Violet Craves The Trichotomy of NY Prequel

Chapters 1-5

Violet

“Lily! It’s here! It’s finally here!” I shout at my sister through the phone. “It only took 9 months but it’s official!” I stare down at the packet of signed and finalized documents with a wide grin. I can’t help the butterflies in my stomach or the slight tremble in my hands.

I’m officially free.

“I am so happy for you girl! I can’t believe it took so long but now that you’re finally officially single, we have to go out and celebrate tonight!” she screeches.

“Bitch I’ve been single for 11 months. Hell, I was practically single for the last year of my marriage,” I laugh, “but I’m not sure I want to go out anyways. I was thinking of just celebrating at home with wine and a smutty book.”

“Fuck that Vi! For one, you already read too much as it is. You need to get out more. And for two, your divorce papers literally came through today. You need to celebrate. Maybe going out to a club will give you some more ideas for your fancy sex book you’ve been writing,” she says with a giggle.

“It’s done actually, I finished it last night,” I murmur, allowing the surreal feeling to take me over a little bit.

After almost a year, I finally finished my first book series. To say it’s been a labor of love is an understatement. I worked on it day and night at any available moment I had, and then some. Considering I already work a full-time job, finding the time to work on it’s been difficult, but it had to be done. The words just came to me suddenly and frequently.

I jotted them down on bits and pieces on paper or on my phone when the thoughts and scenes would come to me. Frequently at the gym . Then I would come home and type them out, combining the detailed smut and occasionally downright depravity that spiraled through my brain. And somehow, after all this time, I finally finished. Now comes the even more difficult task of completion; editing, publishing, and figuring out how the fuck to get people to buy and read it.

“Holy shit! Well then, we are definitely going out to celebrate! I’ll tell Remi and text Poppy. You just get your ass ready, and we’ll pick you up at 9:00! Don’t disappoint me Vi, you better look hot,” she orders before ending the call.

I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it, brows furrowed in confusion. What just happened? I said I didn’t want to go out and now I’m going out.

“That sneaky little bitch.” I grumble.

Lily, for all her faults, really does care about me and my well-being. Her pushing me to go out is just her way of showing her concern for my mostly introverted habits. Especially since my marriage ended, she’s been extra worried about me. She’s constantly reminding me that I’m not the happy-go-lucky woman that I used to be. Doesn’t she realize that I lost those pieces of myself before my relationship with Elliot ended?

Almost a year ago, I found my husband of 6 years, aggressively railing his business partner Lucy in our bedroom when I came home early from work with a migraine. It was safe to say, I took issue with the scene in front of me and our marriage was effectively over from that moment on. That was the final nail in our proverbial coffin.

The most fucked up part is that it wasn’t even just the cheating or that he was fucking her that destroyed me. It was how he was fucking her.

Wrists and ankles tied to our mahogany four-poster, gag ball in her mouth, a sheen of sweat covering both their bodies, her muffled moans and screams coming from behind her muzzle, and my husband’s relentless pounding into not her cunt, but her ass.

I stood at the door of my bedroom watching for God only knows how long, stuck in my tracks, unable to move or speak. I wasn’t surprised that he was cheating, in fact, I figured that he had been for quite some time. It had been almost a year since we’d had sex. While I got off by myself just fine, albeit lonely, I knew there was no way he wasn’t giving it up somewhere. But what royally pissed me off, was the manner in which he was fucking this chick.

Since the beginning of Elliot and I’s relationship, he had always been such a lover in the bedroom. Completely and utterly fucking vanilla. No matter how many times I asked and begged him to fuck me into the headboard, tie me up, spank me, or even just eat me out, he wouldn’t.

He would say that he was too lazy or tired or just wanted to ‘ make love to his wife ’. When we first got together, I liked that about him. I liked that he said he respected me too much to do those types of ‘filthy’ things to the woman he loved. But like seriously? What does a girl gotta do to get a little bit of degradation and kink in her life? You can still respect me while destroying my pussy, I promise.

There I was, watching her get the sex I had always fantasized about, and I found myself angry and turned the heck on. I wanted what she was getting and at that moment, I realized that while I wanted it, I sure as shit did not want it with him.

So, I pulled my phone out, took a short video as proof, turned around, and walked my happy ass out of the house. Twenty-four hours later, I left him divorce papers on his office desk with a flash drive of my little homemade video. He called, begged, and pleaded when he found my gift, and I laughed, denied, and hung up.

While he was at work, I packed my crap up and moved in with Lily and her wife Remi while I found my own place. It took two months for him to finally come to terms with the fact that I was not coming back for anything more than to split the assets and pack the rest of my stuff. When he finally accepted it, he signed the divorce papers. Months and months of arguing, negotiations, and tense packing sessions and it’s finally over.

Soon after I left Elliot, I decided to finally put pen to paper and started working on my first book. I’ve always loved writing and have started and stopped a lot of pieces but have never had a full-blown book idea and the inspiration to complete anything. However, two weeks into my new living arrangement with my sisters, I walked into their local gym for the first time and was suddenly, unbelievably, inspired.

Not by a place, but by a person.

Or people I should say.

Three people to be specific. Three otherworldly, gorgeous, buff men. I walked in and my gaze snapped straight to them like a moth to a flame. They were across the large space, at the free weights, all laughing with each other with weights in their hands and my thighs instantly clenched.

