Package Deal

by Jess Bentley

  For a moment we all just watch the nearly six-foot beauty, undulating like an ecstatic cobra. Her wide hips twist and rock subtly, mesmerising the businesspeople who slide hundred dollar bills into neat piles below her heels, not daring to go any further.

  “Of course it is her,” I assure Bella. We don't even dare say her name out loud, that's how famous she is. “Why would I have anything but the very best?”

  “She's famous!”

  “That's why she's the very best,” I shrug.

  It's fun to watch Bella's expressions as we slowly cross the room. The music is loud but low pitched, coming at us in concussive waves. Not that idiotic Cherry Pie bullshit they play at every other kind of club. This is real sex magic, the sort of music that vibrates your nethers until you want to explode.

  Only the best.

  “Let's get a private room,” suggests Dillon.

  Bella takes a few steps and turns around, thrusting her palms out at us again. “I'm not sleeping with you guys,” she announces. “I don't know what you're used to, but I'm not. This is a job. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “Settle down, Queen Elizabeth,” I tease. “Dillon just wants us to be able to talk and hear each other. Why are you so obsessed with sex anyway? You should calm down.”

  I hear her snarled objections behind me as I walk past her toward the quiet hallway with small rooms. The third one has a green light so we can enter. I hold the door open for her politely.

  Now, truthfully, we really could all have sex in here. It's a ten by twelve suite with burgundy velvet curtains and a couple of leather armchairs, plus a wide bench and a sling in the corner. Through the opposite door is a private bath with an extra large shower. I could probably get two or three more people in here if I had to. We could almost live here.

  But it's also useful for having a private conversation. That part is true.

  “So here's the plan,” she announces, turning around and crossing her arms like she's rehearsed all this. “Your merger is in less than three weeks. Emmet, you and I will appear in public two or three times a week. Hannah's assistant will make sure there's a different blogger there every night. Perez Hilton should be here by the end of the three weeks, so we’ll make sure he gets the best view… maybe a wardrobe malfunction, or —”

  “Rooftop sex!” Dillon interrupts.

  She clenches her jaw. “No.”

  He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

  “Well… okay, how about this: Emmet would probably go down on you in the Buckingham Fountain. He's done it before, to excellent reviews. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Absolutely not!” she huffs.

  “Fine,” he retorts. “Then I will go down on you in the Buckingham Fountain. Geez! Picky.”

  She plops into one of the armchairs, crossing her legs and drumming her fingertips together. I see that she's becoming furious, but she's not that easy to crack. Aside from getting her to verbally spar with us, the doesn't seem to be a lot of room to get her really riled up. She's a tough cookie, this Bella Cage.

  So, always up for a challenge, of course I am ready to try some more.

  “Let's start again,” she suggests, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe you don’t understand what I am doing here? I’m not some twit who’s all star-struck and gaga at your celebrity. None of that means a thing to me, do you understand?”

  “Yes, you’re making that pretty clear,” Dillon nods. I can see the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

  “This is not a relationship. I don’t even want a relationship, of any kind, got it?” she continues.

  “All of it,” he responds.

  “And stop answering! I’m not even talking to you!” she huffs, scowling seriously.

  To his credit, he doesn’t try to get another word in, just raises his hands like he’s surrendering.

  “Okay, please continue,” I smile politely. “You were saying? Something about not liking me very much?”

  “Exactly!” she announces, focusing her attention on me. I like it. It feels like a blast of warm air. “Hannah asked me to help you guys out. I'll help. You and I will appear… alone… several times and make everybody think we’re in love. Regular people love, not extreme porn, banging in fountains, double your pleasure. No sex tapes. No threesomes on balconies. We’ll let Perez Hilton scoop... a proposal. Okay? It’ll be like a real-life Bachelor where you get all rehabilitated by the power of love.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me, waiting, like this is a staring contest. Or a dare.

  “A proposal, eh? Like down on one knee and everything?” I ask, squinting. She swallows hard, almost faltering. But her strength is holding up.

  “Yes. Can you think of anything better? Nobody will doubt your true blue intentions if they get to watch the whole thing unfold in front of their eyes. Nice big rock. Something that can be seen from space will do the trick. And I’ll give back the ring as soon as your merger is done, so don’t forget to keep the receipt.”

  She waves her hand the air as though, ta-dah, she has just revealed a magic trick.

  “No deal,” Dillon shrugs.

  I turn to him, surprised.

