by Ophelia Bell
But when I step fully into the room, the TV is on, even though I’m positive I didn’t leave it on when I left my room hours earlier. That’s when it clicks that I’m viewing Elle’s room, rather than the TV menu, and a second later, two nested rectangles spring to life in the corners, showing me each of the twins’ faces.
Ben’s eyes light up when he catches on to what’s happening. He starts to speak, but Elle puts her index finger to her lips and shakes her head. Low music starts to play in the background, and she begins to dance.
I fucking love this woman even more when her hips start to sway, the pretty blue and white dress she wore flowing around her legs as she turns in front of the camera.
In the corner, I see Ben strip off his shirt and sit back against his pillows to watch. Baz remains seated at the end of his bed, transfixed.
She turns her back to us, dark hair a silken swath across her bare skin. She reaches back and snags the tab of her zipper, pulling it down slowly while she sways to the low, sultry beat. The music player must be close to the TV’s microphone, because I can’t even hear it through the wall. She’s taken so much care to ensure her father is none the wiser, I have to give her props.
When she rotates to face the camera again, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright. She tugs at the short sleeves of the dress, letting it slide forward. The bodice folds in front, revealing her full breasts held up by a lacy, strapless bra in deep, dark burgundy. She dances in a circle as she slides the dress down, her back to us when she slips it off and carefully sets it aside.
Watching her like this is the ultimate indulgence. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I’m sure she knows it. Even though she has an audience of three, I feel like this is all for me. But when she pauses and points, mouthing, “Your turn,” I realize she expects us to reciprocate.
Ben is first to comply, and this is the first time I see his own moves when he stands and rocks his hips to her music. He’s wearing nothing but his dress trousers from tonight, though, so it doesn’t take him long to be stark naked, his stiff cock stealing the show when he bumps his hips a couple times for the camera. My mouth waters as I remember what he tasted like, but there will be no touching, no tasting tonight.
Baz hesitates, his gaze darting to a corner of the screen where my picture must be on his TV. I just grin, because it amuses me that he’s put off by my presence. Elle pouts and makes a “come on” motion.
Baz relents and stands. His dance is slower, more seductive, but the man has moves as smooth as his brother. I can’t deny I’m aroused watching him, but my gaze keeps drifting to Elle, then to Ben, more curious about them than the twin doing the striptease in spite of my presence.
I’m not as skilled or smooth a dancer as either of them are, so when it’s my turn I resort to moves I picked up watching Magic Mike, using a water bottle as a prop. Elle’s delighted smile urges me on, and Ben and Baz are both laughing by the time I stop—Ben probably more entertained than his brother.
The whole affair is ridiculously liberating and fun, but then it’s Elle’s turn again, and I forget everything else. She undulates like a professional dancer, slipping out of her bra with an easy flow that feels like part of a choreographed routine, then she turns her back to the camera and slips her fingers beneath the thin, lacy band of her panties.
It isn’t until they’re partway down her luscious ass that I register the outline of the plug, the shining steel glinting as she bends over to push her panties down her thighs. I let out a low, involuntary groan, glancing away only long enough to see the twins’ reactions. Ben’s chin is practically on the floor, and Baz is glued to the screen with a feral smile that’s almost frightening in its raw hunger.
I briefly worry for Elle’s ass when we finally get to be alone with her again. But then she peeks over her shoulder with a coy look, makes an “O” with her mouth in mock surprise, and reaches back, grasping the end of the plug.
“You’re fucking killing me,” I murmur, shaking my head and wrapping my hand around my dick for the first time. They can all see me touch myself, but when I look at the other two men, I realize I’m not alone. At least we’re in this together.
She bends over slightly, pulls the plug out a little, then pushes it back in. Her mouth opens a little wider on a gasp that appears genuine. I want more, though, and as if reading my mind, she climbs onto the bed on all fours, her ass facing the camera. She spreads her thighs and gives us a perfect view of her glistening snatch, the round end of the plug poised like the moon over a luscious valley. Her bare, pink lips are coated in moisture, and she reaches between her thighs, briefly stroking her fingers through the slickness.
