Chapter 1: The Dream That Stayed

(Eden’s POV)

One mouth on my neck.

Another between my thighs.

Their hands held me open, their fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths across my skin like they already knew what made me fall apart.

I couldn’t see their faces—only shapes in the dark. But their voices… those I could feel. Low. Rough. Made to command.

One whispered against my breast, “Look how sensitive you are.”

The other growled near my ear, “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

I moaned as a tongue circled one nipple, then the other, teeth scraping gently, perfectly. The other hand slipped lower, cupping the heat between my legs like it belonged there.

I gasped. My hips bucked. Someone held them down.

“You don’t get to come until we say.”

“Say it, Eden.”

“Say you want both of us.”

My name. Spoken like sin.

Like worship.

I opened my mouth to say yes, to give in, to beg—

And I woke up.

Breathless. Sweaty. Still aching.

My heart pounded against my ribcage as I lay frozen in the sheets, every nerve still lit like someone had dragged their fingers through my soul.

The dream faded at the edges, but the ache didn’t.

My thighs were clenched. My hand was already halfway between them before I stopped myself.

“Nope,” I muttered, kicking the covers off. “Not doing this again.”

But I was already ruined. Again.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had that dream. It had started a few months ago—always the same faceless voices, the same unrelenting desire. Two men. Always two. One sweet, one commanding. One holding me down, the other coaxing me deeper.

And the worst part?

I didn’t even know if it was based in memory or imagination. I hadn’t had sex. I hadn’t even been close. Not really. At twenty-five, I’d become a certified overachiever in every part of life but that one.

Virgin.

The word felt clinical. Tight. Too clean.

I sat up and padded barefoot into my tiny bathroom, flicking the light on and squinting at the sudden glare. My reflection looked flushed, haunted in the soft overhead light. Hair sticking out. Skin still a little damp. Pupils blown.

It was ridiculous—getting wrecked by a dream.

But I couldn’t help it. Something in me had been stirring lately. Not just sexually—but emotionally. Like I was missing something. Or someone.

And now, of course, I had to get on a plane and spend six full weeks pretending to be the same composed, responsible version of myself that everyone back home expected me to be.

I splashed cold water on my face and exhaled sharply.

Today was my last day of work before my six-week leave. Harper had begged me to come home early to help with all the pre-wedding chaos—BBQs, cake tastings, color palettes, and whatever else she had planned.

I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.

But I also wasn’t prepared.

⸻

An hour later, I stood by the front door of my apartment in jeans, sneakers, and a cropped hoodie, sipping coffee from the local café I’d miss the second I landed in my sleepy coastal hometown.

My suitcase was zipped and ready. My apartment felt suddenly too quiet. And my nerves were buzzing.

When my phone rang, I already knew who it was.

“Morning, Harper,” I said, smirking.

Her voice blared through the speaker. “Please tell me you’re awake and not pulling some last-minute work emergency excuse.”

“I’m awake. I’m packed. I’m leaving in fifteen.”

She exhaled dramatically. “Good. Because if you miss this BBQ tonight, I will smother you in tulle and rose gold sequins until you cry.”

I snorted. “Tempting.”

“I mean it, Edie. Dad’s grilling, and Joe invited a few friends. Super chill.”

“Great,” I said, toeing the line between excited and bracing for impact.

“Oh, and heads up…” she added, too casually. “The twins are flying in early. They’ll be there tonight.”

I paused. “Twins?”

“You remember. Luca and Levi. Joe roped them into helping set up the tent and coolers. They’re basically family.”

My stomach did an uncomfortable dip.

Luca and Levi Blackwell.

I hadn’t seen them in six years. Not since I was a too-quiet teenager watching them from a distance—half-fascinated, half-ashamed of the things I imagined when no one was looking.

“I forgot they were coming,” I lied.

Harper just laughed. “Sure you did. Just wear something hot and don’t be awkward.”

She hung up before I could reply.

I slipped my phone into my tote, grabbed my keys, and wheeled my suitcase toward the door.

It was just a BBQ. Just a family gathering. Just old friends.

No big deal.

Right?