Whitney Mason, Interstellar Brides Processing Center, Miami, Florida

      Foreplay was great, but I liked fucking better. A good, hard, make-me-forget-my-name pounding. In my opinion, candlelight, flowers, and whispering sweet nothings were no indication of a man’s God-given talent between the sheets. In fact, those things could be used as a crutch. There was effort there, sure. But there was also money. Tossing cash around didn’t impress me. It wasn’t what got a man in my pants. It was the expectation of a wild ride.

      Jaded? Definitely. But I was jaded about everything—and everyone—these days.

      But what was happening to me right now? Holy fuck.

      Never happened before. Never felt anything like it before. Never imagined it was even possible.

      Right now?

      Bring on the foreplay!

      Hands were on my naked body. Lots of them. Way more than the usual two. They caressed my shoulders, arms, breasts, up my thighs, cupped my pussy. Full-on foreplay. Then there were the whispers. They sure-as-hell weren’t sweet nothings. They were promises.

       I’m going to lick your pussy until you come. Only then will you get my cock.

      That was Voice One.

       These lips. They’ll look gorgeous wrapped around my cock.

      That was Voice Two.

       This ass. I want to show off how you can take me there, so they see how perfect you are.

      That was Voice Three.

      Yes, three voices. Three guys were touching me, warming me up for not just a pounding, but a… God, what was it to be? My mind supplied the answer even though the thought confused me.

      A claiming.

      I had no doubt I was going to lose myself to them. Not just in pleasure, but in body.

      And soul.

      “Please,” I breathed the word, truly begging.

      I gasped, my eyes popping open. I tried to catch my breath, but I had none. They’d pulled it from me