5. Thalassa
THALASSA
If a museum, a spaceship, and a wedding cake had a baby, it would be the lobby of the Atlanta St. Gevaudin.
Ivory marble in every direction, and every surface either glitters or reflects my panicked, painted face back at me.
There’s a crystal chandelier longer than my freshman-year dorm and a live pianist whose tux probably costs more than my car—fine, more than my future car, because I still don’t have one.
Focus. You’re here on purpose.
I smooth my dress (actually, it’s Arabella’s) and tell the part of my brain screaming Bail out! to take a seat. The Vine Bar is off the lobby, all navy velvet and walnut bookcases. I spot them instantly—three men who look like they walked off the cover of Forbes and accidentally into my life.
Atticus—Tic in the group chat—has short silver hair that belongs in a whisky commercial. He’s tall and muscular; even his expensive midnight-blue suit can’t hide that.
Dean stands next to him, his shoulder-length silvery brown hair neatly tied back. While Tic is tall and muscular, Dean is broader and heavier with muscle. I can imagine him tackling football fields or boardrooms, given how well his black suit fits him.
And then there’s Colin. His hair is unusually white at his age—a silver fox if ever there was one. His suit is just as dark as the others, but green in just the right lighting.
The predatory glint in their eyes spikes my blood pressure in a good way, and suddenly, I’m all the more determined to make this work. The outfit, the purpose of the long weekend, the reason I’m not seeing my parents for the holiday—it all has to work.
Do not wobble on Arabella’s heels—she will kill you if you break them.
“Thalassa?” Tic says as soon as I reach the table. His voice is low and smooth—decaf Sinatra. “We’re glad you made it.”
“Weather cooperated,” I joke, even though the weather is ninety degrees and humid because Atlanta . Colin laughs, which gives me enough confidence to slide into the booth.
“So,” Dean says, folding his hands like we’re in a job interview. “Rapid-fire icebreakers?”
“Bring it.”
“First line on your bucket list?”
“Get to know you guys.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, considering. “Favorite weird science fact?”
“My favorite? Not sure I have one. But pistol shrimp snap their claws so fast they make a plasma bubble hotter than the sun, and then they stun fish with sound. They’re basically tiny undersea Marvel villains.”
The three of them actually smile, and I feel weirdly victorious.
We loop through more lightning questions.
Go-to karaoke song? Me, “Shake It Off.” Theirs are a trio of songs I don’t know.
Best thing they’ve ever eaten? Tic, oysters in Tokyo.
Colin, churros in Madrid. Dean, his grandmother’s gumbo.
Childhood pet? Tic had a Great Dane, Colin had a stray cat, and Dean had a rescue golden retriever.
I hesitate to say mine. “Not really a pet, I guess, but I found a seagull with a broken foot that I nursed back to health.”
“That counts,” Tic says confidently.
But I shrug. “As soon as it could fly again, it brought the whole flock for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eventually, my parents made me stop feeding them because we didn’t want them to depend on us instead of hunting for themselves.
” I’d be over it one day. Just not now. “It makes sense, scientifically, but I was seven, so I didn’t get it back then. ”
“Your parents always try to do the right thing, scientifically?” Colin asks, his pretty green eyes peering into me.
I force a smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d really rather not talk about my parents for now. Not when I’m here to…do what I’m here to do.”
“Fair enough,” Dean says. I appreciate him not pushing the matter. His lips don’t smile as easily as Colin’s, but his eyes do. In fact, he has the same bone structure too. Just different hair. And then it hits me.
“Are you two twins?”
Colin chuckles and passes Dean a twenty. “You were right. She’s more observant than I expected.”
Dean tucks it away. “We are. We’ve done things to differentiate ourselves, but the resemblance remains.”
After round one of banter, Dean clears his throat. Boss mode. “Full disclosure—we flagged our profiles kink-positive, but I didn’t see that on yours. How do you feel about exploring that this weekend?”
My cheeks go hot, but I refuse to shrivel. “Honest answer? Curious but clueless.”
Colin’s eyes get sparkly. “Explaining is our love language.”
“Safeword?” Tic asks.
The most random thing that comes to mind: “Giraffe.”
Dean nods like he’s engraving it into marble. “Green means keep going, yellow slow down, red full stop, giraffe nuclear stop. Agreed?”
“Sure.”
Something in my chest unknots. Question time for me. “Not to look a gift horse in the zeros, but why did you triple my rate? I’m the one who lowballed.”
