Travis's hand found her hip as DeShawn's weight left the bed, the mattress sighing upward. His palm was warm through the thin cotton of her dress, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there like he was checking she was still real. She lay face-down, her cheek against the damp pillow, her body a map of other men's hands and mouths and cocks.
"Look at you." His voice was low, rough at the edges. Not angry. Something else. Something that made her stomach tighten. "Still dripping."
She turned her head, her hair sticking to her cheek. Travis stood beside the bed now, his hand still on her hip, his gaze traveling the length of her body. DeShawn was pulling on his shorts near the dresser, Malik already at the door with his phone out, Terrence following. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint floral of the hotel soap.
"Get cleaned up," Travis said. "Then come find me on the patio." His thumb traced a slow circle on her hip bone. "Wear something I can take off you easily."
She nodded, her throat too dry for words. Malik paused at the door, glancing back at her once, something unreadable in his dark eyes, then he stepped into the hall and was gone. The door clicked shut behind Terrence with a soft hydraulic hiss.
She lay still for a long moment, listening to the silence they left behind. The air conditioning hummed. Somewhere far off, a door slammed. Her thighs were slick with cooling cum, the sheets beneath her ruined.
She pushed herself up slowly, her muscles protesting. Her sundress was twisted around her waist, stained across the chest, the fabric clinging to her skin where it was damp. She pulled it off over her head and stood naked in the middle of the room, her body a mess of evidence.
The bathroom mirror showed her what she already knew: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes too bright. She ran the shower hot, let the water pound her shoulders, her back, the ache between her thighs. The water ran pink for a moment before clearing. She stood under it until her fingers pruned, until the heat sank into her bones and loosened something tight in her chest.
She dried off slowly, deliberately, her hands moving over her own body like she was rediscovering it. The curve of her hip. The soft weight of her breasts. The tender place where DeShawn's fingers had gripped her thigh hard enough to bruise.
The closet held three dresses Travis had packed for her. She chose the blue one — thin straps, a neckline that showed the tops of her breasts, a hem that barely reached mid-thigh. Nothing underneath. He'd said easy to take off. She understood the assignment.
She found him on the patio, alone, the city glittering below them in the deepening dusk. He was leaned back on the outdoor couch, one arm spread across the cushions, a glass of something amber in his other hand. Ice clinked as he raised it to his lips.
She stopped in the doorway, the glass door sliding shut behind her with a soft thud. The air was cooler out here, carrying the faint smell of chlorine from the pool three floors down. The evening sky was a deep purple, the first stars pricking through above the city's glow.
Travis's eyes found her. Traveled her. Settled on the way the thin fabric of the dress pulled across her chest, the way her thighs touched at the top, the way her hair still hung damp and curling from the shower.
"Come here."
She crossed the cool tiles barefoot, her heels clicking against nothing. She stopped between his knees, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, the salt of his skin. He set the glass down on the low table beside the couch and reached for her, his hands finding her hips, pulling her closer.
"You did good today." His voice was quiet, almost private. His thumbs traced the jut of her hip bones through the thin fabric. "Better than good."
She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. His hands moved up her sides, over her ribs, stopping just below her breasts. His gaze was heavy, possessive, the kind of look that made her feel like the only woman in the world and like property at the same time. She loved that look.
"The men are heading to the cabana," he said. "I told them you'd join them in a bit." His fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, tugging her forward until she had to brace a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance. "But first, I want a minute with my wife."
He pulled her down onto his lap, her thighs straddling his, the thin cotton of his jeans rough against the inside of her bare thighs. She settled against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the familiar weight of his hands on her waist.
"I love watching you," he said, his voice a low rumble near her ear. "The way you open for them. The way you take it. You were made for this."
She shivered, a flush spreading across her chest. His hand came up, fingers brushing her hair back from her face, tucking a damp strand behind her ear. The gesture was soft, almost tender, and it made her throat tight.
"You're not jealous?" The words came out before she could stop them, a small, uncertain thing.
His hand stilled on her cheek. His eyes met hers, hazel in the dim light, searching. "Jealous?" A low laugh, barely a breath. "I'm the one who arranged it. I'm the one who watches. They get your body. I get to see you come apart." His thumb traced her lower lip. "I get you back."
The words settled into her chest, warm and heavy. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his, her breath mingling with his. The night air was cool on her bare shoulders, but where she touched him, she was burning.
"I want you to go to that cabana," he said, his voice dropping lower, the instruction sliding into the space between them. "I want you to walk in there looking like you belong in a man's lap. I want you to take charge the way you did with Megan today." His hand slid down her back, pressing her closer. "You're not just their toy tonight. You're the one running the show."
She pulled back just enough to see his face. His eyes were dark, intent, the predator's stillness she knew so well. "You mean that?"
