I told myself it was just a fantasy when I filled out the form.
The club’s site was buried three layers deep—anonymous, invitation-style, the kind of place that promised one night, three men, no names, no repeats. I’d been touching myself to the idea of being used by more than one man for months. What I never put in the application was that the faces I pictured always belonged to the same three people: Marcus, Adrian, and Cole. My father’s best friends. The brothers who had been in and out of our house since I was a teenager. Marcus with his low voice and steady hands. Adrian who looked at me a second too long whenever I wore anything tight. Cole, younger, sharper, the one who used to ruffle my hair and call me “kid” until the day he stopped.
I knew it was stupid. Forbidden. The kind of
