I couldn’t stop thinking about their hands.
Their mouths.
The way they stopped right when I needed more.
It had been three days. Three long, agonizing, wet-panty days.
And none of them touched me again.
Not a word. Not a whisper. Not even a lingering glance.
They’d turned the game back on me. And it was working.
Because I was slowly going insane.
I’d never begged a man before in my life. I swore I never would.
But with them—those men—my body was betraying me.
Every.
Single.
Night.
I touched myself to the memory of their dominance, the pressure of their hands pinning me between them, the hunger in Lorenzo’s kiss, the way Matteo moaned when he bit my neck, how Enzo’s hands were so… possessive.
I needed more.
And they knew it.
Which was why, when I walked into the grand hall t