"I told you before." His hand tightened on her hip. "You're built for this. Both sides of it. Being used and being the one who gives permission." He kissed her, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting of whiskey. When he pulled back, she was breathless. "Now go. Before I change my mind and keep you here."
She rose from his lap, her legs unsteady, the cool air rushing in where her body had been pressed against his. She stood there for a moment, looking down at him — her husband, sprawled on the patio couch with his glass and his slow smile, the city lights reflected in his eyes.
"What will you do?" she asked.
"Watch." He picked up his glass, took a slow sip. "I'll be down in a bit. Want to give you time to set the scene."
She bit her lower lip, a nervous habit she'd never broken. But underneath the flutter in her chest was something else. Hunger. Anticipation. The knowledge that she was walking into that cabana not as a woman who waited for permission, but as one who gave it.
She turned, her bare feet silent on the tiles, her hand finding the door handle. The glass was cool against her palm. Behind her, Travis's voice stopped her.
"Leah."
She turned back. He was still leaning back, his glass raised, his eyes on her like she was something precious and something to be spent.
"Make them remember it."
She held his gaze for a long beat, then pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor. The door slid shut behind her, cutting off the night air, leaving her alone in the artificial hum of the hotel hallway.
The walk to the elevator was short. The carpet was patterned in shades of beige, the walls lined with mirrors that showed her a woman she barely recognized: flushed, bright-eyed, a dress that barely covered her, walking with a confidence she'd never owned before this week.
The elevator smelled of bleach and stale perfume. She pressed the button for the ground floor, watching the numbers descend, her reflection ghostly in the polished metal doors. Her heart was pounding. Not from fear. From want.
The doors opened onto the lobby, all marble and soft lighting and the distant clink of glasses from the bar. A couple passed her, the woman's gaze lingering on Leah's dress, the man's eyes fixed on her legs. She felt their attention like a physical thing, warm and weighty.
She crossed the lobby, her sandals clicking on the marble, and stepped out onto the pool deck. The air hit her differently out here — warmer, wetter, carrying the sharp bite of chlorine and the low thrum of music from somewhere. The pool glittered under the lights, turquoise and inviting, but the cabana was where she was headed.
It stood at the far end of the deck, its curtains half-drawn, light spilling through the gaps. She could hear voices inside — low, male, punctuated by a laugh she recognized as Malik's. Her stomach flipped.
She walked toward it, her hips swaying with every step, the thin fabric of her dress shifting against her bare skin. She was aware of the eyes on her — the pool attendant who stopped mid-wipe, the couple at the far end who turned to watch. She didn't slow down.
At the cabana's entrance, she paused. The curtain was canvas, thick and white, rustling in the faint breeze from the pool. She could see shadows moving behind it, the shapes of men settling into chairs and couches. The low murmur of their voices carried through the fabric.
She drew a breath, felt it settle in her chest, and pushed the curtain aside.
They looked up as she entered — Malik on the long couch, his long legs spread wide, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. Terrence beside him, his arm across the back of the couch, a slow grin spreading across his face. Darius in the armchair near the low table, his phone in his hand, his dark eyes finding her immediately. DeShawn leaned against the cabana's wooden post, his arms crossed, watching her with a stillness that made her stomach tighten.
And Cam — the new one, the built one — stood near the back, half in shadow, a bottle of water in his hand. He didn't smile. He just looked at her like he was already deciding what to do with her.
The silence stretched, thick and expectant. She felt their attention like a weight, pressing against her skin, testing her.
She let it. She stood in the center of the cabana, the curtains rustling behind her, and met each of their gazes in turn. She was not the same woman who had first walked into this cabana two days ago. That woman had waited for permission. This one had learned she could give it.
"Megan and her friend are on their way," she said, her voice steady, clear. "They'll be here in about fifteen minutes." She moved to the low table in the center of the cabana, trailing her fingers across its surface. "I wanted to talk to you all first."
Malik's eyebrows rose a fraction. Terrence's grin widened. Darius set his phone down, giving her his full attention.
"I'm running this tonight," she said. "Not Travis. Not any of you. Me." She let that settle. "You'll do what I say, when I say it. And when those women walk through that curtain, you will follow my lead."
The silence that followed was longer this time. She could feel them weighing her, measuring her against the woman who had knelt on this same floor and let them fill her mouth. Something shifted in their eyes, one by one.
Malik was the first to move. He leaned forward, setting his beer on the table, and spread his hands. "I'm listening."
Terrence laughed, low and approving. "Well, well. Look who found her voice."
Darius just watched her, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You heard her. Tonight, she's the boss."
Cam said nothing, but he tilted his head, and something in his dark eyes flickered — not resistance, but interest. The kind of interest a man shows when a woman surprises him.
Leah let herself breathe. She was standing in a cabana with six men who had used her body, and now she was telling them what to do. The power of it crackled through her, electric and new.
"Good," she said. "Then let's get ready."