It became a schedule, and then it became a life.
The first week after the dinner, Richard said almost nothing. He watched her over breakfast like she was a puzzle he'd misplaced. Once, he reached for her in bed at night, hand on her hip, "Annie?" and she said "not tonight," and turned over, and he never tried again.
Because she was busy.
They were thorough, the three of them. Between them they mapped her entire week. Victor got Tuesdays — his office, after hours, on the sofa or against the window, slow and possessive, three orgasms minimum, a shower, a car home.
Marcus got Fridays — fast and crude in a hotel room near his gym, sometimes twice, sometimes three times, always leaving her thighs marked with his grip.
Elias got Sundays — the long ones. His apartment, the whole afternoon,