I’ve been an avid gym enthusiast for a long time. I’ve seen the ridiculous meatheads that prowl around all of them. Too fit, undoubtedly cocky, acting untouchable like God’s gift to the better sex and the temple between our thighs. I’ve been on the receiving end of that weak-ass game many times, but never have I been drawn to one of them. Never have I found myself wanting to lick the sweat off of another human being so badly in my entire life, let alone three someones.

I gawked from the front desk where I was checking in and stared all the way to the locker room before I finally schooled my insane reaction. When I came back out, as if it was planned, all three of them looked up from their activity and met my gaze.

They. Were. Gorgeous .

Fucking utterly, downright, sexual lollipops. And right then and there, my obsession began.

One day while on the stair master, I got the inspiration for my book. They became my inspiration. I decided to write my very own little reverse harem inspired by the three erotic alphas at my gym. The scenes and writing began to pour out of me that night. From that moment forward, the idea of speaking to them became completely terrifying. I had to keep my obsession and writing a secret, and they had to stay in the little box I stashed them in. I’ve affectionately dubbed it: fantasies and rub club material.

For months, I watched them whenever we’d be at the gym together. All three of them always worked out at the same time. They arrived together, sweated together, joked together, lifted together, and made me salivate together. I watched them and I took fucking notes.

We never talked. We never bumped into one another. I had an obnoxious awareness of where they were at any given moment when we shared the space, and it seemed they had the same for me. No matter how much I tried to just suck it up and approach them, I just couldn’t muster it.

I may have healthy ovaries, but apparently, they aren’t that big.

So, I did what all great, sexually charged women do and avoided that shit like it was an STD-riddled dick wrapped in a cactus. I watched, I noted, I enjoyed, I drooled , but never more. Every time I saw them it was like I was a druggy getting another fix.

I got spank bank and book material. I watched them and imagined what their personalities would be like, their names, their habits, their sexual styles. I created characters for them based on their faces and bodies and gave them a story. Those three rough-looking men became the main characters of my dreams both in my sleep and on paper.

Now, here we are, almost a year and one completed book series later and while I am beyond happy to have finished it, I feel as though my tie to them has ended. There goes my reason for distant observation with zero communication. My reason for staring and observing and hypothesizing. Now if I do it, I won’t be able to rationalize my obsession with them.

It was only for the book, I tell myself. Yeah, right bitch, whatever you say.

Hours later, I’m dolled up, dressed and all sorts of slutty per my sister’s demands. I have on my, ‘ I’m ready to party’ face like the mask of lies it is. I don’t want to go out at all. I meant it when I said I wanted to drink and read a book. That’s my idea of a good time. I may have been a party girl seven years ago, before Elliot, but I was also 21 and finally free from our overprotective parents.

I was the perfect daughter all throughout my adolescence, and even throughout college. While they paid for school, I was to live with my parents and stay under their watchful eyes, forever being the perfect, cookie-cutter daughter of Virginia’s Governor, Sterling Duncan.

My sisters Poppy, Lily, and I, all named after the flowers in mom’s sprawling garden behind our original Colonial Revival, have had a role to play since we were born. Three daughters of the affluent politician, who have always been expected to look and behave in a certain way, under his strict rule. I kept my shit together for the majority of my life, but as soon as I graduated college, I gave them the middle finger and moved out, following Lily to New York. We’ve lived here ever since, and we love it.

I was just so tired of being perfect.

I was good at being what they wanted on the outside. I was demure, reserved, always put together, well-educated, and so damn good at taking orders. At least, that’s what they all believed. But on the inside, I was fucking dying .

I wanted to scream my head off more than anything. I wanted to punch my arrogant, abusive father in the goddamned balls. I wanted to slap my simpering mother in the face and demand she wakes the hell up and gets out of her miserable relationship with my controlling, misogynistic father. I wanted to pack up my sisters and fuck right off to anywhere else.

That’s not what I did though. I bided my time, played the perfect angel, got my inheritance at 21 upon graduating college, and dipped. I considered the payment as a thank you from my dear sweet daddy for all the bullshit I endured.

When I was finally free from them, I used some of the money on an apartment and some of it on partying. I partied so hard and lived so free that I almost forgot who I was.

Almost.

Then, one night, at a party, I met Elliot….and down the rabbit hole, I went. We were in love almost immediately. He was wonderful. Sweet, caring, and attentive. He genuinely swept me off my feet.

Elliot was fresh out of college, in a party stage of his own, and rebelling as I was. We had a whirlwind romance the first few years. He was playful but knew how to make me feel loved and special. My parents were never big on affection, so getting it from Elliot, my first boyfriend was a new experience for me. I took everything he had to offer and reveled in it.

Then, we fell out of the party scene and began to grow up together. We got an apartment in Brooklyn, halfway between his family and my sisters. He chose to work for his father’s Law firm, and I chose to use more of my inheritance to open a coffee shop in SoHo. Fuck if I was going to be working any type of stuffy corporate or political job like my father wanted. I wanted to follow my dreams, and Elliot supported that.

We were married shortly after my shop opened. I was 25, he was 27. I thought we were on the fast track to our happily ever after. Things were wonderful, if not for a little boring between us sometimes, but I was happy.

Until I wasn’t.

