hair and smudged makeup and cranked up the music. God bless New York's mind-your-own-business culture.
Back at my apartment, I did what any rational woman would do after having mind-blowing sex with three brothers: I dove into Reddit like it held the secrets of the universe.
"I (24F) just had sex with three men at once and now I don't know if I'm liberated or having a mental breakdown"
"First time with multiple partners - what's normal to feel after?"
"How to look your coworkers in the eye after group sex - urgent advice needed"
The anonymous confessions ranged from empowering to terrifying. Some people talked about it like a spiritual experience. Others mentioned therapy.
A concerning number referenced something called "sub drop" that I definitely should have googled before diving dick-first into this situation.
I fell asleep with my laptop still open, screen glowing with strangers' sex stories that made my own adventure seem almost quaint. Almost.
Morning came like a hangover's vindictive cousin. Everything hurt in places I'd forgotten existed, and my brain felt like it was operating on dial-up internet.
I decided working from my private office at Freeman Industries was the move—neutral territory where I could pretend to be a functional professional instead of someone who'd just starred in her own personal porn scenario.
Coffee first. Always coffee first.
I stumbled into my favorite shop looking like I'd been hit by the slut truck and backed over for good measure.
The universe, in its infinite cruelty, had Amber sitting at our usual table, looking fresh-faced and put-together in a way that should be illegal before noon.
"Holy shit, you look like death warmed over," she said, pushing a chair out with her foot. "But also weirdly... relaxed? Like you finally unclenched for the first time in three years."
I collapsed into the seat, signaling desperately to the barista for my usual. "Thanks for that visual."
"No, seriously." Amber leaned forward, eyes narrowing with the precision of a best friend who could smell secrets from fifty paces. "You've got that post-orgasm glow thing happening. Mixed with what appears to be existential dread." She gasped dramatically. "Oh my God, did you finally get laid?"
My brain short-circuited. The smart thing would be to lie. Make up some Tinder date. Pretend I'd had a normal one-on-one sexual experience like a regular human being.
Instead, I heard myself asking, "Have you ever wanted to be physically intimate with more than one man at the same time?"
Amber didn't even blink. "And don't ask me why I'm asking," I added desperately.
"Honey, I've thought about it plenty. Most women have." She stirred her latte with the casual air of someone discussing the weather. "It's like... wanting to eat an entire cheesecake by yourself. Theoretically appealing, potentially overwhelming, definitely not something you announce at Thanksgiving dinner."
"That's... actually helpful?"
"I mean, Bryson and I have talked about it. Not seriously, just in that 'celebrity hall pass' kind of way. Though his list suspiciously includes both Hemsworth brothers, so I'm not sure what that says about his preferences."
She studied my face with unnerving intensity. Her eyes went wide, the coffee cup freezing halfway to her lips.
"Oh. Oh shit. You actually did it, didn't you? You actually went there."
"I didn't say—"
"You don't have to. Your face just turned seventeen shades of red." She set her cup down carefully, like she was handling explosives. "Plus you're sitting like someone who discovered muscles they forgot existed."
"Can we not—"
"Holy fuck, Dakota. You actually had a threesome. Or was it more?" She leaned back, looking at me with something between awe and concern. "No judgment, seriously. Just... wow. How do you even logistics that? Like, where do all the limbs go?"
"I'm not discussing logistics—"
"Fair. But are you okay? Like, emotionally? That's a big jump from three years of nothing to... whatever mathematical equation just happened to your body."
My phone buzzed, saving me from what would definitely be the most mortifying conversation of my life. Stephen's name on the screen made my stomach drop like an elevator with cut cables.
911 - Major legal issue with Meridian Tower contracts. Need your expertise IMMEDIATELY. This could tank everything.
I stared at the message, coffee turning to acid in my stomach. The timing felt cosmic in its cruelty—like the universe was punishing me for daring to have one night of selfish pleasure.
"What's wrong?" Amber asked, reading my face. "You just went from 'sex goddess' to 'might vomit' in two seconds."
"Work emergency," I managed, already gathering my things. "Apparently there's a catastrophic legal issue with the Meridian Tower project that only I can solve."
"The project you need to save the firm?"
"The very same." I stood on shaky legs, every muscle a sore, pulsing reminder of last night. My body protested, but my smile betrayed me—I wouldn’t trade a second of it.