Back at her apartment, and fresh from a shower, Poppy wondered if she'd dreamed the episode. During her failed, brief pregnancy her dreams had been crazy, vivid, and though she'd never had one starring three brothers spending a night worshiping her, the question still edged into her mind. Had she dreamt them?
She wandered through her apartment, checking her empty answering machine. Her sex ached like hell with each step and her nipples rubbed uncomfortably against her t-shirt. The friction the night of sexual excess had caused wasn't pleasant, but she couldn't wipe the smile off her face.
There would be no pretending it was a dream. Reality was better. Poppy Maguire had an incredible night with three delicious brothers, individually and all at once. Menage, not trois, but while her French was non-existent the Spanish was quatro, maybe a quartet.
The thought made her laugh, surprising because she never thought she was the kind of girl who could do something sexually daring. It went to show how hungry she'd been for contact and emotion, even if it was only one night. She wanted more, she couldn't lie to herself. She'd been prepared to feel the recriminations of reality settling in, yet she felt fine, like it was perfectly normal to spend the night being loved by three men.
They weren't going home to the best circumstances and she worried. She wished she'd gotten a phone number to check in on them, or even given hers. She had their hotel's number but it didn't do any good with them on their way home. The Patriches hadn't lied to her yet, and when they promised to be back, she wanted to believe them. That didn't mean she wouldn't end up disappointed, but for the first time in months she had a little faith in someone, even if it wasn't herself.
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