I wake up and have no idea what time it is.

Hell, I don’t even know what city I’m in or whose bed this is.

There’s a warm body behind me, an arm wrapped around me, a hand lazily cupping my breast. And that’s definitely an erection I feel pressed against my naked butt. I’m being spooned, though the faint snoring behind my head tells me that the owner of this hard-on isn’t aware of his nocturnal seduction.

I concentrate on my bed partner.

That’s Jason’s cock. I can tell just by how it feels nestled against me.

A grin creeps across my face.

Oh, that’s right. I’m in love with Jason Stone, singer for the band Harem.

In fact, I’m in love with the whole damn band. And them with me.

Only that can’t possibly be true. I’ve got to be dreaming. This must be some kind of twisted fantasy that sprouted while I slept tonight.

The hand on my tit is definitely real, though, as is the hard-on pressed deliciously to my ass.

I crack open my eyes and see a window, looking out over a vast sea of lights. My sleepy mind registers that this has to be New York City.

A door opens and the light that leaks in hurts my eyes. Through my squint, I see the form of a naked man in the doorway, his muscular, chiseled body breathtaking in silhouette. Then the door shuts and I can’t see a damn thing.

A second later, I feel him slipping into the bed with me, sliding over and kissing me softly on the lips. I recognize his taste as Ian, Harem’s sultry guitarist. That’s when my fuzzy brain starts to clear.

I had sex with these two tonight. I remember it now, and the delicious soreness between my legs confirms that it happened recently.

My grin widens and I sit up in bed, the hand on my breast falling lazily to my lap.

“You okay?” Ian whispers. “You look funny.”

My brain continues to focus, and my eyes adapt to the reduced light again.

“Kelsey?”

Looking around the room, I realize this is my bedroom, in my apartment in Manhattan’s West Village.

Everything comes back to me all at once: The tour with Harem, an endless string of hotel rooms and private jet flights, sold-out concert after sold-out concert, the new hit song…

Not to mention being in love with five men simultaneously, without a single big issue coming up in the three months we’ve been together.

And of course, sex with all of them, in every imaginable configuration.

“Kelsey, you’re behaving rather oddly.”

The concern in Eric’s English-accented voice sounds like love to me.

“I’m fine, baby,” I whisper. “Just forgot where I was for a second.”

For the past three months, I’ve been on tour with Harem. Eighty-three shows in more than seventy cities.

I’m the band’s girlfriend, their “tour wife.”

I am deeply smitten with each of these five men, and them with me, apparently—at least that’s what they say, and the emotion seems genuine.

I’m still blown away that this happened to me, of all people.

I used to be a fan, now Harem is sharing me.

“I’m going to get some water,” I say, kissing Ian’s forehead. As I slide out of bed, I look behind me to see Jason’s sleeping face, his long golden hair cascading all around the pillow. His cock, silvery in the light from the window, is so beautifully hard that the very sight of it brings a warmth between my legs.

I walk naked into the living room. I see my furniture, my belongings, and feel viscerally how much I’ve missed this place. Tour life is exciting, but that endless string of expensive hotel suites gets old much faster than I would ever have imagined.

The TV is on, the main source of light in the darkened room. From behind the couch, I see two heads. It’s Nick, the drummer, and Zilla, the tall bassist.

Without a word, I walk right in front of the TV and stand there. Nick is clad only in boxer briefs, his tattooed chest and belly on display. Zilla is also shirtless and my attention is grabbed by his carved abs and the slight trail of hair leading into his black jeans. Their eyes light up at the sight of my nude body and I can’t help but grin. It’s always such a rush to see these hot men react to my nakedness.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Zilla says in that thrillingly deep voice, patting the couch between them. Nick smiles, and I love the contrast between these two; fun-loving, mischievous Nick and dark, intense Zilla. Nick uses the remote to turn off the TV, then casually tosses it over his shoulder where it clatters across the floor. The room darkens, suddenly illuminated only by the city lights streaming through the window. Everything turns shades of gray, silver, and indigo.

“When did you guys get here?” I ask. “And why didn’t you come join us in the bedroom?”

“Your bed ain’t big enough for five people,” Zilla says. “Plus, we were frazzled after dealing with the press.”

