The comeback of the billionaire heiress

SCARLETT.

The club is packed when I walk in, all glitter and red velvet and people dressed like they're trying to fuck Santa. Which, honestly, same.

I'm wearing a Mrs. Claus outfit that's basically lingerie with a Santa hat—white fur trim on red satin that barely covers my ass, thigh-high boots, the whole deal. I look hot as hell and I know it.

My name's Scarlett. I do p**n for a living, which means I'm extremely comfortable with my body and what I want. And what I want tonight is to blow off some serious steam.

I just wrapped a twelve-hour shoot doing a solo scene for a Christmas special. Lots of candy canes and ornaments and me touching myself in increasingly creative positions. It was hot—I got myself off three times for real—but it left me wound up and wanting more.

So here I am at the most exclusive Christmas Eve party in the city, scanning the crowd for someone—or someones—to help me celebrate the holiday properly.

The music's loud, bass thumping, and everyone's already drunk and handsy. I love it.

I grab a drink from the bar—something red and sweet that tastes like sin—and turn to survey my options.

That's when I see them.

Three guys standing together near the VIP section, and holy shit. It's like someone ordered them from a catalog labeled "Scarlett's Wet Dreams."

Guy one: tall, dark hair, shoulders for days, wearing a black shirt that shows off his arms. He's got this intense look, like he's cataloging everything in the room.

Guy two: blond, pretty-boy face but a body that says he works out religiously. Slightly shorter than guy one but built like he could throw me around. I am extremely into it.

Guy three: the biggest of the three, dark skin, bald head, tattoos visible on his forearms. He's laughing at something one of the others said and his smile is devastating.

They're clearly together, clearly friends, and clearly all hot enough to make me forget my own name.

Perfect.

I down half my drink for courage—not that I need it, but still—and make my way over.

They notice me coming. Hard not to in this outfit.

"Hey," I say, stepping right into their circle like I belong there. "I'm Scarlett."

Dark-hair looks me up and down, not even trying to hide it. "Marcus."

"Liam," says the blond, his eyes definitely on my legs.

"Jackson," the big one says, and his voice is deep enough to vibrate through me.

"Nice to meet you all." I lean against the railing next to them. "You guys here together?"

"College friends," Marcus says. "Annual Christmas Eve reunion."

"Sweet." I take another sip of my drink. "So which one of you is going to buy me my next one?"

They exchange glances. Some kind of silent communication happening.

Then Liam grins. "I'll get it. What are you drinking?"

"Surprise me."

He heads to the bar and I'm left with Marcus and Jackson, both of whom are still looking at me like I'm the best present under the tree.

"So what do you do, Scarlett?" Jackson asks.

I could lie. Make up something boring. But fuck it—it's Christmas Eve and I'm feeling honest.

"I'm a p**n star."

Marcus chokes on his drink. Jackson's eyes go wide.

"Seriously?" Jackson asks.

"Seriously." I pull out my phone, show them my verified account on one of the major sites. "Been doing it for five years. Love my job."

"Holy shit," Marcus mutters, scrolling through. "I've actually—" He stops, his ears going red.

"Seen my videos?" I finish for him, amused. "It's fine. That's literally the point."

Liam comes back with my drink—something blue and strong—and immediately the other two start whispering to him. I watch his face change as he processes the information, going from confused to shocked to very, very interested.

"So," I say, taking a sip of the new drink. "Now that we've established what I do for a living, here's what I'm looking for tonight."

All three of them are staring at me now.

"I just wrapped a really long, really frustrating solo shoot. Got myself worked up and now I need..." I pause, making sure I have their full attention. "More."

"More," Marcus repeats slowly.

"More." I look at each of them in turn. "Specifically, I'm looking for three attractive men who might be interested in helping me celebrate Christmas properly."

The silence stretches for about five seconds.

Then Jackson says, "Are you propositioning all three of us?"

"Yes."

"At the same time?" Liam asks.

"That's generally how a foursome works."

More silence. They're looking at each other again, that silent communication thing happening, and I'm starting to think maybe I read this wrong when Marcus turns back to me.

"You're serious."

"Completely." I finish my drink. "Look, I know it's forward. But I know what I want and I'm not interested in playing games. You're all hot, you're clearly friends so there won't be weird jealousy, and I really, really need to get fucked tonight. Preferably by multiple people. So." I shrug. "Interested?"

"Where?" Jackson asks, and I know I've got them.

"I have a penthouse about ten minutes from here." I pull out my phone. "I'll call a car."

The car ride is tense in the best way.

I'm squeezed between Marcus and Liam in the back seat, Jackson up front, and I can feel the heat coming off all of them. Nobody's touching yet—we're in a car with a driver, after all—but the anticipation is thick enough to taste.

"So how does this work?" Liam asks quietly. "Do you have like... rules?"

"Condoms are required," I say immediately. "I have plenty. Other than that, as long as everyone's having fun, I'm pretty flexible."

"Flexible," Marcus mutters, and I hear the capital letters on that word.

"Very," I confirm.

The driver pulls up to my building and we pile out. I lead them through the lobby—the doorman doesn't even blink; he's used to me bringing people home—and into the elevator.

The second the doors close, the energy shifts.

Marcus moves first, stepping close, his hand sliding into my hair. "You sure about this?"

"Never been more sure of anything."

He kisses me. Deep and thorough and claiming, and I melt into it. Behind me, I feel Jackson press close, his hands on my waist. Liam's watching with dark eyes.

By the time we reach my floor, I'm already wet and desperate.

My apartment is all windows and modern furniture and a view of the city lit up for Christmas. I don't give them time to admire it. I drop my purse, kick off my boots, and turn to face them.

"Bedroom's through there," I point. "But first, I want to make something very clear."

They're all staring at me, eyes hungry.

"I'm in charge tonight," I say. "This is for me. You're here to make me feel good. If at any point I'm not having fun, we stop. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Jackson says, and the title makes me shiver.

"Good." I reach behind me, undo the clasps on my outfit, and let it fall to the floor.

I'm wearing white lace underneath. Barely anything. And the way they're all looking at me makes me feel like a goddess.

"Now come here and show me what you've got."