He changed. He became more and more like my father. Apparently, success can really bring the dick out in a man. The more he succeeded at the firm, the more uptight he became. Away went my sweet, funny husband and entered Sterling Duncan Junior . The only difference was that Elliot never raised a hand to me. As much of an asshole as he became to the outside world, he just became indifferent towards me.

A year after we’d married, he chose to open his own office with another lawyer from his father’s firm. I supported him. Pushed him, even. Granted him the same gift he’d given me when I opened my coffee shop. Elliot worked more and more, and as a result, we became distant. Our physical relationship, which was once loving and simple, became nonexistent.

Our sex life was never what I wanted it to be, but more often than not, I chose to settle for what it was just for the sake of having sex with my partner. I tried everything I could think of to spice things up, but it never worked. He just was not into what I wanted, I thought . Then it got to the point where I stopped trying altogether.

The emotional distance between us was just too much for me to consider being physical with him. The longer we went without it, the more I realized I didn’t want to fuck him anymore. I was just as content to get my rocks off by myself and while I assumed he was jacking himself off on the regular, I also had a feeling someone else was doing it for him as well.

Apparently, I was correct.

So here we are. I’m a 28-year-old divorcee, who’s only ever had tragic, boring, vanilla sex with the one man I gave it up to. I want more.

I need it.

I read smutty novels that have opened my eyes to the world I’ve been missing out on. Clearly, I’m a closet kink. I mean, I must be considering the vivid fantasies I have about getting railed by three men at once.

Unfortunately, I don’t just want sex. If I did, I could get it. I have no doubt about that. A quick jump on any of the many dating apps out there today and I could be getting fucked seven ways from Sunday by noon. I don’t just want random dick though. I want amazing dick. I want the kind of dick that makes you question your entire life and every single choice you ever had before that moment. The kind of orgasm that shatters more than just your vagina.

I want my whole fucking life to implode.

I was once a silent fixture on the wall, turned party girl, only to become the silent fixture once more. In the past almost year since my separation turned divorce, I have been trying to find a middle ground.

I have worked on myself abundantly and have found that in lieu of dropping ecstasy and getting blackout drunk, I enjoy glasses of wine on my couch.

I have discovered that I love to be the social butterfly all day while running my coffee shop, but I also love to be the introvert while in my own little world at home.

I went from a safe and boring, loveless, vanilla marriage to drooling over three untouchable, bad boys and dreaming of a gang bang while having been celibate for almost two years.

Yeah, I’m still working on finding that sexual middle ground apparently.

The funniest part is that while I seem like a quiet, proper lady who probably radiates ‘born with a silver spoon up my ass’ vibes, I am secretly depraved. The thoughts in my head, both during the day and at night are questionable, to say the least. I don’t know if the sexual desires I have are born from a lifetime of being sheltered in all manners, a lack of sexual experiences, or all the above, but the desires remain in my head just the same.

I am a confident woman, and I am also a proud woman. I know my worth and I know my strength. These are the qualities that are a lucky byproduct of my upbringing.

However, no matter how badass I may feel, I am still not bold enough to walk up to my three wet dreams. So, I wrote about them instead and in my book, they will remain. I may always have to read it one-handed, but hey, girls have needs too.

“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” I whine to my sisters as I settle in the backseat of Lily’s black Range Rover.

Poppy and Lily glance at each other and give a conspiratorial look. I’ve been asking in our group text for the last two hours and they refuse to tell me what the plan is for tonight. My sister-in-law Remi is behind the wheel acting as our DD since she can’t drink. She and Lily did their second round of IVF and Remi is currently pregnant with their second child, since my sister carried their first.

They have a little boy, Benji at home and baby girl Everly will be here in four months. Remi and Lily are the sweetest couple in the world. They make me believe in happily ever afters and true love. I know it’s out there, even if I didn’t find it in my ex-husband.

Lily is my older sister by 1 year and she was the first one to leave our hellhole of a nest. She didn’t necessarily leave our family by choice though. When she came out at the age of 16, my parents made her life horrible. My Conservative father all but disowned her after that. She was given the choice to follow the family rules and lifestyles, including marrying an Ivy League boy someday or moving out.

So, when she graduated High School, she fucked right off. I had never looked up to someone more in my entire life than I did her at that moment. I wanted to follow her immediately. Run for bigger and better things, leaving our pasts behind us. But, as much as I hated my life and parents for what they did to her, I chose to stay, and I stayed for both of my sisters.

Lily was cut off after moving out, and her inheritance was threatened. I knew that by staying I could watch out for our little sister Poppy while waiting for mine to kick in so that I could use the money to take care of both Lily and me if need be. Luckily for Lily, my mother did eventually convince my father to allow Lily her inheritance which she gladly took as restitution, as did I.

Poppy was the last to leave, but she was the baby and was treated differently than Lily and me. She was a daddy’s girl. For some reason or another, he chose to take his anger out on Lily and me, leaving Poppy alone completely. Not that I would ever complain. I would gladly take every ounce of his condescension and rage if it meant he’d leave my sisters alone.

Poppy followed the plan our father had laid out for our lives happily. She married an Ivy boy at 19 and has been living the doting wife, cookie-cutter lifestyle ever since. She is lucky in the sense that her husband Justin is wonderful to her. Though he may be of similar upbringing as us, he seems to have turned out tremendously different than my father.