I can almost taste her through the screen. I could walk right in right now and bury myself inside her—she’s that close. But neither of the twins are daring to move, and neither will I. I just squeeze my dick a little harder, hoping I can hold out long enough to watch the entire show.
She reaches to the side and then produces a bottle of lube, which she twists back to squeeze just around the base of the plug. Then she pulls it out fully, rubs the toy around her rear hole to distribute the lube, and pushes it slowly back in.
In his tiny rectangle, Ben flops back onto the bed, hands over his face, his cock ramrod stiff. When he sits up, I read his lips mouthing, “I fucking love you.”
I feel the same, and Baz nods as well.
That’s when she produces another toy. It’s a glass dildo only slightly smaller than my dick, with a bulbous tip and little round bumps around one end. Bracing one hand on the bed, she places it at her slick opening just beneath the plug and slowly works it into her pink little snatch. She moves it like she knows what she’s doing, and now I understand why she didn’t have more trouble climbing on Ben’s cock the other night. She’s clearly very familiar with her toy, given the way she fucks herself with it.
I have to stroke myself, so I grip my dick and squeeze, giving myself a long, solid pump while I watch her violate her perfect pussy with the glass dildo. Ben and Baz are equally lost, both of them fisting their own dicks and pumping them slowly, as if they don’t want to go off too fast either.
The guys have both muted their sound, but Elle’s is still on, though the volume is low. Her music is soft, but just loud enough to cover her moans, yet occasionally she lets out a soft sound that I can hear over the music. It’s enough to make my head spin, knowing how hard she’s trying to keep things quiet, yet still give us a proper show. I can’t hear her through the walls, which means there’s no way anyone else can hear her.
“Let me hear you moan, baby,” I mutter to myself, gripping my balls and pulling on them, then speeding up my strokes. “Let me hear you come.”
It’s the biggest wet dream of a cam-girl show I’ve ever seen. Even the dirtiest ones I watched were never this perfect, probably because despite appearances, I don’t think most of those girls were ever as into it as Elle is. They did it for money more than pleasure, even though they were willing performers.
Elle is doing this for us as much as for herself.
When she turns, I almost object, but then she contorts herself sideways for the camera so I get an angled view of her ass and pussy rather than head-on. She presses her cheek to the mattress, her upper body canted so she can see the screen while still keeping her backside mostly in view of the camera. Both hands free, she can now manipulate both her toys. She keeps one steadily pumping the dildo in and out of her dripping pussy, and with the other, she reaches back and begins to fuck her tight ass with the plug.
Her face contorts and her mouth opens with a gasp, then a whimper that makes my balls surge and tighten. I clamp down on my cock, trying to delay the inevitable.
But when she starts to whisper her darkest desires, I am a goner. I almost can’t make out the words, she’s speaking so softly, and the music is close enough to all but cover her voice, but I can still just barely hear her.
“God, I wish I could have you all right now. I want you inside me. I wa
nt you fucking me, filling me up all the way. In my mouth, in my pussy, in my ass. Everywhere. Oh, god. Oh, fuck!”
Her gorgeous ass rocks in time with her thrusts, and I barely notice my own fist pumping my cock in time with her rhythm.
“That’s it, baby,” I say, though I know she can’t hear me. But I can hear her, and what I hear is every bit as beautiful as what I see when she loses herself, bringing herself to climax with both hands working those lucky fucking toys in her ass and pussy.
The world explodes in a blast of white light, and hot fluid spills over my knuckles. In my periphery, I barely register blurred movement on the screen. I glance at Ben’s corner, gratified by the sight of his fist rapidly pumping his own cock, his stomach flexed so tight his abs are deeply defined ridges. He comes a moment after I do, and it’s almost as beautiful to watch as it is watching Elle. Then I look at Baz just in time to witness his surrender.
