My 3 Rockstar Bosses_An MFMM Menage Romance

by Katie Ford

  After I came to their hotel room to confront them about our unborn baby, our lives changed. Within days, the tour was officially done and Alpha Prime rented an apartment for our family bordering Central Park.

  “This is beautiful,” I gasped, looking at the vast expanse of lawn below. “Are you sure though? And why so many bedrooms? You know we just need one big bed,” I said with a sweet smile.

  Mason grinned.

  “Sure honey, but only the best will do. With the baby on the way, we want to make sure you, and her, have everything at your disposal.”

  I smiled, but my gaze grew worried.

  “Are you going back on the road afterwards?” came my quivering voice. “So soon after the birth?”

  Something indescribable flashed in their eyes then.

  “We’re touring again,” confirmed Nick, his voice harsh and possessive. “But we’re taking you with us. And the baby. We’re a family now, and that’s what matters. We’ll get nannies and whatever else little Luna needs to make it possible.”

  Joy filled my soul then. Because what more could a woman ask for? Three adoring men wanted me and my child. Three rock stars took every step to ensure my happiness, providing me with anything my heart desired.

  And most of all, they shower me with love. We’ve learned our lesson and now the adoration flows free, bathing us in its glow, letting us bask in confidence knowing that it won’t stop. Because that’s the beauty of being with three men. There’s so much love that it’s impossible to contain, and now our days and nights are filled with happiness.

  Plus, there was little Luna, a much-anticipated fifth to our family circle. When she arrived, the little girl had her daddies wrapped around her finger from the first coo.

  “She looks just like you,” marveled Trent, gently patting his daughter’s head. “Exactly like you, Kitty Kat.”

  I had to laugh at that because that was the love speaking again. In fact, little Luna looked exactly like her fathers with raven hair and bright blue eyes, down to the dimple in her cheek.

  And things have worked out. At the moment, Luna was sleeping peacefully in the soundproof bedroom that her daddies had built in the back of the plane. Sweet little Luna had no idea what was going on right next door in the Mile High Club.

  Oh, how lucky I am.

  And sighing, I flexed once more, making all three men cry out.

  “Sweetheart,” panted Nick. “I’m close, so close.”

  “Again,” commanded Trent, his voice rough. “Take us there, honey.”

  And Mason was last.

  “Do it,” he rasped harshly. “Do what you always do to us.”

  And with that, I tightened my entire body, mouth, pussy and anus clamping down with a death squeeze. Sure enough, the men roared and erupted then, jerking and twitching in my sweetest spaces. And the knowledge that I’d done this, that I’d helped my husbands come simultaneously pushed me over the edge as well. Because suddenly, I was soaring as well, my body shaking and pulsing as tremors ran through my cunt and ass, milking the three cocks of their sweetest semen.

  “Mmmm!” I cried. “Mmm, mmmm!”

  And the men answered.

  “More,” roared Trent.

  “Yes,” grunted Nick.

  “We love you,” rasped Mason harshly, his gaze seizing mine.

  And it’s the truth. Because these are my husbands now, bound to me by the metal circlets all four of us wear on our ring fingers. Because Nick, Trent and Mason made it legal. It wasn’t enough just to be together, basking in mutual adoration. They wanted to get married before the eyes of God and State, even if I could only marry one of them.

  So we did it in a short, simple ceremony. And as far as the state of New York is concerned, Trent is my husband. But as far as I’m concerned, they’re all my husbands. We exchanged vows in the privacy of our home, one right after the other, shortly after the civil ceremony, and that was the one that counted. Maybe the state didn’t recognize what we had, but there’s a vow that took place in our hearts, the four of us binding ourselves for life.

  So yes, life can’t be any sweeter. We travel together as a family—me, Luna, my three husbands as Alpha Primes rules the world. Non-traditional? Yes. But people are too intimdated by the band’s fame and fortune to say much. Sure, there were the whispered rumors, the speculation as people looked from Luna to her fathers, and then back again.

  But I’ve matured a lot, and I know what counts. After the wild ride we went through, it’s not worth it to focus on the small things. Instead, what matters is the loving. And with Mason, Trent and Nick by my side … life couldn’t be any sweeter.

  THE END

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  The President and the Starlet

  ~A Forbidden Romance~

  © 2018

  By Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake

  Want to hear about our newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join our mailing lists at www.subscribepage.com/alphamalesontop and get a FREE book just for joining!

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance

  I’m a feature dancer.

  He’s the leader of the free world.

  Is it a match made in heaven?

  Susie Hemphill’s trying to make ends meet working at a seedy joint on weekends while going to school at the same time. The Pink Flamingo’s not her ideal employer, but when she catches a glimpse of a dark man in the back one night, her pulse races. Could this alpha male be the man of her dreams?

