She sniffed him.

Full-on buried her nose between his shoulder blades and inhaled like she was sampling a fine wine. When she pulled back, her eyes were half-lidded, glazed with something that looked suspiciously like religious ecstasy.

"Gosh," she breathed, voice husky. "You smell so manly. Like testosterone and victory and I can't get enough of you . I could honestly get off just huffing this. Just—" another deliberate, shameless sniff "—satisfied."

"That's disturbing."

"That's biology, baby. Survival of the horniest."

Phei peeled himself out of her grip—which took legitimate effort, because Maddie clung like a designer octopus with attachment issues—and turned to face her, putting at least the illusion of space between them.

"How come you and Sierra's parents are on a trip at the exact same time?"

She blinked at the abrupt subject change. Then shrugged, utterly unbothered, like the logistics of parental absence were as interesting as wallpaper.

"Maybe they're having their own share of orgies and wife-swapping?"

She delivered it with the casual cheer of someone announcing the weather was sunny.

Phei just sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted defeat on multiple fronts.

Maddie couldn't be fixed. Therapy would probably just unionize and quit.

She took his resignation as an open invitation—of course she did—and closed the gap again, arms looping around his waist, cheek pressing to his chest like she was staking permanent claim.

"Maddie—"

The bedroom door swung open with the force of someone who'd had it up to here.

"For fuck's sake, Maddie."

Sierra stood in the doorway like judgment made flesh, arms crossed under her chest in a way that hoisted those perfect, heavy tits higher and pressed them together until the crisp white button-down gaped like it was begging for mercy.

The expression on her face was balanced on a razor's edge between pure exasperation and premeditated murder.

She was wearing his clothes.

Again.

She too!

One of his best button-downs—the pristine white oxford Melissa had chosen because it "made him look edible"—now draped over Sierra's sinful body like it had defected to the enemy. Sleeves rolled to her elbows, exposing toned forearms.

Top four buttons undone in a deliberate act of war, the fabric straining across her chest, parting just enough to flash the lacy edge of a black bra and the deep, shadowed valley of cleavage that could launch a thousand wet dreams.

Every breath threatened to pop another button and grant full access to those plump, high breasts, nipples already stiff and punching visibly through the thin lace and cotton like they were daring someone to touch.

The hem barely skimmed mid-thigh, riding high enough to reveal miles of smooth, toned leg and the promise of black lace panties underneath—panties that existed purely to torment the sane.

When she shifted her weight, the shirt lifted just enough to flash the delicate lace trim hugging her hips and the faintest hint of the gusset clinging to her pussy mound, already darkened with a telltale damp spot because Sierra Montgomery didn't do anything halfway, not even casual arousal.

Her hair was a tousled cascade of dark silk, lips painted that same fuck-me red that matched her nails, eyes glittering with possessive fire as they flicked from Maddie to Phei and back again.

Two of them.

Both in his shirts.

Both looking like living proof that the universe had a sense of humor and it was deeply sadistic.

How the hell had this become his life?

"Do you ever think about anything besides sex?" Sierra demanded, glare locked on Maddie like a heat-seeking missile.

Maddie just laughed, still glued to Phei like a very expensive barnacle. "Sex is life, Sierra. Who doesn't think about sex?"

"Says the virgin."

The word landed like a precision strike.

Maddie's grip on Phei's waist tightened—just for a fraction of a second. A flicker. A tell so small most people would miss it.

But Phei felt it.

Because that was the thing about Maddie—the open secret her entire persona was built to obscure, the truth she wore like armor and Achilles' heel all at once.

She talked a big game. Flirted like it was an Olympic sport. Cultivated a reputation that could make a sailor blush.

But she was a virgin.

The Demoness of Chaos.

The girl whose dating history read like a tabloid greatest-hits album. More boyfriends than hot dinners, each one richer than the other or prettier or more famous than the last. The walking scandal who'd left a trail of broken heirs, devastated athletes, and that one underwear model who'd legitimately cried on a yacht when she cut him loose.

Virgin.

Not for lack of offers. Jesus, no. Every ex had begged on their knees for the honor. Half the male population of Ashford Elite would've committed felonies for a shot. Hell, the other half probably would've too.

But Maddie had rules.

Batshit, ironclad, utterly Maddie rules.

Before she'd let any boyfriend so much as round third base, she'd orchestrate a test. One of her inner-circle girls—or, when discretion demanded it, a high-end escort paid enough to forget faces—would take the guy for a test drive.

She'll watch from not so far.

Technique. Stamina. Creativity. Generosity. Whether he treated the clit like a mythical creature or an actual part of female anatomy. And other techniques she was looking for in a man.

Fail the audit?

Dumped.

Instantly. Mercilessly. No appeals process.

She refused to surrender her virginity to mediocrity. Refused to regret her first time with someone who fucked like a jackhammer with no rhythm section. And since she always held the power—money, connections, social capital—they either played her game or watched her walk away.

They all played.

Every single one.

None of them passed.

The standards were Mount Everest in stilettos. Impossible. Cruel. Legendary.

So the Demoness of Chaos remained, despite the rumors and the reputation and the endless parade of beautiful disasters, completely untouched.

And yet.

Here she was.

Throwing herself at Phei like gravity had personally offended her. Pressing her half-naked body against his sweaty one. Wearing his shirt like a conquest flag. Sniffing him like his post-training funk was the world's most exclusive pheromone.

He was, apparently, the only one who'd made the cut.

The only one she'd decided was worthy of the prize she'd guarded like a dragon on gold.

And four days after moving into his penthouse—four days of strutting around in his clothes, "accidentally" bending over, leaving her door open while she changed—he still hadn't taken the bait.

Which made Sierra's sex even better, honestly.

Because Sierra knew.

Knew that while she was in Phei's bed, legs wrapped around his waist, getting fucked so thoroughly she forgot her own name, Maddie was on the other side of the door ear pressed to wood. Listening to every moan, every gasp, every filthy praise Phei growled into Sierra's ear, every wet slap of skin on skin.

Never touching herself frantically.

Because that was Phei's new rule, if she wanted him, delivered with the sweet, venomous smile of a king allowing her to stand by his throne:

Maddie could listen.

Maddie could suffer.

Maddie could burn.

But she couldn't relieve the pressure.

Not until Phei said she'd earned it.

The whole power dynamic was twisted six ways to Sunday, the kind of thing that would send a sex therapist into early retirement.

Phei tried not to examine it too closely or he'd have a change of heart.

**

Sierra crossed the room in three determined strides and physically peeled Maddie off him like she was removing a particularly stubborn sticker.

"Let him clean up," she said, voice edged with steel. "He just got back from training."

Maddie pouted—full lower-lip, Disney-princess eyes, the works—like a toddler denied ice cream before dinner.

But she let herself be detached, fingers trailing dramatically down Phei's abs as she went.

"Why does he need to clean up when he smells this good?" she whined. "Shower or not, I'd lick him clean if he'd let me. Every drop. Slowly."

"Maddie."

"What? I'm just offering a sustainable hygiene solution—"

"Go. Sit. On the couch. Watch TV. Contemplate your life choices."

"But—"

"Now."

Maddie huffed, shot Phei one last look—pure, unfiltered promise that this was far from over—

The silence that followed was thick, charged, almost peaceful.

Almost.

Phei closed his eyes.

Roommates from hell.

Definitely heaven.

He was starting to suspect the difference was purely academic.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.