Elena woke up alone. The sun cut through cheap blinds, landing on her naked body like an accusation. She was sore — deeply, thoroughly sore.
Her p***y ached, her ass throbbed, and there were bruises on her hips that matched the shape of fingers. She rolled over and smelled them on the sheets. Liam and Lucas. Sweat and s*x and something darker.
Regret crashed into her chest like a physical blow. What had she done? She’d been drunk, broken, desperate. She’d thrown herself at them like a w***e, begged them to use her, let them both — oh god, both of them inside her at once.
She’d loved every second of it, and that was the worst part. She’d never c*m like that, never felt so completely consumed, so perfectly full.
But now, in the harsh morning light, it was shame that pooled in her stoma
