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“Most of it. Anything specific you’re asking me about?” I say with what I hope is a sexy smirk.

There is no way I could forget having three schlongs filling me.

Reaching for my face wash, I take my time removing as much of last night as I can without tugging on my skin. I might be in a dangerous world now, but that doesn’t mean I want premature wrinkles.

Rinsing off the cream, I grab a loofah and the first body wash I touch and start cleaning off the sweat and perfumeand any lingering odors from one of the craziest, saddest, most satisfying, and sexiest nights of my life.

“You said you want your father to suffer before we kill him, and you want your mom included in all that,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to watch me.

“It’s really hard to have this conversation with your cock in my face like that,” I say, turning my back to him so I can clean up.

A deep, masculine chuckle echoes against the tile. “It’s not in your face. Not yet. I’m more than happy to feed you every inch if you’re hungry, though.”

“Damn it, Brix,” I grumble, rinsing off and turning to look at him again.

And yep, his dick has officially come to life, jutting forward like it’s begging to be touched.

Oh, I want to do more than touch it. I might be hungover, but the shower and my libido are pushing all the misery to the back of my subconscious.

When he pushes from the wall and begins to stalk toward me across the small space separating us, I can’t stop my feet from taking a step back. There’s this thrill rippling through me at the dark, hungry look in his eyes.

I must not look that bad if he’s ready to take me right here in the shower only hours after coming inside me alongside Kato and Madd.

Technically, he only said he’d be happy tofeedme his cock.

Not exactly the worst way to get over a hangover.

When the cool tile hits my back, I shiver, and it ain’t from the cold.

The look in this man’s eyes is nothing short of feral. There are moments I can see the sweet teenager from four years ago.

This isn’t one of them.

The man looking down into my face as he grips his shaft and strokes it slowly in one of his big fists is like my worst nightmare and hottest fantasy all rolled up into one sexy as fuck package.

“On your knees,” he says.

No. Heorders.

And I have to force myself to move slowly instead of dropping to the shower floor like an obedient sub.

“If only you were always so good at taking orders,” he coos, his fingers running over my face before he pushes my bottom lip down with his thumb. “Open.”

I part my lips for him, sticking out my tongue and waiting as he moves closer, slapping the weight of his dick against my tongue a couple times before slowly pushing inside.

“Fuck,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I can’t decide if I want to come down your throat or paint those pretty tits.”

Yep. My Brixton still wakes horny and hard as granite.

I would rather he come inside me. Otherwise, he’ll leave me with a case of lady blue balls, and that’ll do nothing short of making me pissy for the rest of the day.

Or at least until one of my other husbands gets me off.

One of his hands wraps around my jaw while the other holds the base of his shaft as he pushes forward. Slowly.

The studs rub against my tongue, and I moan as I instantly grow wet and my nipples pebble at the sensation.

“You think being a whore is a bad thing,” he says as he pushes forward more. “You’ll always be a whore, E. But you’remywhore. Our whore. And we’ll pay for you with our lives. Never let anyone make you feel as though you’re less.”