  “No deal?” I repeat. “Actually, it sounds pretty good to me. Looks like she has thought of everything. Let's just go with it.”

  He rubs his jaw with the palm of his hand, a shrewd look in his eyes. “I get to be there for everything,” he counters.

  “No way,” she replies. “That's the problem. It’s exactly what got you in this mess. You guys need to show a little daylight between yourselves. Stop people from thinking about your latest scandal. Or your last one, for that matter. Or the one before that.”

  “Yeah, sure, Dillon,” I agree, ignoring her frustrated huff. “Sounds good to me. We’ll make it work.”

  “No!” she exclaims. “Do you two have a hearing problem? You're supposed to look normal. As in one-guy-one-girl normal. Just for a few weeks. Can you even do that?”

  I drop to one knee in front of her, plucking her hand out of the air and holding it between mine. It's warm, like I'm holding a live baby seal between my palms. I feel it tremble, just slightly, but not because she's frightened. She's excited, and I know it. She’s a natural negotiator, able to keep her wits about her while swimming straight through a swarming shark pit.

  Yet there is something in her eyes that holds her back. And just like a little baby seal, it inspires me to chase her. I absolutely have to find out what that tastes like.

  “Listen, Bella,” I begin reasonably, “we’re willing to participate in your plan, but there are limits. Dillon and I, we're not like other men. Certainly not normal, everyday, regular men. So you can concoct whatever fantasy you want for Hannah, and Google, and Perez fucking Hilton. But Dillon and I do things our way. And that means... both of us.”

  She swallows. I watch her throat clench, immediately picturing her lips wrapped around the base of my cock. That's going to happen. I'm sure of it.

  “But you haven’t been straight with us. What are you getting out of this anyway?” I ask her in a whisper. “Certainly you are not doing it because you need a few more points to get into heaven?”

  She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. It looks like she's going to answer a few times, then abandons the effort, then finally figures it out.

  “All I want is a job,” she finally says. “All I want is to do my thing, my way. That's all.”

  I sigh for a long time. Middle-class people have no imagination.

  “Okay, Bella,” I answer her reasonably. “We’ll be asking that question again in a few weeks to see if you can come up with a better answer.”

  “Fine,” she spits, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “I want a book.”

  “What?” Dillon asks, alarmed. “About us?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” I say to him, lifting a hand like, wait. I search her face. Her lips are firmly pressed together, her eyes shiny with desire. “What kind of book?”

 
“I want to write about this… all of this,” the words tumble out in a rush. “This is my story, okay? Every moment, every detail.”

  “Every detail?” I repeat, watching her courage increase with each passing second. So the baby seal has turned into quite the shark, herself.

  She nods, avid but determined. “Everything — total autonomy. Complete creative control.”

  I nod, understanding. My fingers stroke the back of her knee, and I can see the skin gathering there as she gets tiny goosebumps.

  “You better make it a good story,” I suggest. “Beauty and the Beasts? Snow White and the two...um...?”

  “I was thinking Cinderella,” she whispers. Her eyes track the path of my fingers, fascinated. She’s considering it, but she will take more convincing, I can tell.

  “And what do we get?” Dillon asks, dropping to the floor next to me. His hand slides up the arm of the leather chair, closing in. “If we help you with complete creative control?”

  Lowering her chin, she looks at each of us slowly, in turn, sizing us up. I can tell she knows exactly what we want.

  “Are you sure this room is totally private?” she asks hoarsely. Her pulse flutters at the pit of her throat.

  “Completely,” I assure her, glancing at Dillon. He shoots me a look, connecting with me at that primal, twin level. I can read his mind like I’m reading a book. A book with a lot of pictures.

  “Then you get a temporary partner in crime, boys,” she purrs, her voice suddenly turning sultry. She slides her beautiful ass forward on the leather seat, letting her knees fall open slightly. I get a whiff of cologne and wonder if she is one of those women who perfumes her panties. “But I’m in control,” she says. Her voice trembles. We’ll see about that.

  I glance at Dillon again, sensing his needs. He smells the intoxicating scent of her perfume too. I decide he can have her, and she's going to let me watch.

  “I'm going to let Dillon eat your pussy,” I tell her, rising to stand next to her. She stares up at me, startled, her mouth open in alarm.

  “What?” she chokes.

  Just there, now, staring up at me, my cock throbs in my pants, and she notices it too. It’s right at her eye level, impossible to hide. Her eyes dart to the front of my trousers, which bulge urgently in her direction.