  Thomas Burke sometimes hits up local bars on the downlow as a way to unwind. After all, as President of the United States, it’s not easy to get away from the unrelenting eye of the public. But when he sees the beautiful Susie, everything changes because Tom will do anything to possess the curvy dancer … even if that means giving up the Presidential Suite!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Susie

  I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, and this is one of them. Because if the folks from my hometown of Littleton, Kansas knew what I do to make ends meet, they would die. Heck, if I knew what had become of me, I’d die.

  Because I’m an exotic dancer at the Pink Flamingo in Midtown Manhattan, flaunting my assets for gentlemen who walk through the door. It’s a long way to fall for someone who was once Homecoming Queen as well as class president, but real life isn’t a fairy tale. And I learned that the hard way on my first day in the city.

  “Hey chica,” leered Chester, my new landlord. “You got that deposit in cash?”

  I looked at the overweight man with puzzlement.

  “Um, I thought my broker already gave you my deposit?” was my meek reply. “I gave her a thousand dollars which I thought she forwarded to you.”

  Chester shook his head slowly with a sad frown, but his eyes were secretly happy.

  “No, Cheryl never paid me anything,” he said. “We gave you the key to the apartment as a courtesy but chica, we need that one thousand pronto. In cash would be best, if you know what I mean,” he intimated, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together in the timeless meaning of money.

  I flushed.

  “No, there’s been some mistake,” were my quick words. “I definitely gave Cheryl the money, and she told me she was giving it to you. There’s a mix-up somehow. Just let me get on the phone and clear it up. I’ll have it to you in no time.”

  Chester spun and began waddling down the dingy hallway, his wifebeater showing a dirty stain on the back.

  “Sure, chica, but if you don’t have it by tomorrow, I wouldn’t bother moving in,” he called carelessly over one shoulder. “In fact, you might want to stop right now because you know what they say. No moolah, no boolah!”

  What the hell did that mean? Moolah was money, but boolah? Was that New Yorker for “trouble around the corner” or “pay up or you’re toast”? Was I sup
posed to watch crime family movies to make better sense of my new landlord’s lingo?

  But one thing was clear. There was a mistake somewhere. I’d definitely given my broker a thousand dollars for my move-in deposit, and Cheryl was supposed to give it to Chester. So where was the cash? The money couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

  Fishing for my cell, I furiously dialed the middle-aged woman. Fortunately, she picked up on the first ring.

  “Hiya deary,” sang Cheryl. “How’s your new apartment looking?”

  The truth was that it was horrible. The tiny studio had only room for a bed and a chair, and there was no space for a couch, much less a dining room table. Plus, the tub was in the kitchen, and all I’d have to do was reach past my dish detergent for my soap. But I was grateful for the place because at the low price of one thousand dollars a month, it was a miracle I’d landed anything at all.

  “It’s great,” I said hurriedly. “Listen, the manager just came by and said he never got my deposit? But I thought I handed it to you last week, and that’s why they gave me the key? Or has there been some misunderstanding?”

  Of course, there was no misunderstanding and Cheryl didn’t even try to pretend.

  “No, honey, it’s just different terms,” she said.

  “Different terms?” I parroted, perplexed. “What do you mean? I thought it was one month’s deposit, and they’d refund it to me when I move out.”

  “It is one month’s deposit,” Cheryl replied in a soothing tone. “But what Chester’s asking for is different from a deposit. He’s looking for key money.”

  “Key money?” I repeated like an awkward lump. “What’s that?”

  Cheryl spoke airily like there was nothing weird about all this.

  “Key money can mean a lot of things, sweetheart,” she said. “It can be the payment a landlord makes to a tenant to encourage them to move on. It can be the payment a new tenant make to a former tenant in return for handing their lease to you. But in this case, I think Chester means ‘key money’ in its most basic sense. He wants his palms greased, sweetheart. He wants a little extra as a part of this transaction.”

  My heart thumped as all the blood drained from my face.

  “So you’re saying that Chester wants to be paid a bribe,” I said slowly.

  Cheryl paused for a moment.

  “Not exactly a bribe,” she said like this was no big deal. “Again, it’s just something to grease the wheels, except in this case, you’re greasing his wallet.”

  By now, my heart was almost pounding its way out of my chest.

  “But I don’t have it,” was my hoarse whisper. “What do I do? Half my stuff is already in the apartment, and I can’t just lose the money I’ve already paid.”

  Cheryl was silent for a moment, although I could almost hear the wheels in her head clacking.

  “Well, do you have some family that can help? Maybe your mom and dad?”

  I sighed.

  “No,” was my curt reply. “My parents aren’t an option.”

  “Well maybe a great-aunt!” suggested Cheryl brightly. “Everyone’s got a fairy godmother somewhere, right?”

  I rolled my eyes although she couldn’t see.

  “No, I don’t have a great-aunt, a great-uncle, a god-mother, or a fairy anything who can help me. I’m sorry, but I’m just a small girl from Kansas who’s here to pursue her dreams. So is there something else I can do?”

  “Get an advance on your credit card,” said Cheryl promptly. “The gods at Citi and Bank of America will answer.”

