Logan lay on her side along the length of her chaise lounge like the queen she was—wearing nothing but a red tank top and white panties, the fabric clinging to her curves of her body that was usually hidden under pantsuits and business contracts. Her panties had already been tugged aside, the tank top still intact—for now.

The room glowed with dusk light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting gold across her dark, silvery-gray fur and highlighting the soft gleam of sweat on her collarbone. Her thick raccoon tail curled behind her, slightly fluffed with tension, stripes twitching with every pulse of her heartbeat that rolled through her. Her rounded ears flicked once at a subtle noise, but her blue eyes stayed on the screen in her palm. One man’s hands groped both of her breasts from behind, thumbs circling slowly, while another had her left leg lifted, held high with practiced strength, his fingers pumping steadily in and out of her dripping pussy. A third stroked her cheek gently, thumb brushing the legs of her glasses like he was trying to keep her anchored, even as her focus dissolved with almost every touch.

The raccoon had summoned these men. Invited them to her place. Handpicked them like ripe fruit: eager, pretty, trained to serve. Each of them had been chosen for a different purpose, a different skill, a different flavor of desperation.

But none of them were Riley—her favorite intern turned reluctantly full-time employee. A spotted hyena with a nervous laugh and an awkward gait, Riley was hopeless at everything she actually paid him for: scheduling, budgeting, even making coffee half the time. But gods, he was good at pleasing her. Almost accidentally perfect. Like his body had been designed just to respond to hers. And he tried so hard. That was the worst of it. He wanted to be useful—needed to.

And Logan had never known how to resist that.

Riley, who was off sipping cocktails in Tulum or some sun-drenched villa in the Caribbean with no signal. Riley, who could make her come with two fingers. Riley, who knew every twitch of her muscles and how to push her until she unraveled just the way she needed. And Logan needed that—she needed him.

Instead, she had Koa, a tiger in his mid-twenties with a swimmer's build and lazy amber eyes, kneeling between her thighs. His striped tail flicked side to side as he worked slow, practiced fingers in and out of her soaked cunt. His touch was methodical, sensual—two fingers pressing in, curling gently against her inner walls like he was searching for the answer to a pussy-shaped puzzle box. Her walls fluttered around him, pulsing in soft contractions with each stroke, then clenched—hard—whenever he dragged his fingers back to the entrance. Each time she tightened, he gave a quiet, involuntary moan, the bulge in his tight pants growing more visible as her pussy clung to him in a manner so desperate it felt like Logan was a completely different person when she was being fingered. His other hand rested on her thigh, thumb stroking in soft circles just to watch her twitch. He slid lower, his muzzle brushing her inner thigh, tongue lapping hungrily at the juices slicking her folds. The obscene sound of it echoed in the quiet room—wet and greedy. Each lap of his tongue sent a new wave of pussy juice running down her thighs, her scent soaking into to his muzzle.

Jackson, a tall, lean Doberman with polished nails and a weakness for feet, sat at her feet, massaging her digitigrade paws like they were sacred artifacts. Each paw bore four toes tipped in dark claws, and thick black pawpads that gave slightly under his fingers. Every few seconds, his muzzle dipped to kiss or suck on a toe, his tongue trailing along the edge of a pad or the curve of her heel. He moaned softly with every touch like he was the one being pleasured. The soft scrape of his teeth over her skin made her toes curl. His slick, pink tongue dragged over her ankle just as her phone buzzed. One hand slid up her calf again, fingers stroking the inside of her knee, brushing teasingly close to a wet spot on her inner thigh where Koa’s work showed. He nuzzled the ball of her foot with the same dedication monks reserved for relics. The heat from his breath against her pads only made her pulse faster. The bulge in his trousers strained as he shifted, clearly trying to hide how hard he was just from touching her feet.

Vin, the third man, lounged along the back of the couch behind her, wrapped around her back. A fennec fox with wide, eager eyes and messy auburn fur, he had his arm curled possessively around Logan’s waist, the other hand sliding up beneath her tank top. His fingers skimmed the underside of her breast, thumb brushing her nipple in teasing flicks. He watched her face quietly, noting every breath she took, every flicker of frustration or arousal. As she typed, he leaned forward, tongue flicking over the nape of her neck, then sucking on her fur and skin very gently. The heat of his breath and the wet glide of his tongue sent a ripple through her body. She could feel the soft scratch of his teeth as he grazed through her fur like a comb, leaving her skin flushed. Her tank top had ridden higher, exposing her chest fully to the air and her sex entourage’s greedy eyes. He sucked harder on her neck, his hips involuntarily grinding against the chaise, a wet spot blooming across the front of his slacks.

It should have been relaxing. Calming, even. That was the idea anyway.

Instead, Logan was breathing in short, clipped huffs, her phone slipping slightly in her grip with every curl of Koa's fingers inside her. She’d meant to take advantage of her subs without letting them distract her. She needed to finalize this acquisition bid for one of their talent management competitors. Send it before the morning.

But her cunt was too wet, her thighs twitching too much, and someone just licked her clit again and now she had to retype a sentence for the fourth time.

"Fuck…," she muttered under her breath, not looking up.

Koa pressed deeper, curling his fingers just so, the wet and squishy sound of her arousal louder than the soft jazz playing in the background. He added a third finger without asking—a calculated risk, rewarded by the way her hips jerked forward and a strangled sound caught in her throat. She clenched around his fingers again, harder this time—tight spasms that made him groan into her folds, precum wetting the front of his pants. He twisted his fingers as he pumped them, the knuckles catching against her swollen inner walls, teasing her g-spot until her thighs flexed around his head. His tongue whipped faster, greedy, relentless, the drag of his rough tongue over her clit making her legs quake.

Jackson switched paws, nibbling at the edge of one thick pad, dragging his tongue between her toes like they were some delicacy. His fingers stroked up her calves, thumb pressing slow circles behind her knee, coaxing another twitch from her. Then he dragged his hand up to her thigh and pressed the pad of his thumb against the crease where her thigh met her hip, grinding it in tiny, teasing circles. He let out a low groan, intoxicated by her scent, by the subtle tremble in her muscles beneath his fingertips, by her feet.

Vin had slipped both hands beneath her tank top now, pinching and rolling her nipples between his fingers. One of them was already hard, the other catching up, and he flicked them in lazy alternation like he was testing which one would make her flinch more. Then he lowered his mouth and began suckling on her shoulder, dragging his teeth over the edge. His hands squeezed harder, before he slid his right hand lower, grazing down her stomach, slipping toward her mound, brushing the edge of Koa's wrist. His fingers dipped briefly between her folds, gathering pussy juice.

Logan moaned.

“Hhhhnnnnfff…”

One of the tiger’s finger curled inside her and pressed just right. Her hips bucked.

"Goddammit!"