by Lily Love
Ethan helped gather my clothes as I waited to catch my breath, while Michael went out for a smoke. Once I was dressed again, I was stunned when Ethan offered to help me with a final sweep of the library, making sure everything was in order before I locked up for the night.
"Do you really believe any of the crap in these books?" he asked when he found my romance paperback up in the reading lounge. I took it from him with a shrug.
"Illicit romance, charming heroes, great sex?" I pursed my lips, memories of tonight washing over me as I flushed. "Maybe."
We shared a grin, then left the library with his hand on the small of my back, my romance novel tucked snugly in my purse. No matter how hot Dottie and the Count got in the chapters to come, nothing—nothing—could compare to Michael and Ethan in real life.
If someone had told me at any point in my life that I'd have dinner with two eligible billionaires, I'd probably laugh in their face. First, how the hell would I even meet a single billionaire, let alone two? And second, why would they be interested in me?
That's what my old self would say to me. My new self, however, has decided that anything is possible, and if I wanted to attract good things into my life, I had to put good things out there. Last week, it had kind of worked backwards for me: two billionaires, Michael and Ethan, wandered into my library close to the end of my shift, hoping to get some research done—and then fucked me better than I've ever been fucked before. Afterward, high on lingering orgasmic vibes, I'd been the friendliest, most helpful library technician possible, making random strangers happy and spreading the joy of books.
I'd initially thought it was a one-off kind of thing: we'd screwed, Ethan and Michael had given me a ride back to my apartment in Michael's swanky sports car, and we'd gone our separate ways. Harmless. But then Ethan had called me a few days ago and asked me to save my Friday night for him and Michael: they were taking me out on the town. Luckily my schedule was free, as I worked a day shift at the library instead of a lovely closing one, and I accepted his invitation on the spot. At the time, I couldn't imagine what more they would want with me, but the prospect of being wined and dined by two billionaires was just too exciting to ignore.
They'd picked me up together in Michael's car, and we'd gone for drinks and dinner. The flow of our conversations were much the same as last time: everything went smoothly, with each man expressing an almost unnerving interest in me and my work life. If this had been some spy novel, I would have been suspicious that they were trying to worm secrets out of me—but really, who else cares about the inner workings of an old library aside from librarians and bookworms who were going gray? Definitely not a pair of billionaires. As I finished my dessert, a crème brûlée with the most exquisitely caramelized topping I'd ever had, I decided to just go with the flow and accept that these men might in fact be interested in me.
I'd drank conservatively throughout the meal, preferring to keep my wits about me. When Ethan had suggested we take things back to his place so that we could continue our discussion in private, I figured limited alcohol was probably for the best anyway. Besides, Ethan was the only one really guzzling his alcohol back, his cheeks taking on an adorable pink hue, his brown eyes growing more intense with each drink. Michael, meanwhile, nursed a single drink—a mixed drink at that, so barely a drink at all—through the whole meal, and I felt comfortable with my two glasses of sparkling champagne.
When we'd left the restaurant, I became the focus of the only kind of written word I despised: tabloid journalism. The gossip photographers were out in full-force tonight, capturing us leaving the restaurant as they hurled questions to all three of us. Neither of the men commented on the incident once we were in the car and driving away, I'd suspected that they had just grown accustomed to that kind of attention.
Which, when you thought about it, was pretty sad.
I wasn't the least bit surprised when we pulled into an underground parking lot at one of the most prestigious high-rises in the city.
"I just bought the place this year," Ethan told me as we climbed out of Michael's car. The blond took my hand and led me toward the elevator across the lot, Michael following us like a looming dark storm cloud. I glanced over my shoulder at him and smiled, a gesture he returned weakly. Same as before, he was the least exuberant of the pair. Ethan released my hand to press the elevator button, then winked at me. "You should see the new hardwood. Pristine."
"I can't wait," I told him, and I meant it. When else in my life would I have the opportunity to see how the other half lived? Hell, I'd worn my real pearl earrings just so I could fit in with the handsome duo.