  But that was the thing. I don’t have credit. As a recent high school graduate, I have no credit history to speak of. I’d only just applied for my first Mastercard last week, and it was a secured one where I put down five hundred dollars to open the card.

  So I sighed again.

  “I’m sorry, Cheryl. I just don’t have the money. Can you lend it to me?” I asked quickly. “I mean, this has kind of taken me by the surprise. In fact, it’s like a punch to the gut knowing that I have to fork over an extra four figures when I only just moved to the city. Could you spot me a little?”

  I figured it would be no big deal for my broker because she dressed really fancy. During our week-long tour of New York, Cheryl had been wearing designer heels and carried a leather bag that was probably worth four figures in and of itself. Besides, we’d gotten friendly during our time together, and the real estate agent had assured me that once upon a time, she’d stood in my very own shoes.

  “You’ll see,” Cheryl had chortled. “The city is like a big gift box. You open it up, and the most amazing ideas and inspirations come flying out, one after another. There’s no place like New York!” she rhapsodized.

  This was exactly what I’d been hoping to hear. I’m an aspiring writer and the city was supposed to be my muse as well as the setting for the new book I wanted to author. So I figured Cheryl would be willing to help a girl with big dreams, since she’d once been that girl herself.

  But the moment I asked for money, suddenly the woman grew hard of hearing.

  “I’m sorry?” she queried coolly. “That doesn’t sound like the Susie Hemphill I know.”

  My mouth grew dry but I forced myself to ask again.

  “Please Cheryl,” was my quiet plea. “You know I don’t have a lot to spare. Otherwise, why would I rent a dingy walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen? And you said that you’ve been in my shoes before. Lend a hand to someone who needs it now?”

  But the broker just cluck-clucked.

  “I’m sorry,” she spoke primly. “But I don’t think we know each other that well. You’ll have to find another resource, Susie, but I’m sure it’ll all work out. And don’t forget to call me the next time you’re looking to move!” she sang before clicking off.

  The urge to hurl my phone at the wall was overwhelming, but I forced my hand down to my side. After all, that would be another fifty bucks that I couldn’t spare, plus a trip to the Sprint store when I didn’t have time. So I took a deep breath even as the movers hauled the last of my belongings into the apartment.

  “Thank you,” I said, opening my wallet and pressing a twenty into their hands. These guys deserved more than that, seeing that they’d just lifted my stuff up to the fifth floor, but I didn’t have more for the tip. So I shot them a nice smile. “I really appreciate it.”

  And thankfully, the Jamaican crew nodded before disappearing silently down the stairs. But now I was left alone in this apartment that maybe wasn’t going to be mine for much longer. The dingy yellow walls weren’t much, not to mention the leak from the kitchen sink. But it was private space, and the only thing I had even remotely been able to afford during our tour. So taking a deep breath, I went down the stairs, making my way to the manager’s office.

  “Chester,” I said, knocking on the door that had been painted so many times that it looked firmly stuck in place. “Can I talk to you? It’s Susie from 5B. I just moved in.”

  I heard some scuffling inside and then the distinct click of a laptop case shutting.

  “Come in!” bellowed Chester. As I opened the door, he shot me a smarmy grin. Sure enough, the guy had his legs up on his desk, a laptop perched on his belly with a ton of used tissues in the garbage can. Oh gross. Had Chester the Molester been masturbating while on the job? All I wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

  But right, business first. I had to negotiate this ‘key money’ thing that he seemed to expect.

  “Chester,” I said peremptorily. “I didn’t know there was an additional fee on top of my deposit. I thought the deal was already signed, sealed and delivered.”

  The obese man chuckled, his laptop bobbling like a ship on a jiggly sea as his stomach vibrated.

  “No, it’s no worries,” he yawned, stretching both arms above his head. “Newbies to the city never get it. But yeah, we expect that money. It’s building management, you know,” he said conspiratorially.

  I knew this was all fake. Bui
lding management had nothing to do with it. Chester wanted to keep the money for himself. But fortunately, I was able to keep the expression on my face neutral.

  “Well, seeing that you understand that I’m new to New York, maybe we could work out a deal,” I said in an even tone. “Could I maybe pay an extra two hundred per month going forwards? That means I’d have the entire sum to you in five months. Or if we could reduce it, I’d be even more grateful. Maybe to seven or eight hundred? It’d make a world of a difference to me.”

  But Chester shook his head regretfully.

  “Naw, I’m sorry sweet’ums, but it’s building management calling the shots here. I’d happily reduce it to zero for you, but they’re expecting to be paid up there,” he said, pointing his finger to the ceiling. Where exactly was he referring to? Upstairs? My apartment? Heaven? But I decided to ignore it.

  “Listen, I need to work out a deal,” came my firm voice. “I don’t have the money. There’s no one I can turn to, and I need to wait until I get my first paycheck to start making payments. So if you could help me out here ….”

  To my surprise, Chester didn’t turn me down flat. Instead, he stretched again, showing his flabby white under arms, the yellow half-moons under his armpits gross and disgusting.