Tic leans back, studying me. “Because first experiences matter. We value them—and you—appropriately.”
Colin adds, softer, “And your profile is cute and that counts for a lot in our book.”
I look down, pretend the straw needs adjusting, and fight a ridiculous grin. My phone buzzes in my lap, Arabella checking in. I text back to let her know it’s all good.
She replies with fifteen knife emojis. Fair.
We leave the bar not long after that. My heart is a hummingbird, but I want this. I want them. When else am I going to get the chance to do something this wild?
The door opens into the presidential suite, and I almost black out. There’s a spiral staircase, a grand piano, and a view of midtown I’ve only seen in drone shots. It doesn’t feel real. “This place is insane.”
Dean’s mouth twitches. “Best kind of insane.”
My anxiety boomerangs back for a second. What if they’re fancy axe murderers? But the vibe in the room is chill, not predatory. Plus, I have Arabella in the parking lot doing her FBI routine.
Speaking of which, I need to check in.
“Bathroom?” I ask.
Colin points. “Through the library.” Of course there’s a library.
The bathroom is marble-on-marble with a TV in the mirror and towels fluffier than marshmallows. I call Arabella. “Hey. No red flags yet, but I swear this suite is bigger than campus.”
“Please remember, rich men can totally afford a murder charge.”
“I know, I know. Thanks for looking out for me, but I’ve got this. I’ll text you Giraffe , if things go sideways.”
“If things go sideways, I’ll send hotel security and the police, and they better hope I never get them alone in a room.”
“Thanks, big sis.” I hang up and square my shoulders, channel future museum curator energy, and walk back out.
They’re by the piano, suit jackets off. Dean’s rolled his sleeves—corded forearms, one tattooed—and Colin’s fiddling with his phone.
But Tic’s dark gaze hits hard and suddenly, I have all their attention.
When Dean smiles, it warms something deep inside of me.
He stops playing the piano and reaches out. “Ready to try something new?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, sliding my palm into his.
The city outside keeps humming, but inside the suite, it’s just us. No need to be nervous, not really. Especially when Dean says, “We’ll keep kink out of it for now.”
“Sounds good.”
Tic steals my hand and leads me to the nearest bedroom. It’s as elegant and beautiful as the last room, but I don’t see anything other than the big white bed. Whatever is bigger than a king-size, that’s what this is. Plenty of room for everyone.
I bite my lip, dying to say what’s on my mind. When I meet their gazes, it just slips out. “I could use some help getting out of this dress.”
It’s true—the zipper is a tad awkward, being under my arm. But more than that, I was hoping that sentence would affect them. Since both Colin and Dean move to help me, I’m pretty sure it did.
Colin beats Dean to the punch, and as soon as the cool air hits my skin, I shiver. The dress is gorgeous—low-cut with champagne beadwork—and when it falls to the ground, I’m left in an ivory lace set that Arabella swore looked good on me. If their faces are any indication, she was right.
All three have gone purely feral.
Tic softly asks, “Are you sure about this, Thalassa?”
“Yes.”
“Green, yellow, red, giraffe. Got it?”
I nod as he starts to undress. The others do too, Colin the first to approach me in his silk boxers. Dean and Tic have more muscle on them, but Colin is no slouch. He’s built like a volleyball player, lean and long. To my surprise, his right arm is covered in anime tattoos.
Dean too, though it’s the left arm and geometric work instead of anime. No tattoos on Atticus—just a series of gnarly scars I noticed earlier on his right knuckles and a few further up, like he reached into a bag of jagged rocks a long time ago.
Colin looms close. “Can I touch you?”
“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
He softly chuckles, then cups my cheek and stares into my eyes. His thumb draws a line across my bottom lip. “You are even more beautiful in person. Don’t forget your safeword, Thalassa, or we might wreck you.”
Before I can ask what that means, he kisses me, stealing my breath.
The sweet lime of his drink mingles with my brain, and the next thing I know, there are hands everywhere, touching, stroking.
Strong hands brush my hair over my shoulder, and a hot mouth plants kisses on the nape of my neck.
Hands scoot up from my ribs to my tits over the bra, fingers gently pinching my nipples through the lacy fabric.
This is more than I have ever done with anyone, and it feels so good that I’m not sure why I’ve waited this long.
I pull Colin with me as I back onto the bed until I’m lying flat with him on top of me.