It surprised me even less to find Ethan's apartment was the penthouse suite, with the elevator opening up right into his living room. I asked how he stopped "the common folk" from coming up to his floor.
"I don't," he told me, smirking. "Sometimes the common folk make for interesting conversation."
I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he was hinting at me, but then let it go as my curiosity took over. I'd never been in a penthouse before. Never seen marble tiles—real marble—or been in an apartment with an indoor lap pool that overlooked the city. The terrace was probably the size of the first apartment, I rented when I moved to the city a few years ago, and it could probably fit half of my current apartment now.
The pair let me, explore unhindered, even around the laundry room and the bathrooms. Everything stunk of high quality, from the faucets to the hardwood in the master bedroom, and I couldn't help but feel a little envious. But then again, being a billionaire probably had some downsides too: the press coverage of our night out wasn't going to be favorable, given the questions they were asking.
Pushing the thought out of my mind, I wandered back to the main hall, where Ethan and Michael were waiting for three glasses of wine. I took mine happily, taking a sip of the sumptuous red liquid and sighing.
With a hand on my lower back, Ethan steered me away from the entrance foyer to a small sitting room. It was the warmest of all the rooms, with a cozy fireplace, a writing desk, and a few small couches for guests to settle across. As Ethan plopped onto one of the plush cushions, Michael kneeled in front of the fireplace, pulling a match from a box and striking it against the stone.
"A bit warm for a fire," I noted, arms crossed and wine swirling in my glass. He glanced up at me, those cool eyes wandering my features, then returned to his work without a word. Lips pressed together, I had to wonder if Michael even liked me at all.
"Sit with me, Veronica," Ethan beckoned, patting the spot beside him. He smiled warmly when our eyes met, and I happily flocked to the beacon of light, leaving behind the storm cloud that was Michael. The couch was as sumptuous as I expected, and I practically sunk down a whole foot once I was settled. A giggle slipped out as I made myself comfortable, happy to have Ethan's arm wrapped around my shoulders.
We chatted for some time, the three of us nursing our wine at a leisurely pace. Just as before, the conversation flowed easily, with even Michael contributing here and there. It was in a brief moment of silence, a rarity in the conversation thus far, that Ethan gently took the wine glass from my hand and set it aside. My heartbeat quickened, anticipation over what might become of tonight finally taking over. Still with that warm smile on his lips, he brushed my hair back over my ears, his fingers, leaving a trail of little bumps across my skin. Then, wordlessly, he lowered his head to my neck and kissed me. Gently at first, softly, eliciting a breathy moan from me.
I arched my chest out as his hand wandered up my stomach, and then closed my eyes slowly when he cupped my breast. Heat flooded my body, painting my skin in an aroused blush, and when I rubbed my thighs together, my panties had dampened—all from a little innocent kiss, not even on my lips.
What got me the most, actually, was the way Michael watched us. He'd done it before, back at the library, and there had been something thrilling in the way his cool eyes surveyed the scene before him, like Ethan and I were performers for Michael's ple
asure as well as our own. The thought sent a shiver through me, and I tipped my head forward, tearing my eyes away from Michael, to kiss Ethan. He tasted like wine, as did I probably, and when our lips parted, I sucked on his tongue, milking the lingering flavors of the alcohol out. His hand fisted in my hair, pulling me closer, and my pussy clenched with anticipation as his hand delved lower and lower, until it finally cupped me through my dress.
His kiss was ferocious, fast and heady, and I struggled to keep up and enjoy the way he massaged me through the fabric of my dress and panties, his palm rubbing my clit in slow circles even with the material barriers. Unwilling to be a passive participant in our little game, my fingers crept down his toned body and unzipped his pants, finding a hardening cock waiting for me. He groaned into my mouth when I gripped his shaft, sliding my hand up and down slowly, my grip not as tight as it could have been—two could tease, Mr. Billionaire.
