Chapter 1
luna
Present Day
Will was standing in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, while I pulled on my underwear.
He always did this thing after sex, ran straight for the toothbrush, like he couldn’t handle any sort of aftercare until his mouth felt minty fresh.
It was his weird little quirk, and even after over three years, it gave me the ick.
“You finally going to let me convince you to move in with me?” he called, his thick British accent echoing down the narrow hallway.
I grabbed a pillow and shoved it over my face, muffling the groan I didn’t want him to hear. He couldn’t see me from where he was, but I still hid like it might save me from the conversation.
No. The answer was no. I wasn’t going to move in with Will because, truthfully, I was far more content living in Ollie and Nova’s garden apartment than in Will’s perfectly nice, perfectly adult flat.
Somewhere along the way, my best friend managed to fall in love with the most decent human being on earth.
Ollie, who not only loved Nova fiercely but remodeled his downstairs apartment so I could have a place of my own.
The two of them were upstairs, raising Scarlette, who technically wasn’t even biologically Ollie’s.
Will coached the Hands, the city’s pro-rugby team. Ollie was his assistant coach. That’s how we’d met. Somewhere between games, group dinners, and too many late nights, I ended up in Will’s bed.
A quiet part of me kept whispering that maybe I should settle down. Not because I was dying to play house, but because I saw what Ollie and Nova had. The soft kind of love that didn’t ask anything. It looked . . . easy and safe.
Will gave me that. Peaceful. Content. Predictable.
Yahoo. Clearly, I was over the moon.
Which wasn’t exactly fair to Will. Weird toothbrush-after-sex habit aside, he was a genuinely good guy. He doted on me. Showed up when he said he would. Made me tea when I had cramps. He was safe.
“Want to sit and talk about it?” He stepped out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and face glowing.
Ugh. I groaned internally this time.
Will loved a good debrief. It didn’t matter how the sex went; every time, he wanted to unpack it. Like we were in a meeting instead of my bedroom.
A whole performance review of my vagina.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, flopping back on the bed. “You’re fine.”
He shook his head and reached for my hands. “No, you said I was too vanilla for you. I want to make sure I’m meeting your standards.”
“That was three years ago,” I deadpanned.
What I didn’t add was that, yeah, I’d been right. He was still vanilla. Sweet. Gentle. Formulaic. And maybe that worked for some people.
It didn’t work for me.
He hesitated. “Ollie’s never going to let me live down the day he walked in on you and two guys with ball gags in their mouths.”
“Of course he told you about that.”
Will held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. I . . . I know you were in a relationship with two men back in the States, and I know I’m not that. So sometimes I wonder if I’m even close to what you need.”
He wasn’t being cruel. If anything, he sounded nervous.
I wanted to tell him it was fine. That he was enough. That sweet, slightly boring sex and emotional stability were what I wanted.
But they weren’t. Not really.
“I, uh—”
He gave me a tentative smile. “Tell me what I could’ve done better.”
I closed my eyes and seriously debated face-planting into a pillow and screaming. Instead, I let out a long sigh, squeezed his hands, and said as gently as I could, “I do think . . . a little more focus on the clit would be great.”
Because, really, who didn’t love more clit stim?
His eyes lit up. “I can do that.”
I smiled, despite myself.
Will really was handsome. Cute little buzzed haircut, thick thighs, broad shoulders.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “What’re you up to for the rest of the day?”
“I have to film a few more videos and an unboxing for that brand collab.”
Somewhere along the way, my little yoga videos had gone viral.
I think it was because I was loud. My clothes were loud.
My hair was loud. Everything about me was loud.
I didn’t have the typical yogi body either—big tits, small waist, soft belly, thick ass.
But I did yoga. All the time. It calmed me.
It was the one thing that didn’t ask me to be anything other than exactly who I was.
“Dinner tonight? Or I can stay . . . ”
I shook my head, lifting the covers to my face. “No, I really am tired.”
He nodded, because of course he did. Agreeable, always. Then he told me he loved me and walked out the door.
Just like that. There was no argument, mess, or tension because there never was any of that. And that was part of the problem.
