I woke up the next morning in Richard’s bed.

For a long moment I didn’t move. The sheets smelled like him and sex and the faint trace of the other three men who had taken me the night before. My body ached in deep, thorough ways—between my legs, across my breasts, along my thighs where their hands had held me open. When I finally shifted, a dull, satisfying soreness reminded me exactly how many times I had come and how completely I had been filled.

Richard was already awake. He lay on his side watching me, one hand resting possessively on the soft curve of my stomach.

“You’re thinking too...