Todos los capítulos de Banged Three Daddies To Hurt My Ex: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

ISABELOnce inside the elevator, the shaking starts. By the time I got to the lobby, I could barely breathe. In my car, I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white, mascara running down my face in black rivers.Three years. Three fucking years of my life wasted on a man who hurt me, cheated on me, and made me doubt my own sanity.I gave up everything for him. My family fortune, my position, my self-respect, and for what? So he could fuck other women while I covered bruises and pretended to be happy?The rage that sustained me upstairs is morphing into something else now. Grief, shame, and overwhelming loss. I sacrificed my entire future for a man who never loved me. Who probably never even liked me.I don't know where I'm going, I just drive, tears blurring the city lights into watercolor streaks.Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside The Velvet Room, an exclusive lounge I've passed a thousand times but never entered. It's the kind of place Leo takes his "business a

ISABEL"What the FUCK?" The words explode out of him like a detonation, and I turn my head slowly, and deliberately to look at him. Ares doesn't move away, instead, his teeth graze my neck harder, possessively marking me. Harvey's finger slides inside me, just one, stretching me, and I have to bite back a moan."Oh, Leo," I say, my voice remarkably steady despite the finger inside me, despite my racing heart. "You're home early." I pause, letting my lips curve into a smile as Harvey adds a second finger, scissoring them inside me. "Or am I home late? I lose track when we have an open marriage now."His face goes from shocked white to furious red in seconds. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!"Instead of moving away, Harvey's fingers curl inside me, and find that spot that makes my vision blur. Ares's mouth moves lower, pulling down my bra to expose my breast, his tongue circling my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. Marco leans forward and presses a kiss to my inner thigh, so close

ISABEL Sunlight cuts through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a blade. I blink awake slowly, my body registering sensations before my mind catches up. Soreness between my thighs, a pleasant ache in my hips plus the sheets are cool against my bare skin. I'm alone. My hand slides across the mattress where Harvey slept last night and it's cold. I sit up too quickly and my muscles protest, reminding me exactly how thoroughly three men worshipped my body for hours. The penthouse is silent except for the distant hum of the city below. They left. I tell myself I don't care, I tell myself this was always temporary, a single night of revenge and pleasure. Nothing more but my throat tightens anyway. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. My knees wobble and I have to grip the nightstand to steady myself, and despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips. They fucked me so well I literally can't walk straight. The bathroom mirror stops me cold. I look... ravaged. My

ISABEL Monday morning, I arrive at Queens Enterprises at 7:45 AM. Candice's assistant, a severe woman named Patricia who looks like she's never smiled in her life, points me to a cubicle in the back corner. Not an office, a cubicle with fabric walls and fluorescent lighting that hums like a dying insect. "Ms. Queens will see you at nine," Patricia says, her tone suggesting I shouldn't hold my breath. I sit in the cheap rolling chair and boot up the ancient desktop computer. Around me, other junior analysts are already working, their fingers flying across keyboards. None of them look up. None of them introduce themselves. I'm invisible here. I pull out my phone, checking messages out of habit. Nothing new. Nothing from the three men whose names I moaned five days ago. Ares. Marco. Harvey. They left before I woke up. No note. No text. No follow-up. I tell myself I don't care. Tell myself it was always just one night—revenge sex, a power play, nothing more. The hollow ache in my

MARCOI lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind refusing to shut down. It is 2:47 AM. I've been lying here for three hours.Beside me, my phone glows with unanswered emails and pending contracts and a dozen fires that need putting out. I should get up. I should work. I should do literally anything productive but instead, I'm thinking about her.Isabel.The name rolls through my mind like a prayer or a curse—I can't decide which.I have rules. Strict, unbreakable rules that have kept me functional and successful for thirty-five years. Never mix business with pleasure, never get attached and never let anyone close enough to hurt you.Sex is mechanical. Pleasurable, sure, but ultimately meaningless. A physical need met and then forgotten except I can't forget her.I remember everything. The way she tasted—sweet and desperate and real. The sounds she made when I touched her. The vulnerability in her eyes when she admitted what her husband had done, mixed with the fire that said she'd