Weeks slipped into months easy. Diana stopped opening dating apps. Stopped answering messages from guys who thought drinks and small talk would get them somewhere. There was no space left. Marco, Rafe, and Nico took it all—every quiet night, every late shift, every empty hour between closing time and sunrise.
She didn’t miss anything else.
Some nights they kept it slow, almost cruel in how patient they were.
Like the quiet jazz bar on 14th Street—dim lights, velvet booths, low saxophone humming through the speakers. They sat in the corner table, Marco to her left, Rafe across, Nico on her right. Marco’s hand disappeared under the long tablecloth halfway through the second round. Two fingers slid inside her panties, curled slow, thumb pressing her c**t in lazy circles while Rafe talked a
