“Hm, maybe,” I mused, tucking my cell phone back into the small satin clutch I’d brought out with me. “I’m not sure there’s anything left for me out here tonight. But I could be persuaded to rally.”
“Great,” he half murmured, dark eyes narrowing with palpable bad intentions. “Get a drink with us.”
It didn’t take much convincing. In minutes, I was walking with the three of them out of the casino, and one taxi later, we ended up at a surprisingly un-Vegas dive bar. Drinks turned into two, then five, and eventually I was dancing with the three of them to some country song that played on the retro jukebox, pressing myself against each of their bodies, all hard and warm and male in distinctly different but equally alluring ways.
There was another taxi, three of the four of us smushed together in a back seat where I traded sloppy, hot kisses with each of them—Man Bun on my left, who had some name just as lovely and elegant as his face that I couldn’t remember anymore, and the dark-haired menace who initiated all of this, whose name I wasn’t sure I ever caught. Beard was more reticent, sitting in the front seat with the driver as if he wasless enthusiastic about this whole thing, though he’d been plenty eager to kiss me when I laid one on him at the bar, his big hands coming around to grab my ass and squeeze with enticing strength that melted my core. Now separated by the seat of a car, his blue eyes connected with mine in trying-to-be-sly glances from the front seat, and I could see that he was still just as hungry for me as I was for all three of them.
Through all the drunkenness and the adrenaline and lust-crazed delirium, there was a thread of mischievous playfulness between the four of us. Like we were all conspiring together on a secret plot. Something fun and scandalous and maybe stupid, but fuck it, we were all young and that was what Vegas was for.
“I have an idea,” the dark-haired one half slurred. We’d been en route to their hotel, but he wanted to make a detour.
“Bro, that’s wild,” Man Bun said when his friend relayed the plan I was only half listening to, would only remember in slices later. “We can’t just?—”
“Why not?” I chimed in. “We can do whatever we want. I think it sounds fun.”
I had them all at “why not.” That was the real question, our mantra for an evening that had now bled into early, early morning, the sun still not even threatening to come out. Giggles and mild stumbling followed me and all three guys into a flashy building with overflowing vases of flowers and fairy-tale arches and lots of couples lined up and down the halls in similar states of manic glee. I was reveling in the attention, the three pairs of strong hands on my waist, the small of my back, wherever they could reach.
A nearly seven-foot drag queen in a platinum wig greeted us all at the door to a private room, and then we stood before another queen on something almost like a stage, her sequined outfit blinding in the bright lights.
“Dearly beloveds,” she said as she adjusted her Tina Turner wig, shooting me a sassy wink. “You’ve all come to the right wrong place, the City of Sin. And now, we’re about to get holy. Are we ready?”
We cheered our assent. There was a hushed ceremony that we all stifled our laughter through, and there were rings on fingers, and then, still laughing, our heads bubbling with yet more cheap champagne, I finally ended up alone with the three guys who had made my whole spring break trip worthwhile just by showing up.
It felt like I’d been ready for them for hours. My body responded to their touch, ached for more as they slid off my dress. The one with the beard was the first to put his mouth on me, sucking my plump nipple into his mouth, the scrape of his facial hair against my sensitive skin adding to the eroticism. The one with the long hair caressed my body with slow, gentle hands, whispering sweet things in my ear as he kissed my neck.
I’d never been so turned on in my life. There was a certain appeal to the fact that there were three of them, a lustful sensory overload surrounding me in male muscle and heat, all of their attention laser focused on my pleasure. The tall one with the wicked smirk did things with his hands that had me begging for him without even taking off my panties, and the bearded one unsnapped my bra in an easy movement so he could more easily worship my breasts like they were his key to heaven. Soon, Man Bun, despite getting a slower, shyer start to our sexual exploration than his friends, was the first to lick me to a bone-shaking orgasm.
We didn’t talk about any of it. Didn’t bother with condoms, or establishing our histories, or any of the practical shit that would have ruined the rush of this spontaneous adventure. The tallest one was the first to fill me with his cock, but he wasn’t the last.
I lost count of how many times I came, of the hours we spent in paradise, of all the different hands and mouths that blissed out my body to incoherence. And when we were all spent, the spell of the night over, the four of us collapsed together into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Waking up, however, was far less pleasant.
“Jesus,” I hissed when I sat up in an unfamiliar bed, knocking three different heavy male arms off of me. The light streaming through the window blinds was hell on my hungover head. None of the butt-ass naked guys seemed to stir at the disturbance, and one of them even let out a snore as he turned away from me, still dead to the world.
My body certainly remembered getting freaky with three sexy men last night, even if my brain was still waking up and wasn’t being helpful with a lot of details. I remembered blackjack. Meeting guys for drinks. Some other little moments that felt half imagined until I caught sight of something glittering on my left hand.
Oh,fuck.
One ring would have already been a nightmare. But how the hell had I ended up wearingthreeon that same stupid symbolic finger?
The one at the base, closest to my knuckle, at least looked nice. A stone that couldn’t be a real diamond but certainly sparkled like one to my untrained eye, delicately inlaid in a rose-gold band with little filigreed details. The two other bands—one gold, one a duller silver, both with tiny stones that were clearly cut glass—paled in comparison, but the full picture was enough to make me want to go back to sleep. Maybe if I really slept this time, I’d wake up without the evidence of a drunken Vegas triple wedding on my hand.
I wasted no time climbing out of the warm nest of male limbs, all the rose-colored wonder of last night gone fully grayin the cold light of day. I found my poor dress in a pile, tracked down my bra and both shoes with some effort, and could have sobbed with relief when I unearthed my little clutch that had been hiding under a pair of men’s pants. The panties were a lost cause, though I’d distinctly remembered wearing some cute lacy ones. Come to think of it, they may have been ripped in the eagerness to get me naked. Hot at the time, but annoying now. Damn it.
And of course, my phone battery was almost completely drained. I ignored a thousand notifications that continued to buzz in my hand as I found the closest, fastest rideshare available and started to sneak out of the room, careful not to wake the three sleeping beauties.
As I waited in the too-hot desert morning, willing myself to forget everything but the fun, sexy parts of last night, I couldn’t help but terrify myself with images of the quickie wedding. The drag queen officiant, the overdone florals all around a space that looked exactly like I expected a Vegas chapel to look. Even goofy grins from the three men whose names I didn’t remember. Grins I’d matched with my own, with excited kisses completely contrary to my sober self’s gut-deep terror at the idea of commitment.
At least I could comfort myself with the fact that I was leaving. I climbed into a car in minutes, speeding away from the hotel that housed my three maybe-husbands who, God willing, I’d never see again.
1
ALLIE
Today
Six a.m. always hit me like a ton of bricks, and this morning, my face in the mirror really showed it. Green-purple dark circles ringed my blue eyes, a tired pallor coloring my pale freckled skin. The things I did for a paycheck. For the chance to take care of Daphne at least half as well as she deserved.