At 25, Poppy is beyond in love with three under 5 at home. She couldn’t be happier and no matter her choices, Lily and I still adore her. She is our baby sister after all. We are just about as close as any three sisters can be. Well four, if you count Remi, and we do.

A chuckle pulls me from my thoughts and drags my attention to the front seat of the car. Remi lets out a scoff at my question, knowing that my evil sisters aren’t going to open their big mouths about their secret plans for me tonight. I assume it’s nothing wild considering Remi is 5 months pregnant and already pretty uncomfortable most of the time, but I still don’t understand the need for their need for secrecy.

“Hey, so Violet. I’ve been thinking about your book,” Lily says changing the subject. Mmmhmm I see you sneaky brat. “You know how you were talking about the covers and about marketing photos? Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?” she questions.

We had previously discussed the theme for the social media and marketing I should be doing for the book. I know nothing about any of that side of things. When I began to write, I just knew I had to get the story out. I never even really considered people actually reading it until one day a few months ago when my sister asked to see my nearly completed manuscript. She fell in love with it and shared it with both Remi and Poppy. They all went on and on about how I needed to follow through with getting it out there once it was complete.

When I looked into hiring an agency to get my book out, it just wasn’t something I was interested in. I wanted to go the self-publication route. I have the money to do it all myself. I just don’t have the know-how. Enter my sisters. Remi is in marketing/social media and my sister Lily owns a successful photography business. They both have been trying to help me, I just didn’t want to make any decisions on branding until the series was done. I didn’t want to jinx myself. Now that it’s complete, I have decided on branding, somewhat.

“Yes, I want it to be as spicy as my book. I want it to be obvious that it’s hot and steamy. I want my Instagram and marketing pages to look like porn sites,” I tease, kind of.

I really do want the marketing for this book to feel as steamy as the book itself. I want it to set the tone for the words. I want people to look at my book and know that it’s not for the faint of heart but for the sexually adventurous. For closet kinky fucks such as myself.

Everyone in the car falls into a fit of laughter including me. “Okay well, I think that can be arranged,” Lily replies when she finally stops laughing. She turns around from the front seat and grabs my hand, a look of seriousness overtaking her face.

“I want to shoot it for you Vi, as my gift to you for all the great things happening in your life right now. I’m so proud of you for finishing this series. I know I joke about it being a sluts-dream book, but really, it’s awesome. Just writing it alone is such an accomplishment, but me and Rem meant it when we said we’d help you get it published. We want this to be huge for you. Let me shoot all your marketing pictures and your cover photos. Whatever you want, just let me know and we’ll make it happen.”

Ugh fuck, now I’m teary-eyed and my hoe mask is smearing.

I grip her hand tightly and bring it to my lips for a kiss. “I love you guys, thank you so much for this. Just having your support means more than anything,” I say with a watery smile, meeting Poppy and Lily’s faces and then catching Remi’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Of course! That’s what family is for,” Lily says as she sniffs. “Now stop that crying bullshit and tell me what you want on the cover. Since there will be three books in this series, I think it should be hot as fuck photos of the three main male characters. Nothing gets me hotter than being able to visualize the main characters properly when I’m reading scenes. Unfortunately, there aren’t that many harem books for lesbians out there, but I can appreciate a hot man when the mood arises,” she says with a big smirk.

“Oh yeah? Can you now?” Remi shoots a scowl at my sister.

They lapse into a half-hearted argument while I sit back and close my eyes, picturing the three main characters from my books.

It would be a good idea to have some sexy man-meat on each cover, just like my favorite RH series, Madison Kate. Being able to see perfect replicas of Archer, Steel and Kody made fantasizing that much better.

I suppose I could do the same.

The only problem is the three boys from my books actually do exist. But I could never, ever ask them to be on the covers. That would be the creepiest most humiliating thing in the world. Can you imagine?

“Umm hi, you don’t know me, but I’ve been secretly stalking you for a long time and I wrote a book series inspired by how hot you three are. It’s about all the different ways I’ve imagined you fucking me. Wanna come get naked and take some photos for the covers? ”

Holy shit, they would probably have me arrested.

Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of a cool-looking club called The Alchemist . It’s an old industrial building with not much street appeal. Not at all where I pictured either of my sisters wanting to go, especially Poppy. Remi grew up in a normal, middle-class, happy family. She has adjusted my sister’s lifestyle somewhat away from the wealthy way she was raised.

Lily was never one to act stuck up, but she also never knew how to live a simple life. I didn’t either until I moved out. My loft is nothing extravagant and I tend to live a modest lifestyle, as I prefer it. Poppy, on the other hand, has always been spoiled and continues to be by her husband. She has a jaded outlook on life, but she is unbelievably happy.

“Uhhh, this is an interesting looking place,” I murmur as we all pile out of the SUV. “I feel maybe a little overdressed for this.”

I look down at my tight black velvet mini, opaque black knee-high stockings with a black bow on the backs of my thighs, and my matching velvet black pumps. My dress is strapless and has a sweetheart neckline. I kept my whole outfit black and sexy, with a bit of slut added in from the stockings and garter belts. I love wearing black because it makes my lavender hair color pop that much more. It’s down in long, soft waves tonight. The only jewelry I have on is a black string choker tied into a bow around my throat.