My blood heats my veins with every kiss, every grind through our clothes.
I feel like I have a fever, but in a good way.
The strong hands make another appearance, scooting beneath my shoulders to pull me further up the bed, and then all three of them are there, surrounding me, watching me. Waiting.
All I have to do is nod, and Colin unclips the front clasp on my bra before he tastes the newly revealed skin. His wet mouth feels so good. Tic and Dean each take a pinch of my underwear and pull down, careful not to get in Colin’s way, as if they’ve done this a thousand times.
Maybe they have. Colin hits a spot that makes me gasp loudly, and Dean chuckles lowly and kisses me. He doesn’t kiss like Colin—Dean is lazier about it, as if we have all the time in the world. It’s heady.
Or maybe that’s Colin, prying my thighs wide open. “I need a taste.”
I nod, not entirely certain what I’m agreeing to, just certain that it’ll feel good. And I’m right. His mouth makes me gasp on Dean’s lips. I’m so wet I’m worried Colin might drown.
Ooh, can’t think about that right now .
And then Tic is there, his big hands on my tits, then splayed over my stomach and sliding down until he reaches my clit. Colin’s moved lower, his tongue diving in and out of me while Tic works. I’m not sure which way is up, but heat and bliss pulse down low, and I’m adrift on every sensation.
It’s not long before that familiar throb I usually only ever feel alone in my bed aches through me. I clutch onto Dean like a lifeline, rocking myself against Colin and Tic until that spark becomes a roaring fire in my bones. I come so hard I see stars.
When I’m back in my body and panting, Colin and Dean are at my sides, and Atticus kneels between my knees. Fully naked now, except for the condom. The man is big everywhere. They all are. He kisses the inside of my thigh, his eyes on me. “Are you ready?”
I swallow once. “Yes.”
He kisses his way up my body, weaving an arm beneath me to hold me tightly to him.
When his lips press against mine, I feel it.
His cock right there at my entrance. But he doesn’t push.
He lays his forehead on mine, separating our mouths.
“When you’re ready, roll yourself up to me.
” And then, he kisses me again. Slowly. Languorously.
Frustratingly.
Why are they going so slow? And then it hits me. They want me to know I’m in charge here. Given all the kink talk, I thought they’d be more aggressive, but maybe they’re saving that for later.
I arch myself up to meet him, and Tic takes over from there. He takes his time to work himself into me, and I’m glad, because the stretch is crazy. Not painful exactly, just—no, wait. There’s a little pain. But it’s the good kind, I think.
Oh. Oh, god. That’s the really good kind.
I’m not sure how, but moving with him makes sense, like we fit together exactly right.
It feels amazing and hot and sweaty, and before I can think, I’m muttering curse words against his beefy shoulder.
Other hands show up—one on my tits, one on my clit, and I’m aching around Atticus’s cock.
I’m almost there, but something holds me back.
When Colin kisses me, it hits harder than an earthquake, and I clench around Tic’s body in every way imaginable.
Echoes of delight race through me, and I’m gone again until he arches deep and comes.
Thank God for the condom.
Tic pulls back, and Dean takes his place.
He rolls us over so I’m on top, but I’m too orgasm-addled to do much.
Thankfully, Colin grabs my hips from behind and rolls me back and forth.
He gently bites my shoulder and murmurs, “That’s it.
You’re taking that cock so good. Just look at you.
Look down. See him, buried deep in that pussy? You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whimper, leaning down to see where we join.
“Now, ride him, sweets. Show us what a good girl you can be.”
So, I try. I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, but when I do it, he hits my G-spot and that makes my eyes roll back.
I’m coming again, and Dean bucks up into me as his body goes rigid and he curses, “Fuck, now!” He grips my hips, pulling me down as far as I can go, and I feel him thicken and throb inside of me while I’m coming too.
Colin pulls me off of him and onto my hands and knees, my ass up high.
He rubs himself on me there, and I’m so swollen and sensitive and tender that I might come from just that.
But then he rocks himself into me, a little bit at a time, until he’s fully seated.
He takes a fist of my hair, pulling it. Not tight, but taut, making me arch my back.
“That’s it, sweets,” he murmurs as he thrusts. “Just like that.”
Tic climbs into view again, watching my face while Colin fucks me. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs right before he kisses me. I don’t know who—Dean or Colin—but one of them plays with my clit again, and I blast off, too lit up not to come.
I’m under their spell, and I never want it to end.