Five keycards.

You trusted all five of them with access to the Garden Villa—the mayor of Linkon City’s gift, earned through your reputation as one of its finest Deepspace Hunters. To celebrate, you hosted a housewarming party. As the night went on, it became clear the villa wasn’t the only thing heating up.

Sylus could already imagine it—memories etched into every corner of the house. The bathroom. The couch. The counter. Even the tall French windows overlooking the garden.

You weren’t subtle.

The white skirt, the way you bent just a little too far while “checking” décor. The yoga mat placed deliberately near the couch despite the villa’s spacious gym. You played innocent well—but they saw through it. Still, they indulged you. Patience, however, had limits.

“We’re being too aggressive?” Xavier scoffed, watching you struggle weakly in Zayne’s lap, wrists bound behind you with Rafayel’s silken ribbons. “I wonder why.”

Rafayel tightened the knots with practiced ease before blindfolding you, stealing your sight. “You’re not going anywhere until this is over, cutie,” he murmured near your ear. His Ebb and Flow had cruelly aligned with your party—no relief, only heat, only temptation.

Sylus saw it clearly. They wanted you just as much as he did.

He chuckled at your sudden silence, his breath brushing your ear. “You’re awfully quiet, kitten,” he drawled, “I’ve been wanting to try a few techniques. One at a time. Right, Dr. Zayne?”

“Mhm.” Zayne eased your legs apart in his lap, your skirt riding up, exposing your arousal to all four of them.

“According to your medical records, a physical examination is required. Follow my instructions.”

Your shaky hum was all the consent he needed. Zayne reached for a pen on the side table, clicking it deliberately beside your ear, enough to draw a gasp from you.

“Good,” Zayne murmured. “Relax. Let me take control.”

The pen traced slow paths—over your chest, down your stomach, circling the damp center of your panties. When he gripped your jaw and tilted your face upward, his voice stayed calm.

“When I massage the masseter like this…” His fingers worked your jaw as the pen traced your slick heat through fabric. “When it relaxes…” He pressed the pen teasingly against your entrance, still clothed. Your mouth fell open with a breathy moan. “Your mouth follows.”

“A gift like this shouldn’t stay wrapped,” Rafayel purred, fingers brushing the soaked fabric before hooking into the waistband—

Thud.

The door burst open, revealing Caleb, fresh from an exhausting emergency Farspace Fleet meeting, uniform still on. His brows lifted at the sight of you sprawled in Zayne’s lap, restrained and exposed before the others.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Looks like Pipsqueak finally got what she wanted.”

“Perfect timing,” Rafayel said lightly, withdrawing his hand only to scoop icing from a slice of strawberry cake. Instead of tasting it, he let it drip onto your cleavage.

“Oops. The cream’s melting already,” Rafayel murmured, licking it away. “I can barely keep up.”

“Maybe I can help,” Caleb said, snapping off his black leather gloves with deliberate slowness. “Patients like these need thorough attention.”

“Yes,” Zayne agreed, nudging your panties aside at last—baring you fully to all five.

Rafayel dropped to his knees. Xavier passed the icing to Caleb, who smeared it generously over your folds, gloved fingers teasing, testing.

“Are the gloves too rough?” Caleb asked, amused as your moans filled the room.

“We’re only just beginning,” he continued softly. “And we can… keep going.”