When I dyed my hair lavender shortly after my divorce, my sister freaked out and thought that I was just going through a post-divorce episode. She couldn’t believe that I stepped out of my comfort zone and left the blonde life behind me in favor of something that would have surely gotten me kicked out of our parents’ lives had I not already left them years ago.

So, when I got my first, second, and third tattoo, my sister’s shit absolute bricks. Now I have a full sleeve on my right arm and one large tattoo from my upper left thigh that comes to my ribs. Once I dyed my hair and allowed myself that one freedom of outward and open rebellion, I realized that I wasn’t rebelling at all; I was just allowing the inner me out for the first time ever.

Elliot would have never allowed me such liberties when it came to my appearance. Everything had to be just so, as it did with my father. Growing up and never being allowed to ask questions, carried over to my marriage. Once I was free of that, I was truly able to embrace the inner Violet and let her out to play.

My sisters on the other hand, still look the same as they did growing up for the most part. All three of us are thin, leggy, medium height, and blonde. We couldn’t have made our mom prouder than when we popped out looking like baby Barbies. She has to work to look like a statuesque Stepford wife, but we were born that way.

Lucky us. Eye roll.

Not for the first time, I wonder what it would have been like to have a mom who just loved her daughters simply because we existed. Or a father who looked at us as though we are living, breathing human beings rather than pawns to advance his political career. For years, we stood at his side, modestly dressed, with fake smiles on our faces as we pretended to be a picture-perfect family. Photos were taken, articles were written, and his facade as a doting husband and father was solidified.

Gaining my freedom granted me the ability to finally become the me that has always existed inside of my head. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable in my own skin. My sisters have made subtle changes over the years as well.

Poppy still embraces her long blonde hair which she always keeps styled to absolute perfection. She wears minimal makeup that only accentuates her features, as we were taught, and keeps her clothing classy and simple for the most part. On occasion, she wears sweats and jeans which may not sound like a big deal, but for her, it’s huge.

Lily had long blonde hair growing up as well, which she has since, chopped off. It’s now an adorable long bob that frames her perfect doll face that’s generally makeup-free. She dresses in leggings, chunky sweaters, and band tees most of the time. She’s comfy-causal and it suits her.

All three of us have crystal blue eyes and pale skin. Again, Barbies. I hate it. Hence, the purple hair and tattoos. I’ve never liked having to look like ‘America’s version of perfect’. In fact, I despise the very idea. It’s simple minded and bigoted in my opinion. Everyone is perfect in their own rights. We all deserve the right to feel comfortable in our own bodies and to be accepted exactly as we are.

Alright. Maybe I did rebel a little bit. A big fuck you to the patriarchy in which I was raised.

“Don’t worry Vi, you’ll love it! I heard someone at the gym talking about this place. I looked it up and the reviews are awesome!” Lily enthuses from the front of our little pack while we wait in the line out front to get in.

It’s actually pretty busy for a Thursday night. Every time the bouncer lets someone in, I can hear the low thumping techno beats coming from inside. I look around and take note of the types of people and attire around me. Everyone going in and out actually seems to be dressed in similar attire as me.

I smirk as I look at my sisters. All three of them are in some sort of jeans and a cute top combo. At least Lily is wearing a black lace corset, black jeans, and sky-high heels. My smirk turns into a full belly laugh as I look at Poppy’s face. She’s wearing dark jeans, thigh-high leather boots, and a white tank top. She scowls as she takes in all the cocktail dresses and heavy makeup around us.

“You said it was a casual bar, Lily!” she cries as she shoves our older sister who laughs in Poppy’s face in return. “You literally forced this outfit on me! These aren’t even my clothes!”

Remi just grumbles as she supports her belly underneath her chunky purple, off-the-shoulder sweater. She paired it with light-colored boyfriend jeans and chucks. Her long black hair is curled simply, and she wears no makeup. That’s just how Remi is; a natural beauty who doesn’t need to dress up or cake her face on to stand out. Her small, heart-shaped face, big brown eyes, and full lips along with her naturally dark tanned skin don’t need a speck of assistance to draw you in.

We make our way to the front and get in pretty quickly despite the line. It’s still early enough that they aren’t at capacity yet. The bouncer looks me up and down and grins in approval, waving a hand for me to enter. I smile back at him and push Lily ahead of me. He nods at her as well but gives Remi’s outfit a once over and his grin fades.

I prepare for an argument in case he won’t let her in based on her casual outfit, but Remi stands tall, and hugs her belly tighter. The bouncer sees her bump and frowns before rolling his eyes and gesturing her in as well. Lily grabs Remi and yanks her in the club, clearly over the whole silent debate at the door. I follow Lily and Remi in with Poppy holding my hand, trailing behind me as we weave our way into the club and through the throngs of people.

“Bar?” Lily shouts over the music.

I respond with a thumbs up, not seeing any reason to lose my voice so early in the night. We make it to the bar and Lily leans across it, all sorts of happy and smiley as she calls to get the bartender’s attention. She orders us three Sex-on-the-Beaches and sparkling water for Remi. I take a moment to look around. The club is a fun-looking place I have to admit.

Its dark and moody vibe meshes well with my soul. Old and worn brick walls, probably original. Vaulted ceilings with exposed industrial piping and ductwork. Black curtains block out the windows along the far wall. A beautiful slab of polished pine creates the bar top. Industrial style metal barstools line the front. Huge wooden beams along the ceiling have Eddison bulbs dripping from them, giving off a very soft glow.

