Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint were both sprawled across the wide bed completely nude. She’d left the boys there when they had passed out late in the night exhausted from their physical exertions. She gripped her porcelain mug a big tighter when she remembered how these men still loved to talk shite about her. She owed them exactly nothing. It was just sex, a manifestation of her twisted, buried-deep need to have the last word over these bigoted purebloods.