I waited until I heard the soft click of the door as Will pulled it shut behind him. Then I listened for the sound of his footsteps rounding the front of the apartment. When I heard the gate creak and the car door unlock, I knew he was gone.
That’s when I ripped the covers down.
I closed my eyes, slipping my fingers between my thighs, already trailing lightly along my clit.
Fuck, I needed to actually come.
This was the other half of the routine, the one I never talked about. During sex, more often than not, I didn’t finish. So I had to finish myself afterward.
I ran my fingers down to my pussy, trying to focus, to imagine something hot enough to make this work. Something that would tip me over the edge. I pressed harder, even tried licking myself clean, hoping the taste would spark something real.
It didn’t.
I groaned and dropped my head back against the pillow, frustration curling in my stomach. With a sigh, I reached for my phone, already knowing damn well the one thing that would get me off was the one thing I definitely shouldn’t open.
I unlocked my phone, guilt settling behind my ribs. My thumb hovered for half a second before I tapped open the hidden folder, buried behind a decoy app like I was some teenager with secrets.
I scrolled until I found it. The video.
It was old. Years old. Back when Jeremy still played for the Chicago Ravens. Before everything fell apart. Before London. Before I found out he went to rehab. Before I realized that love wasn’t always enough.
I hit play.
The camera shook slightly as the play moved across the ice, catching Jeremy first, dark hair peeking out from under his helmet, his stride aggressive, fluid, angry. Dirks came into view next, all bright blond hair and those unmistakable glacier-blue eyes.
They skated in sync, as if their bodies just knew each other. The chemistry was unreal. And as if some invisible cue went off, they both dropped their gloves.
The camera zoomed in as Dirks shoved an opposing player against the boards, fist landing hard, fast. Jeremy joined seconds later, taking on the teammate who tried to interfere.
It was chaos. They fought like they were made for it, like they were made for each other.
The aggression, the power, the silent understanding.
I slid my hand back between my legs. Heat punched through me so fast I gasped.
Dirks was the pretty one. Tall, lean, with a cut jawline. Blonde hair always a little messy, like he’d just run his hands through it after fucking someone against a wall. And those eyes, icy, calculating, like they could slice you open without trying.
Jeremy was darker. Built like a damn brawler, all broad shoulders and rage. His eyes were almost black. The kind that saw everything. He didn’t look at you, he read you.
The two of them together?
My fingers circled my clit faster as my hips arched off the mattress.
I remembered the way they used to take me. Together. Dirks fucking my mouth while Jeremy split me open from behind, both of them talking shit in my ears like they were playing a game only I was lucky enough to lose.
I changed my pace and brushed my clit slowly, reminding me how I liked to make Dirks beg for it.
I always topped Dirks. Always. He needed it. Craved it. Loved when I tugged his hair back and said things like, “You don’t come until I say so. Be good for me.”
He’d eat me out like it was worship, take orders with that hungry, desperate look in his eyes that made my whole body tighten.
Jeremy didn’t beg.
He told me what to do. Bent me over, shoved my face down, held my throat while he fucked me roughly.
I circled tighter, breathing hard, letting the images in my head take over.
Dirks on his knees, lips wet, eyes wide, waiting for permission to touch himself while I sat on his face.
Jeremy behind me, rough palm against the small of my back, voice low and sharp—“Keep her still, Dirks. I want to hear her choke on you while I fuck her.”
My hips lifted off the mattress. My body clenched around nothing, the pressure unbearable.
“Please,” I whispered, not even sure who I was begging.
I came, and my legs shook, back arched. I cried out as the orgasm ripped through me. My fingers didn’t stop. I chased every last pulse of it.
The video was still playing.
Dirks threw one last punch. Jeremy stood guard beside him, breathing hard, eyes black with fury.
I hit pause.
The screen froze on both of them—Dirks grinning with blood on his lip, Jeremy glaring, mouth set in a line like he’d kill for the people he loved.
I stared at it, still panting, my skin flushed, my sheets soaked. I felt more alive than I had in weeks.
And somehow . . . more alone than ever.