Brown tufted leather sofas throughout create private seating areas. There are tall, exposed wooden pub tables with metal chairs for relaxing and drinking. Dark slate grey concrete floors with a shine to them, reflect the lights. There’s an area roped off for dancing and a platform for a DJ.

The place really is beautiful and feels modern, industrial, and masculine. I love it.

The pretty bartender returns and smiles at us as she slides over the assortment of drinks. I’m surprised when I look her over. I know you can’t judge a book by its cover, but she doesn’t look like the kind of person who would work at a club or be a bartender. She looks like a librarian and though she looks sweet, she radiates innocence.

She has long, mousy brown hair, big round glasses, no makeup and wears simple yet frumpy clothing. At first glance, a person wouldn’t notice her, as though she’s trying to blend into the background. She’s unlike any bartender I’ve ever seen but her smile is genuine, and it makes me like her immediately.

“Here!” Lily hands me my drink and a shot of vodka, pulling me away from staring. I look down at both drinks, a bit taken aback by the aggressive alcohol intake she unilaterally decided we’d be doing tonight. “Cheers bitch! Congrats on being officially free to fuck whoever you want and for finishing your sexy-as-shit book! We love you!” she shouts while holding her drink up.

At that moment, one thing becomes glaringly obvious. My big sister pre-gamed.

Poppy and Remi both bring their drinks up and offer cheers and congratulations also. I shrug, raise my Sex-on-the-Beach for the toast while downing my shot, then I chase the vodka with the mixed drink. Cheers to me. I guess we’re getting fucked up.

After one more shot for my two sisters and myself, we make our way through the throngs of partiers to find a tall table to sit at. When we’re all settled, we fall into a comfortable, albeit very shouty conversation over all the noise.

We’re laughing about something Remi and Lily’s son Benji had done earlier in the day when the back of my neck suddenly breaks out in prickles. An intense awareness takes me over and I get the sensation that I’m being watched. My heart drops momentarily thinking Elliot may be here, which would ultimately ruin my celebration of dropping the bastard.

I’m too nervous to turn around and look behind me, fearing what I might see. Lily suddenly grips my hand tightly while looking over my shoulder. A giant smile spreads across her face, and I instantly want to smack her, knowing that whatever is behind me is the reason for the secrets tonight.

“Lily, I swear to Hades, if you set me up, I will never babysit for you again,” I hiss, knowing damn well that may be the case.

Both of my sisters have been trying to set me up with “Mr. Right” since I left Elliot. Neither of them ever liked him and they have been eager to find a replacement since before I even became single. Unfortunately for me, and them, they really just don’t know what my type is. Elliot sure as hell wasn’t it, he was just my first love. When we met, I was still learning not only about love and relationships but also about myself.

Poppy seems to think my future husband is one of Justin’s friends which would be a big fat fuck no . I will never date another uppity, suit-wearing, stick up his ass, rich prick.

No offense to Justin, he’s lovely, I swear.

And Lily…well, considering she has a wife, our types are wholly different. She’d love to see me with a hipster from the photography classes she teaches. Nope, nope, double nope. They may be good-looking, I will never begrudge a man-bun, but no thanks. I want someone who will throw me around a room, lick me seven ways to Sunday and call me a good girl. Not someone who only buys Vegan lube and tells me yams are good for my vagina’s PH.

Lily just starts laughing while both Remi and Poppy follow her line of vision.

“Oh, crap Lil, is that them?” Poppy whisper-shouts with an awe-struck look on her face. Remi’s not faring any better which makes my stomach clench with nerves. She’s always calm and easygoing, so her panic-stricken expression doesn’t bode well for me.

Poppy’s words finally trickle in through my anxiety and my mouth immediately goes dry. Did she say them ? Who the fuck is she talking about?

This is going to be terrible; I already know it. My mind begins to plot all sorts of revenge as my anxiety slowly shifts to anger. Sitting up straight, I grit my teeth, shoving all of those messy emotions down. Surely, I’ve been through way worse than whatever these hussy’s have planned for me. I steel my spine and finally turn around to where the three traitors are looking.

Holy-Shit-Fuck-Balls-Oh-No!

Three gorgeous men are directly behind me leaning against the bar like it is their goddamned job to do so.

Three gorgeous, tattooed, pierced, buff, alpha gym rats.

All. Fucking. Three. Of. Them.

How? How is this even my life right now?

I can’t help but stare at them, my mouth still dryer than the Sahara. They’re ordering drinks and doing a slow perusal of the club patrons while gesturing and laughing between themselves. No doubt looking for their conquests for tonight. Intense jealousy instantly pools in my stomach. It feels hot and sour. I don’t like it. I quickly turn my gaze back toward my sisters who are studying me for my reaction as though I’m some sort of science experiment.

I want to punch them, or maybe thank them, I’m not sure. My body wants to flee even while my traitorous nipples harden to diamond peaks. My heart is now racing a thousand miles a minute and I have to tuck my hands beneath my thighs to hide the way they’re shaking. There is a lump in my throat that is making breathing difficult and a strange ringing in my ears.

Is this what a panic attack feels like? Fuck. Maybe I’m dying. Is it hot in here? Did someone spike my drink?

