My skull is a construction site, complete with jackhammers and wrecking balls. I try to open my eyes, but they feel glued shut by a mixture of sleep and what must be the aftermath of Captain Morgan's revenge tour through my system. Every muscle in my body protests as consciousness creeps in like an unwelcome houseguest.
"Fuck me," I groan, finally forcing my eyelids apart only to immediately regret it when sunlight stabs through our bedroom curtains.
I'm sprawled across our bed, naked and sticky with... everything. Dried sweat, bodily fluids, shame, all of it clings to my skin like a second layer. Memories from last night flash through my mind in disjointed snippets, Tara's mouth on my neck, her fingers digging into my hips, the way she rode me for what felt like hours while Sabrina watched, touching herself with increasing desperation.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I feel Sabrina's arm tighten around my waist. She's curled against my back, her breath warm against my shoulder blade. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 8:47 AM, and panic surges through me.
"Sabrina," I croak, my voice sounding like I've been gargling gravel. "Work. It's Monday. You can't miss work."
She stirs behind me, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper. I roll over carefully, wincing as various parts of my body announce their displeasure. When I finally face her, I'm struck by how utterly destroyed she looks. Her usually bright blue eyes are bloodshot and puffy, her pixie cut sticking up in directions that defy physics.
"Already called out," she mumbles, burying her face against my chest.
Relief washes over me, mingling with a strange sense of gratitude that cuts through the physical discomfort. Despite the hangover from hell, despite the soreness that reminds me of exactly what, and who, we did last night, I'm suddenly overwhelmed by how much I need this day with her.
"Smart," I whisper, pulling her closer despite the stickiness between us.
My body aches in places I'd forgotten could ache. Tara was... relentless. After that first round, she barely gave me time to recover before demanding more. Different positions, rougher touches, marks that will last for days. And through it all, Sabrina watched with that hungry, conflicted expression, until she finally reclaimed me at the end.
"Water," Sabrina squawks against my skin. "Need water."
I force a smile despite the pounding in my head and carefully extract myself from Sabrina's grip. My legs wobble beneath me as I stand, and I have to pause for a moment, gripping the bedpost until the room stops spinning.
"I'll get us some," I murmur, shuffling toward the bathroom on unsteady legs.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost don't recognize the man staring back. My neck and chest are a battlefield of purple and red marks. Tara's fingerprints are still visible on my hips, faint bruises in the shape of her strong hands. I look thoroughly used, claimed, and returned.
The cold water looks heavenly as I fill two glasses to the brim. I down half of mine immediately, the relief so intense it's almost painful, before refilling it and heading back to Sabrina.
She's managed to prop herself up against the headboard. I hand her a glass, which she accepts with grateful eyes before gulping it down like she's been lost in the desert.
"Did Tara leave?" I ask, easing myself back onto the bed beside her, trying not to wince as my body protests the movement.
Sabrina nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "After I took you back. She left."
My eyes drift across our bedroom floor, taking inventory of the night's activities. Six tied-off condoms are scattered across the rug like bizarre party favors, evidence of Tara's insatiable appetite. And that doesn't even count the last round with Sabrina, when she'd reclaimed me without barriers, demanding I finish inside her.
"Jesus Christ," I sigh, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "That's... a lot."
"Seven times," Sabrina mumbles, a hint of pride creeping into her voice despite her hangover. "You were amazing."
I let out a dry laugh that immediately makes my head throb harder. "I don't think I can take credit for much. I was basically just hanging on for dear life."
Sabrina reaches out, her fingers tracing one of the more prominent marks on my collarbone. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she explores the evidence of another woman's possession.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asks, her voice small but not accusatory.
I consider lying, saying I hated every second of it, but that's not who I am with Sabrina. We've come too far for anything but honesty now.
"Physically? Sure," I admit, my voice raspy. "Tara knows my body in ways I'd forgotten. But it wasn't..." I pause, searching for the right words through my hangover fog. "It wasn't something I'd be desperate to do again. What about you? Did you like watching?"
Her eyes meet mine, a complicated mix of emotions swimming in those blue depths. She bites her lower lip, something she only does when she's deeply conflicted.
"I..." she starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "It was intense. More than I expected. Seeing her with you, the way she just... took control. How your body responded to her."
I swallow hard, watching the emotions play across Sabrina's face. My head is pounding, but something more urgent than my hangover is pressing on my chest.
"We were all pretty wasted last night," I say softly, reaching out to cup her cheek in my palm. Her skin feels warm against my hand, and I brush my thumb gently over her cheekbone. "Listen, if you're having second thoughts, we can just... stop all of this. We can pretend it never happened, Sabrina. Go back to how things were before."
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment I think she might agree. Part of me prays to God she will. But then she covers my hand with hers, pressing it more firmly against her face.
"No," she says, her voice stronger than it has any right to be given how terrible she looks. "Absolutely not. You were..." she pauses, a flush creeping up her neck that has nothing to do with our hangovers, "perfect. You performed so perfectly."
Something cold slithers down my spine at her choice of words. Performed. Like I was putting on a show. Which I guess I was.
"I just..." I hesitate, hating how vulnerable I suddenly feel. My throat tightens as I force the words out. "I don't want you to stop loving me because of this. Because I was with her again."
Sabrina's expression softens immediately. She shifts closer, ignoring the protest of her hungover body, and presses her forehead against mine.
"Leo," she whispers fiercely, "I will never, ever stop loving you. Do you understand me? Never."
She kisses me then, morning breath and all, with a desperate intensity that makes my heart ache. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright.
"If anything, seeing you like that, seeing how much you were willing to give me... it made me love you more. I know that sounds fucked up, but it's true."
Her words warm something deep inside me, though a melancholy shadow still lingers at the edges. I want to believe her completely, that this strange arrangement will only strengthen what we have. But as I gaze at the constellation of marks decorating my body, memories surface of nights spent in strange hotel rooms, of performing for people who saw me as nothing but merchandise.
I push my fears down. I trust Sabrina would never take this to far.
"I love you too."