Stiles had been in the suite for barely an hour, and she still hadn’t calmed down.

Her cheeks were warm.

Her body felt too sensitive.

Every time she remembered the way the three men had looked at her earlier, her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

She kept telling herself to relax.

She unpacked slowly, kneeling by her open suitcase, her tiny nightdress brushing her thighs. It was barely clothing — thin straps, soft clingy fabric, no underwear underneath. She’d packed it thinking she’d only wear it alone.

Why did I even bring these things…?

Her face burned.

She laid her small things out, folding them neatly on the bed: tiny shorts, micro skirts, tops that hardly counted as tops. And at the very bottom of the suitcase…

Her sextoys.

She covered her face with her hands.

Oh god, why did I bring them? What if—

The door burst open. Without knocking.

Stiles jumped so hard she almost fell over.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Derek? Peter? Scott—?!”

All three men walked inside like they owned the place.

No warning.

No hesitation.

No apology.

Derek looked directly at her outfit first — one slow, unapologetic drag from her bare thighs up to her chest, her shoulders, her trembling mouth.

“Well,” he said, voice deep and amused, “look at you.”

Stiles wrapped her arms around herself instantly, face going crimson.

“I—I thought you’d knock…”

“We don’t knock,” Scott said, kicking the door closed behind him. “We come in.”

Peter’s eyes slid to the bed.

To her tiny folded clothes.

His brows lifted.

“Oh… so this is what you wear.”

Stiles panicked, rushing to block the view.

“N-no! Don’t— don’t look at that, please—”

But they were already moving.

Derek walked around her like she was furniture, plucking up the first item.

A microscopic pair of lace shorts.

He held it up with two fingers.

“This isn’t clothing,” he said slowly. “This is a suggestion.”

Scott laughed under his breath.

“She’s naughtier than we thought.”

Peter picked up one of her tops — a piece of fabric barely the size of his hand.

“This covers nothing,” he murmured.

Then he looked at her.

“Do you like being stared at?”

Stiles’s whole body trembled.

“I—I don’t— I didn’t pack that for you to see—”

“Oh, we know,” Derek said, walking closer.

“That’s why it’s fun.”

Her lungs squeezed painfully.

The heat between her legs pulsed sharp and embarrassing.

She squeezed her thighs together again, hoping none of them noticed—

They did.

Derek’s eyes dropped to her legs.

“Are you shaking, sweetheart?”

She froze.

Scott stepped closer, voice low.

“She’s wet again.”

Stiles covered her face with both hands.

“Stop— please— don’t say things like that—”

“We’ll stop,” Peter said calmly, “when you stop reacting like this.”

Her breath caught.

Her body gave her away instantly.

Derek leaned in, close enough that she felt the heat of him on her cheek.

“You wore that tiny dress for us, didn’t you?”

Stiles shook her head frantically.

“N-no— I was just unpacking— I didn’t know you’d c-come in like this—”

Scott walked to her open suitcase.

He froze.

Then smirked.

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

Stiles’s heart dropped into her stomach.

He reached inside.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

And lifted out the first toy.

Stiles made a tiny sound — a choked mix between a gasp and a whimper — and sank to her knees on the floor, covering her face, wanting to disappear.

“Look at her,” Derek murmured, crouching beside her.

“Shaking already, and we didn’t even touch her.”

Peter’s voice came from above, cool and stern.

“You brought all of these for yourself?”

“N-no— I— I don’t— it’s just—”

Scott placed the toy on the bed next to her tiny clothes, like evidence.

“So the shy widow has a filthy side.”

Stiles’s breath shuddered.

“Please stop looking— it’s embarrassing—”

“That’s the point,” Derek whispered, leaning close to her ear.

His lips nearly brushed her skin; she jolted violently.

“You get soaked when you’re embarrassed.”

She buried her face in her hands again.

“Derek, please…”

Peter knelt on her other side.

“Stiles.”

She looked up at him slowly, eyes wide, lips trembling.

His gaze lowered to her dress — thin, tight, short — then lifted back to her face.

“You wore this,” he said quietly, “with nothing underneath.”

Stiles’s entire body jolted.

“I didn’t— I wasn’t— it’s just comfortable—”

“That’s not why,” Scott called from the bed.

“You like feeling exposed.”

Derek tilted her chin up gently — not explicitly touching, just letting his fingers hover so close she felt the heat of it on her skin.

“You’re a shy little thing,” he murmured.

“A shy little widow who packs slutty clothes and toys but pretends she’s innocent.”

Stiles whimpered softly.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Scott said.

“You blush when we talk.”

“You tremble when we stand close.”

“You get wet when we tease you.”

“And you melt when we call you names.”

Stiles’s breath collapsed.

Peter’s voice dropped into something dark and controlled.

“You want to hear them.”

She shook her head desperately.

But her thighs pressed together again.

Derek laughed softly.

“There she goes.”

Stiles covered her face again, heat spreading all the way down her stomach.

“Don’t hide,” Scott said.

“Look at us.”

She peeked through her fingers.

All three men were staring at her.

Hungry.

Amused.

Interested.

Peter leaned closer.

“Say you’re a dirty little widow.”

Stiles’s breath shuddered.

“I—I can’t—”

Derek’s voice wrapped around her like smoke.

“Then we’ll say it for you.”

And Scott finished,

“Because it’s true.”

Stiles’s entire body shook, her legs weak, her face burning, her breath shallow — completely overwhelmed.

And all three men just watched her fall apart.

Without touching her even once.