Poppy speaks up first and her voice drags me from the anxiety-induced whirlwind currently going down in my brain. “So sister dearest. That’s them, huh? The three men of your literal dreams and fantasies? The faces of your book boys? The men you want to do unspeakably dirty things with?” Her voice is laced with a heavy dose of cocky pride, as though she’s in on some sort of secret that I’m not privy to.

How does she know about the guys? She doesn’t even go to our gym. I look at my other smiling sister who holds an equally cocky grin laced with a side of Devil.

This bitch.

“Seriously Lily?” I screech, though it doesn’t have quite the same effect with all the music and noise. “How did you even know they would be here? Was this your plan?” I ask incredulously as my hands slip from under my legs and begin to flail about.

She just smirks back at me and suddenly, it all clicks.

‘I heard someone at the gym talking about this place’ the evil brat had said.

I made the mistake of pointing the three boys out to my sister once at the gym when she had first read my book. I only agreed to point them out as long as she was sworn to secrecy and silence, never to confront them about it, and never to tell anyone else. I really never wanted my creepiness to get back to them. That would be literally traumatizing.

“I overheard them talking about this place earlier in the week. They said there was going to be some well-known DJ performing here tonight. I thought it was the best way for you to get your opening with them, and finally introduce yourself. If nothing else, I figured we would get drunk and dance while you ogle them,” she says with a shrug and a smile that’s all teeth and drips with loving manipulation.

Jesus, I don’t want an opening with them. I can’t have one. It would be too weird now.

Sighing, I discretely glance back at the guys. I guess she’s right about one thing; they are absolutely fun to ogle. My nipples and my pussy are fully on board with that idea.

“Fuck, I can’t just go talk to them, you guys. What the hell would I even say?” I ask as I sink a little further into my chair.

Look, I’m a confident ass woman. I am a boss-ass bitch. I take shit from no one. The days of hiding and simpering from a man ended when I walked out of my father’s house.

How-the-fuck-ever...

The three men leaning against the bar as if they are posing for a goddamned GQ shoot? Those are not the kind of men that one simply just approaches and lives to tell the tale. I would literally fucking wither and die if after all this time they are assholes and tell me to get lost. It would genuinely ruin the fictional personalities that I’ve created for them.

In my mind, they are domineering, demanding, kinky and rough around the edges. But they are also sweet, funny, and protective alpha males who like to shower their woman with unlimited orgasms. What the hell would I do if they are just straight-up douche-canoes?

“You don’t have to talk to them!” Lily shouts as she tosses back the remainder of her drink, and then Poppy’s, and then mine.

“What the heck! I wasn’t done with that!” Poppy screeches as she slaps Lily’s shoulder.

“Sure, you were, and now we need refills. Off you go, bitch,” Lily laughs as she shoves me out of the tall chair. I stumble but luckily correct my balance before faceplanting. I glare at the manipulative hussy, planting my hands on my hips. “Look, Vi, you’re hot as hell. You’re a badass bitch. You can do this. Just walk over there, order us another round, and smile. That’s literally all you have to do.”

“Fuck! Fine!” I shout, throwing my hands up in defeat.

I straighten my dress out, adjust the girls, and stand tall. I am a hot as hell woman and I can do this shit. I turn on my heel and muster every ounce of feminine power that I possess. You can do this, Violet, they are just men. Men who are all watching me walk toward them with rapt attention.

It’s okay, they probably just recognize you from the gym. Calm down.

I lock eyes with the man standing in the middle. He’s always in the middle of their pack. It’s like he’s the leader of this little group or something. The man is stunning, there’s no doubt about it. All three of them are. There’s a reason why I chose them as the inspiration for my book.

Mario, as I’ve dubbed him in my series, is hot as fuck. From the first moment I saw him, I mentally started calling him Mario because he looks like a tall, buff, Mariano Di Vaio. He’s at least 6ft3, built, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, thick thighs. I assume that he’s of Italian descent. He’s got this year-round deep golden tan that makes my mouth water. He looks like he’s covered in caramel, and I want to lick him.

Mario has black hair that’s full, thick, and always messy like he’s constantly running his fingers through it. His black full brows stand out on his face and though I’ve never been close enough to really look at his eyes, I can tell they are likely light brown. His jaw is strong, sharp, and always covered in days’ worth of stubble. He has the most beautiful cupids bow I’ve ever seen on a man. His lips are a pinker version of his skin color and full. When he smiles and laughs with his friends, his perfect white smile catches my eye, even from across the room.

He often works out in just a tank top and basketball shorts and from what I’ve seen, his beautiful skin is free from tattoos. Besides the two hoops he always wears in his ears, I’ve never seen any other piercings on him. But I’ve obviously never seen him naked. There are lots of places he could hide tats and piercings.

My mouth salivates at the thought.

I drag my eyes away from the tan god whose yet to break eye contact with me and look over at the man standing on his right side.

He is a bonified fucking snack.

Where Mario is all golden and hard lines, almost intimidating looking, Rook is his opposite. He’s the lightest skinned of their group but it’s hard to tell given that the majority of his body is covered in tattoos.

