Monday evening settled over the Holloway house like a held breath. Jaden stood at the guest room window, watching the sun bleed orange through the pines, his duffel bag packed and waiting by the door. Tomorrow morning, he and Stacy would drive back to campus. Back to normal. Back to the world that didn't know what he had become.

He pressed his palm flat against the glass, feeling the cool of the evening through it. Behind him, the bed was made, the sheets changed, the evidence of the weekend erased. But his body remembered. His skin remembered. The ache in his muscles, the tenderness in his throat, the places where Tommy's hands had gripped hard enough to bruise—they all remembered.

A knock at the door. Soft. Three taps.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Stacy slipped inside, wearing a thin white sundress that caught the last of the daylight. Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, and her eyes held a knowing he hadn't seen in her before—a depth that made her look older, sharper, more like her mother.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said, closing the door behind her. "Mom made your favorite. The lemon chicken thing."

"I know." He turned from the window. "I helped her prep it this afternoon."

She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, and stopped in front of him. Close enough that he could smell her shampoo—coconut and something floral. Close enough that he could see the faint pulse beating in her throat.

"You're nervous," she said.

"I'm not."

"You're rubbing your neck."

He dropped his hand. She smiled, soft and knowing, and reached up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

"It's okay to be nervous," she said. "Tonight's different."

"Different how?"

"You know how." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper. "After dinner, we're all going to come to this room. All four of us. And we're going to take you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left of you that doesn't belong to us."

His breath caught. His cock stirred, half-hard already, a response that was becoming automatic when any of them touched him.

"Is that what you want?" Stacy asked, pulling back to meet his eyes. "All of us. Together. No more secrets, no more sneaking around. Just you, and us, and the whole night."

He thought about it. Thought about Diana's knowing smile, Grant's patient hands, Tommy's possessive grip. Thought about the way Stacy had watched him from the doorway the night before, her eyes dark with something that looked like pride.

"Yes," he said. "That's what I want."

She kissed him, soft and slow, her tongue sliding against his, her hands fisting in his shirt. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright, her lips swollen.

"Good," she said. "Come eat."

Dinner was a slow unraveling. Jaden sat at the table between Stacy and Tommy, the lemon chicken steaming on his plate, and felt every glance like a touch. Diana across from him, her fork tracing slow circles through her vegetables, her eyes finding his every time she brought it to her lips. Grant at the head of the table, quiet and watchful, his hand resting on the wood beside his plate, the silver watch catching the dining room light. Tommy beside him, close enough that their elbows brushed when they reached for the same dish, close enough that Jaden could feel the heat of his thigh through their jeans.

They talked about nothing. The weather. The drive back to campus tomorrow. Stacy's classes, her professors, the paper she had due next week. Normal conversation, the kind of chatter that filled a thousand dinners in a thousand houses, and underneath it, the current ran hot and steady, pulling Jaden toward the shore he had already chosen.

He ate without tasting. Answered questions without hearing them. His body was already elsewhere, already waiting in the guest room, already counting the minutes until the plates were cleared and the chairs pushed back and the door closed behind them.

Stacy's hand found his knee under the table. Squeezed once. A promise.

He squeezed back.

Tommy's foot pressed against his ankle, a slow drag up his calf, and Jaden felt his cock twitch, felt the heat rise up his neck. He kept his face still, kept his voice steady, and let the current carry him.

Diana stood first, gathering plates with a grace that made the simple act look like a dance. "Leave them," she said when Stacy moved to help. "I'll take care of it. You go on ahead."

Her eyes met Jaden's. Held them. A smile that said everything and nothing.

Grant pushed back his chair, the legs scraping against the hardwood. He drained the last of his wine, set the glass down with a deliberate click, and looked at Jaden the way he had looked at him that first night—like a man who had already made up his mind.

"Guest room," he said. It wasn't a question.

Jaden nodded.

Stacy took his hand, her fingers lacing through his, and led him out of the kitchen. He followed, his heart hammering, his skin alive with the knowledge of what was coming. Behind him, he heard Tommy's footsteps, solid and unhurried, and farther back, the soft pad of Diana's bare feet on the hardwood.

The hallway stretched before them. The stairs rose. The guest room door stood open, the lamp still burning, the bed he had made that morning waiting for him to unmade it.

Stacy led him inside. He stopped in the center of the room, the carpet soft under his feet, and turned to face the doorway.