But my attention gravitates back to Elle, and I forget the mess on my lap for the time being. She’s gone slack on the bed, still holding both toys inside her for the moment, with a look of utter bliss on her face.
Her back rises and falls with a deep breath and she watches us with heavy-lidded eyes. She shifts and gently extracts both objects from her body and sets them aside, then sits up and faces us. Her beautiful cheeks are flushed, her nipples hard as her eyes scan the screen. I wonder which of us she has taking up the majority of the screen the way I’m sure all three of us are viewing her right now. Or maybe we’re split four ways for her, all equal. That makes the most sense, especially the way her eyes shift from corner to corner.
She reaches for the top of the screen, her beautiful breasts filling the frame for a moment, and then the music fades as she picks up her phone from where she’d set it next to the speaker to play the music.
“That was nice, but next time, I want to do it in person,” she says just barely loud enough for us to hear.
“Same,” Ben says, his voice startlingly clear, though just as soft. “This is fucking torture.”
“I’d still be down for this anytime, though,” Baz says. “Watching you is hot. And I have to say, being watched is kind of hot too, even if it’s a pervert like Drake.” His gaze shifts, and he adds, “Just so you know, Drake, I don’t mind it. I’m not into taking it any further, but look all you like.”
“Tomorrow night,” Ben says. “After we nail this Miles bastard. I have a fantasy that involves that lounge upstairs. Do you think we can have enough privacy there to make it happen?”
“The crew will go wherever I ask. If I tell them that deck is off-limits, they won’t set foot on it. We can make your fantasy a reality.”
33
Ben
Arturo’s gone by the time we wake up. Captain Theo arrives at breakfast, relaying the message that Arturo would see us at the gala later that evening. I can’t say I’m not relieved not to have to face him first thing in the morning, even though I didn’t lay a finger on Elle the night before. Despite his clear acceptance of us, and of her choice, I still think it’s risky as hell to rub it in his face.
Watching her like that wasn’t enough—it would never be enough for me—but it was better than nothing. Tonight can’t come soon enough, though. I’m so singularly focused on it and the images from her video the night before that I’m barely worried about the gala at all.
That doesn’t mean I let down my guard, though. I make a call to Karl Thomas, who manages our on-site security to give him an update on our concerns. He’s a former Marine who’s worked for Drake for years, and who was probably in line for our job before we came on the scene. He’s been gracious about the lack of promotion, at least, and is all about doing his job well, so we get along fine.
Karl knows some of the details—that Elle and Drake are both high-priority principals and we’re to keep a close watch on the guests for any potential threat. But now he and the rest of the security team will have a face to watch as well. Everyone coming into the gala will go through a metal detector, and some “random” guests will get pat-downs—except Miles Sitnik’s pat-down won’t be random.
I also instruct Karl to keep an eye out for his former boss, Curt Hagler. We still haven’t had luck tracking him down, a detail which just doesn’t sit right with me, or with Baz.
Elle is beside herself with excitement, though she still spends a good couple hours after breakfast with Baz digging through her thumb drive. Zavala had a hefty file of intel on the Serbian mafia, who are likely the ones behind Drake’s half-brother’s play for his company. Most of it won’t help our immediate issue, but at least we have a better grasp on why they’re coming for him. Of course, it’s all about the money the organization lost when their sweet deal with one of the biggest shipping companies in the world went belly-up. No more easy way to transport their so-called cargo.
I know for a fact that Drake has arrangements with other businessmen besides Arturo. One of our earliest private meetings laid out the facts, and I think one of the reasons he was comfortable bringing us on board to head his security department was because we used to work for Flores, so we weren’t going to flinch about the fact that part of his business involves transporting illicit goods. But like Flores, he draws the line at transporting human beings as if they were livestock.
“Find out anything worth sharing?” I ask when we’re in the helicopter on the way to the gala later that afternoon. Drake needs to arrive two hours early and I want to be on site before guests start to arrive too, so I can keep an eye on things.