Pulling away from me, Ethan cupped my face, his gaze snagging mine. Fire blazed in those brown eyes, much like the flames in the nearby hearth. I reveled in the sight, thrilled to have such power over a man's desires, and swallowed hard as he studied me. It was obvious he liked what he saw, though I couldn't say the same for the third participant in the group. Over my shoulder I caught Michael watching us again, his expression neutral.
Then, to my surprise, he leaned forward and said, "Get on your knees and let him fuck your pretty mouth."
My lips parted as I drew in a shaky breath. Never had a man spoken to me like that before—they'd always been respectful. And it wasn't that Michael sounded disrespectful, but there was something different in his voice, commanding in a way I'd never been commanded before. Wordlessly, I nodded and slid to the ground, then crawled between Ethan's knees with deliberate slowness, totally aware of the way Michael's eyes followed me. Ha. He might pretend to not enjoy this, but apparently watching from the sidelines was where he preferred to be.
Ethan gave me a hand by unbuckling his belt and pushing his boxers out of the way, his glorious cock springing forward. The tip glistened with pre-cum, and I licked my lips, meeting his fiery stare once more before taking the engorged head in my mouth. He groaned and cursed under his breath at the first touch, his hands on his forehead as he leaned back. I couldn't help but grin.
Teasingly, I ran my tongue from the very tip of that cock right down to the base, then over his balls. He was well-groomed and fresh smelling, as if he'd prepared for this in particular tonight, and that was something I could appreciate. Gripping him firmly at the base of his cock, I slid my mouth over the tip again and down, taking him in until my mouth met my hand. I then bobbed up and down, my tongue swirling around the sensitive head, pumping my fist in tandem with my mouth.
The sounds he made spurred me on, but not as much as Michael's heated stare did. Finally the ice had thawed, and when I glanced to the side to study him, I noticed the hungry way he watched us—and that he'd taken his cock out and had started slowly massaging the impressive length. Up and down his hand went, slower than my head, and I suddenly wished it was his cock in my mouth, not Ethan's.
But it was then that Ethan gripped my hair and started moving me at his preferred pace. Faster. Harder. His cock hitting the back of my throat. My panties were totally soaked at this point, my excitement practically leaking down my thighs, and my eyes met Ethan's as he fucked my face, reminding me why I enjoyed him so much in the first place. Ethan was fire, while Michael was a storm—both were powerful in their own ways, both were easy to appreciate in their own ways.
I tried to get Michael to join us, arching my ass in the air, desperate for someone to pinch my clit or lick my slick folds, but he stayed on the couch the whole time. Watching. Stroking himself. By the time Ethan came, my knees ached and my eyes watered, but I swallowed his salty cum with satisfaction—again, it was a thrill to hold such power over a man, particularly one who was, in everyday life, much more powerful than me.
Once he removed his hands from my hair, I fell back, panting, my pussy all but throbbing with need. Someone needed to touch me, and Ethan was in no state currently to do much. If Michael just planned to watch, I was happy to give him a show. Falling forward onto all fours, I pulled my dress up and my panties down, my ass on full display for him, and started to massage my swollen clit. I groaned, my cheek pressed to the carpet, as pleasure flooded me with just the slightest of touches, and I was sure it wouldn't take more than a minute or two of rubbing and pinching and massaging the little bud at the apex of my thighs before I screaming an orgasm into the floor.
When I stole a peek at him, I noticed Michael had stopped touching himself. In fact, he seemed so wrapped in what I was doing that his poor hard cock sat in his hand, waiting for someone to fuck it. I licked my lips, happy to oblige. However, before I could turn and crawl toward him like I wanted, with a sway in my hips and a lusty look in my eyes, Michael was off the couch and coming toward me. Determined. Stern. I opened my mouth to comment on him having his way with me, still hoping to be seductive, but he picked me up by my waist and carried me across the room instead. Throwing me on to the writing desk, he spread my legs forcefully and stepped between them, then thrust two fingers into my dripping pussy.
