"Shower. Now. Quickly."
Sierra's voice carried that razor-sharp edge—the one that promised swift, merciless retaliation if he so much as hesitated. The kind of tone that had ended stronger men than him.
"I was literally about to—"
"Faster, honey," Maddie interrupted, practically vibrating in place like a chihuahua who'd mainlined espresso straight from the bean. "You promised, remember? You promised."
Phei blinked.
Promised?
What the hell had he—
Oh.
Oh, fuck me sideways with a tripod.
The memory slammed into him like a freight train made of bad decisions and post-orgasm stupidity.
Three nights ago.
Sierra's nails dragging lazy circles across his chest. His brain floating in a blissful, endorphin-soaked void. Maddie's muffled whining filtering through the door—again—about being excluded from the fun. He'd been half-dead, balls thoroughly creampied her, IQ hovering somewhere around room temperature, and somehow, in that vulnerable state, he'd muttered the fatal words.