Grant came first. Then Tommy. Then Diana, closing the door behind her with a click that sounded like the end of something and the beginning of everything else.

They stood in a semicircle around him, four pairs of eyes, four bodies that had each taken something from him and left something behind. The air thickened. The lamp cast long shadows across the walls.

"Strip," Diana said. Soft. Warm. The voice of a woman who had been waiting all weekend to say this word.

Jaden reached for the hem of his shirt.

His fingers found the fabric, and he pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the carpet. The air hit his skin, cool and electric, and he felt the weight of their gazes like a physical pressure. Grant's eyes tracing the lines of his chest, the curve of his shoulders. Tommy's stare fixed on his throat, on the bruises that were just beginning to bloom purple. Diana's gaze drifting lower, to the waistband of his jeans, to the swell of his cock already pressing against the denim. And Stacy—Stacy watching him like she was seeing him for the first time, her lips parted, her breath shallow.

He reached for his belt. Unbuckled it with hands that didn't tremble. The rasp of the leather through the loops was loud in the silence, and he let it fill the room, let them hear every inch of it. He unfastened his jeans, pushed them down his hips, stepped out of them. His boxers followed, and then he was naked, standing in the center of the guest room with four Holloways encircling him, the lamp casting his shadow long across the wall.

"Good boy," Diana said, and the words sent a shiver down his spine. She stepped forward, her sundress brushing her thighs, and reached out to touch his chest, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, the place where his pulse beat hard and fast. "You're beautiful like this. All of you. Open."

Grant moved behind him, and Jaden felt the heat of his body before he felt the hands—broad palms settling on his hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of his lower back. "Turn around," Grant said, his voice low, and Jaden turned, facing the head of the bed, the window, the darkening sky beyond. He felt Grant's breath on his shoulder, felt the rough fabric of Grant's jeans against the backs of his thighs, and then Grant's hand slid down his spine, over the curve of his ass, and between his legs.

"You're already hard," Grant murmured, his fingers wrapping around Jaden's cock, stroking him slow. "You've been ready for this all day, haven't you?"

"Yes," Jaden breathed.

Tommy stepped into his field of vision, his blue eyes dark, his jaw tight. He was already unbuckling his belt, pulling it free with a sharp hiss of leather. "On the bed," he said. "On your knees. Face the headboard."

Jaden moved without thinking, the command settling into his bones like a key turning a lock. He climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and settled onto his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, his back straight, his cock aching and hard between his legs. The headboard was dark wood, smooth and polished, and he focused on the grain, on the patterns in the wood, on anything that would anchor him as the room shifted around him.

The bed creaked as someone climbed on behind him. Grant's hands found his hips again, guiding him forward, and then Grant's chest pressed against his back, the fabric of his henley rough against Jaden's bare skin. "You're going to take all of us tonight," Grant said, his lips brushing Jaden's ear. "One at a time. Together. Every way we want you. And when we're done, you're going to be ours in a way that can't be undone."

"I know," Jaden said. His voice was steady. His heart was not.

Diana appeared at the side of the bed, her sundress already gone, her body bare and golden in the lamplight. She climbed onto the mattress, her knees sinking into the sheets, and positioned herself in front of him, her thighs open, her cunt slick and waiting. "Start here," she said, her fingers threading through his hair. "Show me how much you've learned."

Jaden leaned forward, his mouth finding her, his tongue sliding through her folds, tasting her—salt and honey and something darker, something that was all Diana. She gasped, her hips tilting into him, her fingers tightening in his hair, and he lost himself in the rhythm of it, in the wet heat of her, in the way she moaned his name when he found the right spot and stayed there.

Behind him, he felt Grant's hands on his ass, spreading him open, and then the wet press of a finger, slow and deliberate, pushing into him. He moaned against Diana's cunt, his hips pressing back into the intrusion, and Grant chuckled, low and dark. "That's it. Take it. Take all of it."

A second finger joined the first, stretching him, preparing him, and Jaden's tongue stuttered against Diana's clit as pleasure sparked up his spine. He heard the click of a belt, the rustle of fabric, and then Tommy's voice, rough and hungry: "Look at me."

Jaden pulled his mouth away from Diana, turning his head to find Tommy standing at the side of the bed, his cock in his hand, hard and thick and slick with spit. "Open your mouth," Tommy said.