Crying out, my eyes all but rolled back in my head as he finger-fucked me, his expression still carefully neutral, but his eyes alight with desire. I nibbled my lower lip, riding his hand until a climax tore through me. Pleasure flooded every sense, and I fell back against the wall, my juices leaking down my thighs and coating the wooden desk. I shot Ethan an apologetic look, but he seemed more interested in watching us than caring if I made a mess on his desk.
As I slowly came down from my climactic high, the tips of my fingers numb and my toes tingling, Michael grabbed my hips and spun me around, bending me over the desk in a flash. I gripped whatever I could find, anticipating the main event at last, desperate for an actual cock to pound into me. Not that his finger wasn't great, but I needed something more… filling. I wanted to be stretched and filled, and there was no one else on this planet that I'd rather be fucked by in that very moment than Michael.
He kept me waiting, his hands smoothing over my bare butt, occasionally slipping under to rub my soaked pussy. I moaned, then whispered, his name. Our eyes met, mine full of a silent plea that must not have gone unnoticed. He gave a little nod, barely noticeable to an outside observer, before sliding the tip of his cock along my slick folds. Back and forth, between my butt cheeks. I tensed, worried he might try to fuck my ass instead, but all the panic vanished as soon as he gripped my hips and thrust deep into my pussy, filling me completely.
I placed my hands flat on the wall, bracing myself as he started slamming into me from behind. It was exactly what I wanted, what I needed, and I didn't try to quiet myself. I let my moans and cries and whimpers out unashamedly, pleased with the way Michael's eyes narrowed as he fucked me, lost in the moment at last.
After one last sharp thrust, I felt two slick fingers working their way into my asshole. Slowly, carefully, he started up again, his cock sliding in and out of me in tandem with his fingers. I wanted to make a fuss on principle—I'd never let a guy do anything in that hole before!—but the longer he played with me, the better it felt. Soon enough, another orgasm was rising up from deep inside me, and I was filled like I'd never been filled before.
"Fuck!" I groaned, biting my lip as he fucked both my holes, sometimes together, sometimes the pace alternating. Ethan leaned against the wall nearby, watching us with rapt fascination, and I couldn't hold back a shriek when I came for a second time that night. This time, I was seeing stars, my body going limp across the desk. Michael pulled his fingers out of my ass, and instead placed both hands on my shoulders, arching me back as he slammed into me over and over again, finally spilling himself inside me.
He came with a gentle hiss, a slight puff of air, but otherwise he stayed fairly collected—what else could I expect?
"Shower time, boys and girls," Ethan announced as Michael ste
pped back. He gave each of my ass cheeks a hard spank, then toddled off, still obviously a little drunk. I rose with shaky arms, a little uncertain as to whether or not my legs would hold me.
Then, just as I was fixing my dress, Michael kissed me. It came out of nowhere—totally unexpected. I stiffened, my eyes open, then slowly relaxed against him. Soft and sweet, the kiss barely lasted thirty seconds before he stepped back and cupped my cheek. He held me there for a moment, studying me once more, and then turned and drifted off after Ethan.
I stood there for a moment, stunned, and then realized the romance writer in me was still alive: as amazing as all the screwing had been tonight, that kiss was the best part of my evening.
And I intended to make it happen again before the night was through.
Kat had had a few drinks, as shown in the slight color in her cheeks. Every time her husband Michael glanced at her from across the table, she slid her bare foot on top of his, sliding her toes up his ankle just before she pulled away with a slight smirk. Michael smiled slightly at her and flicked the top right corners of his deck of cards. From where they were seated, the candlelight from the middle of the table reflected off her hair turning it honey gold, his favorite. It was late at night, which meant that Kat was even more prone to flirting with her husband.
Michael had always enjoyed how Kat could be very open in public, or even in front of friends, about her love for him. It delighted him that she never hid it. On the other hand, Michael had a more difficult time opening up about his emotions and not caring what people thought of him. Kat was the exact opposite. One of the many things he loved about her.
Clever as always, Kat waited until the men got up and took everyone’s empty glasses to the kitchen to refill them. She tapped the bottom of her deck of cards on the table.