Elle looks too stunning for words, her hair done up in a sleek bun and her makeup perfect. Her dress fits her so well, it’s going to be difficult not to just stare at her all night. Keeping my mind on the task at hand is everything though, and steering our conversation to our target is the only way I can do that.
“Only that the Corluka gang is small potatoes compared to either Amador or Zavala,” Elle says, then frowns. “Do we keep calling them Zavala if they answer to Gustavo now? I don’t even know how cartels work.”
“It’s up to him. He becomes notorious enough, the name change will just happen. Delgado’s already synonymous with brutality on this side of the border,” Baz says. “But it’s true, the Serbs don’t have the power in North America that the cartels have. What they have are the products—drugs and women, and they need the infrastructure of the cartels to move their products.”
“Except the one thing they’re lacking is the shipping company for transporting everything from Eastern Europe,” I say.
“And there’s no fucking way I’m letting them get their hands on my company,” Drake says. His stare is cold and hard, the set to his jaw making me clench mine in solidarity. For the briefest moment my thoughts drift from Elle to him because this take-no-prisoners version of him is damn sexy. When we lock eyes for a few seconds, his chilly look turns to heat, and I’m gratified to see his mouth tic up at one corner before his gaze slides to Elle and his eyes drop to her perfectly framed cleavage.
She’ll be the perfect distraction later, but for now we need to stay focused, which Drake seems to grasp since he lets out a small sigh and turns his gaze out the window of the helicopter.
We land half an hour later in a small field at the rear of the Air and Space Museum in Balboa Park. Karl meets us with a small detail and escorts us inside the building without incident.
“The men are all set,” he says. “All the caterers have passed the security check and are setting up now.”
“Is Lindsey here? Ms. Cramer, I mean. My secretary,” Drake says.
“Yes sir. She arrived shortly after we did. She’s overseeing the logistics inside.” Then he turns to me and Baz. “We have the sidearms you requested, sir. If you’ll follow me, we have everything in one of the conference rooms on the second floor.”
“You asked for guns?” Elle whispers, leaning close. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes,” Drake answers for us. “We’re not taking any chances. Thank you for everything,
Karl.”
“No problem, sir.” He escorts us to an elevator and joins us inside, pressing the button for the second floor. Once the door closes, he says, “Mr. Stavros, I need to apologize for questioning your choice to replace Hagler with the Quins.”
Baz and I turn to look at him, my twin’s look of surprise a mirror to my own. We’ve only been with Drake a week and have delegated a lot of tasks to Karl without complaint since we started, so I had no idea he had misgivings about our presence, beyond what Drake shared. Drake doesn’t look surprised.
“I told you it’d work out,” he says.
“You didn’t think we were up to the job?” Baz asks. “Why didn’t you come to us?”
Karl’s a big man, with deep-set eyes in a pockmarked face that’s largely covered by a close-cropped beard. The beard makes it difficult to read his expressions. It’s easy enough to see the shrewdness in his eyes from here, though.
“No offense, but your ages kept me from taking you two seriously. I figured Stavros would come to his senses once he worked with you for a little while, and I’d just pick up the slack until he figured it out.”
“Exactly how much slack have you had to pick up?” I ask.
“None, which is why I owe you both an apology. I also did some digging, and now that I know where you come from, it makes sense.”
“We’ve coordinated security for events just like this one for Arturo Flores,” Baz says. “He holds one about twice a year, and has for as long as I can remember. I admit the corporate stuff was trickier to get the hang of, though.”
I chuckle, “Yeah, we kind of picked up most of that on the fly.”
But the fact that he did some digging into our past gives me pause. Not that there’s anything he’d find that I should worry about. If he’s worked for Drake long enough, he’s aware of some of his boss’ underworld connections. But he didn’t need to go digging to learn those details—he could’ve asked. Which makes me think he was looking for something more specific, if he was looking at all.