Jaden opened. Tommy stepped closer, his cock sliding past Jaden's lips, filling his mouth, and Jaden tasted himself on Tommy's skin, tasted the musk of the afternoon, tasted the claim that Tommy had already staked. He sucked, hollowing his cheeks, his tongue tracing the vein on the underside, and Tommy groaned, his hand fisting in Jaden's hair, holding him in place.

Diana's fingers found his chin, tilting his face back toward her. "Don't forget about me," she said, and he pulled his mouth off Tommy's cock just long enough to whisper, "Never," before diving back into her, his tongue finding her clit, his lips closing around her, his fingers sliding into her, fucking her slow and deep.

Grant's fingers withdrew, and Jaden felt the blunt pressure of something larger at his entrance—Grant's cock, slick with lube, pressing against him. "Breathe," Grant said, and Jaden did, inhaling deep, and then Grant pushed in, slow and steady, filling him inch by inch, until Jaden was full, stretched, split open on the bed with Diana's cunt against his mouth and Tommy's cock down his throat and Grant's hands on his hips, fucking into him with a rhythm that made the headboard knock against the wall.

He was drowning. He was flying. He was everywhere and nowhere, his body a vessel for their pleasure, his mind a white-hot blur of sensation and surrender. Diana came against his tongue, her thighs trembling, her cries muffled by her own hand. Tommy came in his throat, hot and thick, his grip bruising in Jaden's hair. Grant came last, buried deep inside him, his groan low and broken, his forehead pressed to Jaden's spine.

And through all of it, Jaden didn't come. He hovered at the edge, held there by something he couldn't name, some knowledge that this wasn't over, that there was one more Holloway who hadn't taken her turn.

Stacy was still dressed, still standing by the door, her white sundress pristine, her eyes wet with something that looked like pride. She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet, and climbed onto the bed, settling in front of him as Tommy and Grant and Diana pulled away, leaving him trembling and spent and still achingly hard.

"My turn," she said, her voice soft, her hands cupping his face. "You've been so good for them. Now be good for me."

She kissed him, slow and deep, and he tasted the others on her tongue—Diana's salt, Tommy's musk, Grant's sweat. She pushed him onto his back, her body covering his, her sundress riding up her thighs, and she settled over him, her cunt hot and wet against his cock, not taking him in, just resting there, the pressure driving him insane.

"I planned all of this," she whispered against his mouth. "I picked you. I brought you here. I gave you to them, piece by piece, and you took every piece and asked for more."

"Yes," he breathed.

"You're mine," she said. "All of you. Every inch. Every thought. Every drop of cum that's still in you, waiting for me." She reached down, guiding him to her entrance, and sank onto him in one slow, deliberate motion. "Say it."

"I'm yours," he gasped, her heat closing around him, her walls gripping him tight.

"Say my name."

"Stacy."

She rode him slow, her hips rolling, her sundress pooling around her waist, her hands pressed flat to his chest. The others watched from the edges of the bed—Diana with her knowing smile, Grant with his patient eyes, Tommy with his possessive stare—and Jaden let himself fall into her, let himself be claimed by the girl who had seen something hungry in him and decided to feed it.

He came with her name on his lips, his body arching off the bed, his release emptying into her in long, shuddering waves. She followed a moment later, her cunt clenching around him, her head thrown back, her cry filling the room.

When it was over, she collapsed against him, her breath hot on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns through the sweat on his skin. The room was quiet. The lamp still burned. The night pressed against the windows, dark and deep.

One by one, they settled around him—Diana curling against his side, Grant lying at his feet, Tommy stretched across the foot of the bed. Stacy stayed on top of him, her body a warm weight, her lips brushing his shoulder.

"This is it," she whispered. "This is what I wanted. All of us. Together."

Jaden stared at the ceiling, at the shadows the lamp threw across the plaster, and felt the weight of four bodies pressed against him, four hearts beating in the dark. He thought about the drive back to campus tomorrow. The classes he would sit through. The friends who would ask about his weekend. The lie he would tell, smooth and practiced, about a quiet weekend with his girlfriend's nice, normal family.

And he thought about the truth—the truth that lived in his skin, in his bones, in the places where they had marked him. The truth that he belonged to them now, all of them, and that he would never be able to explain it to anyone who hadn't been in this room.

He tightened his arm around Stacy, pulling her closer, and closed his eyes.

Outside, the house settled into silence, the last lamp still burning, the night still deep and dark around them.