“Bet I can un-frazzle you.” I give him a sly smile.

“We’re both counting on that.”

“Where’s Brandon?” I ask. The keyboard player is the newest and youngest member of Harem.

“Hanging out with his Julliard friends, remember?” Nick says.

That’s right. Brandon mentioned before the show that he was meeting friends afterward.

Tonight’s concert was the second of three at Madison Square Garden, with a third tomorrow night—the final show of the tour. I remember being so filled with lust after watching them play tonight that I begged Jason and Ian to bring me here immediately. I laugh to myself when I recall the frenzied limo ride and my being stripped in the elevator. I get so worked up watching my men play.

An hour’s worth of scorching hot sex with those two exhausted me and I fell asleep.

But now I’m awake and my other two guys, Nick and Zilla, need me.

I know it seems absurd, two threesomes in one night, but my five famous, talented men and I have had an unfathomable three months together.

It’s not just sex, either. We have an outrageous amount of fun hanging out. On the rare nights off during the tour, we’ve arranged to clear billiard rooms and game arcades for our own use. After the final show in LA, they somehow managed to get into Disneyland at midnight, for fuck’s sake. From then until dawn, it was just us and enough employees to operate the rides.

But I can’t lie, there has been lots and lots of sex. I was initially afraid that I wouldn’t be able to keep them all happy, but I’ve surprised myself by how big my appetite is. The fact that they’re all so goddamn gorgeous certainly doesn’t hurt.

Servicing the members of a famous rock band whenever they’re in the mood would seem impossible, at least for me. But five men who all move my heart, each to a different distinct rhythm? That’s easy.

These have been the most exciting three months of my life, no question.

So much fun and so much love.

And yeah, so much sex. I’ve had more sex in that short span than most women have in a lifetime.

Nick rests a hand gently on my thigh and I can see the bulge growing in his underwear. Without hesitation, I place my hand on it and stroke him slowly.

I still pinch myself daily so I know I’m not dreaming. I feel so loved, so adored.

I sit there with Nick and Zilla, relishing the sensuous feeling of being naked between them as Nick’s cock continues to grow harder under my palm.

Looking at the glowing-blue digital clock on the cable box, I see that it’s 3:30 a.m. That would have seemed late to me in my previous life, but time becomes meaningless when you’re on tour with a rock band. The only time that matters is show time.

“I love you guys,” I say.

As the words leave my lips, it dawns on me how utterly content I am for the first time in years.

Maybe trying to resume my high-stress, nerve-racking career isn’t such a great idea after all.

I slip Nick’s cock out of his underwear and lean over, sliding my lips down his hard shaft. As I do, I feel Zilla’s fingers trace down my lower back, slowly arriving at my already-wet pussy.

In no time, I feel Zilla shift on the couch, positioning himself behind me. I take my mouth off Nick for a moment, continuing to stroke him as I wait for the moment I’ve grown to love. My breath hitches as Zilla gently but firmly begins to push his giant cock into me.

Holy fuck, I love everything about this night, and this moment. I have what millions of girls would love to have.

Why would I ever want to be separated from Harem? I’ve found my paradise. I don’t want this to end, ever.

Maybe it’s not insane to think it could last forever.

I mean, what could possibly come between us?

That’s when it dawns on me that after the tour, which ends tomorrow, I can no longer really be their “tour wife.”

The band and I had decided they would all remain in Manhattan for a week after tonight. We rented a brownstone near my apartment for an astronomical sum, and we were all supposed to hang out while I do my best to decide whether I want to resume my career as a high-profile image rehabilitator.

Other than that, there has been zero discussion of the long-term future, apart from a few scattered silly comments and jokes. I realize they’ve been wrapped up in this huge tour, with four semi-trucks full of equipment and dozens of roadies and sound and lighting technicians.

This is the big business side of rock star life, I get that. But now that it’s coming to an end, what happens?

What if they don’t want me to be part of their lives any longer?

I try to focus on the blowjob I’m giving, and on the massive cock gently sliding in and out of me, but I can’t quite shake the foreboding thoughts.

What if this is all about to come to a screeching halt?

What if I’m just hours away from losing my men—my Harem—forever?