I named him Rook because to me, he’s almost identical to Brook Dede, that sexy as sin model that’s tatted, tall, and perfectly beautiful. Rook is a bit taller than Mario but not nearly as wide. He’s all long, lean muscle. Unlike his model namesake, Rook has red hair that’s shaved fully on one side and longer everywhere else, haphazardly tossed to the side. The shaved part of his scalp has a tattoo that I’m dying to investigate more closely.

I’ve seen him at the gym shirtless, so I know his tattoos cover his entire chest, arms, and back. They even stretch down to his hands and up to his throat. Every time I see him, I barely stifle the urge to lick every single colorful design.

The first time he and I ever locked eyes, I was almost knocked on my ass by the bright baby blues he has. Even hidden behind his glasses, they still pop. His face is always shaved completely, and his light skin looks so soft. His lips are puffy, pink, and pierced. He has snakebites that are adorned with small diamond studs.

I’m surprised when I find Rook already staring at me, just like Mario. He’s looking at me like he’s fucking starving and my heart gives a panicked squeeze. Rook bites his lip, sucking one of his studs into his mouth, and I almost trip over my heels.

I continue pushing my way through the crowd and tear my eyes away from the tattooed man-candy who is looking at me like he’s going to have me for dinner. I bring my gaze to the last man of the sexiest trio I’ve ever seen.

Zander.

Zander was hard to place. After seeing the men for the first time, I easily determined Rook and Mario’s real-life twins. Zander, however, was more difficult. He has such an interesting look that it took some research to find anyone who embodied him physically. Until I stumbled upon Alessandro Dellisola, bing-fucking-o. In my book, I named his character Zander, from the American translation of Alessandro, Alexander. Hence, Zander.

His skin color is similar to the panty-melting god, Mario. He’s dark golden and beautiful. His hair is dark brown and medium length. He always keeps it pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck, but pieces fall messily around his face. Especially when he’s sweaty at the gym. His face is thinner than Mario’s, but his features are just as sharp.

Zanders’s top lip is smaller than the bottom, which juts out like a soft pink pillow that I want to yank with my teeth. His brows and short beard are chocolate brown, and his eyes are greenish hazel. I know this because we once passed each other outside the restroom at the gym. We locked eyes, he winked, I died.

He’s the smallest out of the group. Probably 5ft11, maybe 165. He’s muscley, just like the other two men, but he’s not as large as them. He has the body of a swimmer. Zander has a few noticeable tattoos, and from the tight tee’s he wears, I know his nipples are pierced.

It’s was a surprising revelation to say the least and I’m not ashamed to say his bedazzled nipples have stared in many of my late night fantasies.

All three of the men are wearing fitted button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Mario’s is white and tucked into his black suit pants. He’s the only one wearing a suit jacket tonight and though I said I was done with stuffy suit-wearing men, I didn’t mean these kind of men. On him, it looks like a fucking gift meant to entice my libido.

Zander’s black shirt is haphazardly untucked from his charcoal grey pants. It’s unbuttoned down to his chest, showing a light sprinkling of hairs, and it looks wrinkled like he’s been rolling around in it. I don’t even care though because it does nothing but add lust to my already overheated body.

Rook is wearing a white shirt as well. It’s looser than Mario’s and looks to be more casual than the other two men. His is loosely hanging over his tight black jeans and he’s wearing black and white converse.

Where Mario wears his outfit like it was made for him; effortless, comfortable, confident. And Zander looks as though he’s used to such attire but has slowly shed his layers throughout his difficult day. Rook…well he looks like he’s trying to physically repel the outfit from his body without removing it. Like he can’t wait for the moment when he can take it all off.

God, I wish I could be there to watch.

I shake myself out of the trance I’ve been in as I finally reach the bar. All three men are watching as though they are spellbound. Me too guys, me too . I smile at them, giving them my best ‘confident sexy bitch’ look, before walking right past them and leaning against the bar a few stools down.

I make sure to push my ass out in a way that says, ‘ this is a beautiful ass that you’d be lucky to touch ’ without saying ‘ I’m a hussy, please come rail me. ’ It’s a delicate balance, really.

The bartender, a cute, tall, blond guy saunters to toward me and leans over the bar, matching my position as he throws me a dimply smile.

“What can I get you, gorgeous?” he purrs .

Is he flirting with me? Hmm..this will work nicely.

I shoot him my most dazzling smile as I toy with my long, purple hair. “Gorgeous, huh? Bet you say that to all the girls,” I say with my most innocent giggle. Fucking giggle, Jesus. I roll my eyes internally. He eats it up though so it’s worth the dent to my soul.

“If women who look like you came in every day, I might, but, lucky for you, they don’t,” he jokes as he throws me a wink and leans in even further.

Eww! How the fuck am I supposed to pretend that doesn’t make me want to break his nose?

Lucky for me? Who does he think he is?

Does he not understand that what’s between my thighs is a fucking majestic, gold-plated treat? I swallow the irritated, bitchy retort sitting on the tip of my tongue and force a bashful smile. I glance down at my lap in an attempt at feigning innocence, but really, I’m trying to hide my growl. I probably look like some naive, doe-eyed girl.

Coy, yes, coy will have to do.

“You fucked up with that line, Steve,” a deep, masculine voice rumbles from beside me, making me jump. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps in response to the sound.

Oh my gosh, it’s happening.

Breathe, Violet.

It’s fucking happening.

You can do this.

I’m finally going to talk to one of them.

Holy shit, this is not a drill!

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