  “Pull up your dress,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head, pressing her lips together tightly. Her eyes search mine as she breathes deeply, her fingers lightly and quickly tapping out an urgent morse code on the arms of the chair.

  “We have a deal, Cinderella,” I remind her. “This is your fairytale. Live a little, why don't you?”

  And almost on cue, she changes in front of my eyes. Her shoulders relax, her arms straighten. She slides further down the seat while her eyes remain locked on mine the whole time, like she’s daring me to look away. She’s strong Bella again. Whatever was stopping her, is no longer important. She is in control.

  It's such a startling change, I'm nearly overwhelmed with desire for her. I feel my cock releasing the first spurt of pre-cum, probably staining the front of my trousers right now.

  “Yes, Bella,” Dillon murmurs. I force myself to watch him, to focus on his fingers pushing her skirt up over her hips. Her pale blue panties shine in the dim light of the room, dark and damp at the top of her thighs.

  They slide down her legs silently, revealing a neat, trimmed triangular patch of downy pubic hair, as soft as a spring rabbit’s pelt. From this angle, I can just barely see the fuchsia glistening of her lips. The perfume gets stronger, richer. My mouth waters.

  Dillon hooks his thumb under one knee and drapes it over his shoulder, smiling in anticipation as he edges ever closer to her. Her belly trembles as her breath accelerates.

  She moans and shudders when his tongue first flicks against her sweet, glistening seam. The sound is squeezed off the end, and I can tell she is still holding back.

  “It's good, isn't it, Bella?” I murmur, holding her hair against my palm. If she would just turn her head a bit this way…

  “Oh,” she moans again as he plunges deeper, burying his lips against hers, half closing his eyes in pleasure. I'm hungry, so hungry.

  She gazes up at me, her lips open, cheeks flushed, her breath urgent and rough. Her hand drifts up, grazing the front of my trousers, brushing the length of my hard-on.

  “Show me,” she moans, flexing her leg to draw Dillon even closer. I watch her hips begin to swivel as she grinds against his eager mouth.

  I drop my trousers, letting my cock spring forward, just millimeters from her beautiful face. She eyes it hungrily, drinking in the details, sliding her gaze up and down the shaft so avidly I can practically feel it. Then she opens her mouth, letting her tongue slide over her bottom lip. Her teeth flicker over her lip and she looks up at me.

  “Let me taste you,” she moans, her voice thick with longing. It’s true, she wants it. Nobody acts that convincingly.

  I accept her invitation, guiding myself against her kitten soft tongue, watching the pre-come swirl to the back of her mouth. Her eyes seem to roll up in her head as she closes her lips around me, moaning and sighing. Her fingers grip the back of my hip and she draws me closer, closer.

  In moments I'm thrusting, I can't help it. She's so willing, so undone before us, so a part of us. I can't stop myself... I have to feel more of her. I have to feel her warmth enveloping me as I’m slipping against her tongue, choking the moan from her willing throat.

  When I come, she comes, and Dillon cries out as well, bringing us all together. We explode like a firework, a bright machine of passion. It's like we were made for this, it’s so easy. It’s meant to be.

  I slump over her, panting, wrung out. Her breath washes over me in waves as she whimpers and shudders, riding the last waves of her climax. The music washes over us, as we slowly regain control of ourselves.

  We lay there for a long time, slumped where we fell until our muscles start to cramp.

  “That was wonderful,” I groan, gathering myself back together.

  She opens her eyes, slowly waking back up from her dreamy state.

  “It was, actually,” she admits.

  “You seem surprised,” Dillon smiles.

  She shrugs. “I suppose I am, a little.” She pauses. “A lot.”

  “Yeah, well,” he groans, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck like a swimmer, “we’re just getting started. There’s lots more to come. And it only gets better.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Bella

  Just hanging out on the couch is just not as stress-free as everyone seems to think it is. I keep feeling phantom vibrations from my phone, expecting a Google alert to pop up letting me know that my name has been mentioned in gossip blogs. In between, I'm frantically checking social media, imagining the moment that I will see the first headlines:

  TurnPost writer spotted with dirty billionaire brothers.

  Bella… What are you thinking?

  Riordan brothers turn out another willing victim

  But nothing happens, despite my impressive ability to create headline after headline. Absolutely nothing happens. In fact, two days’ worth of crickets is starting to freak me out even more than I am already.

  I’m trying to ignore the feelings that keep springing up. The ones popping up in my mind rebuking me, and the ones arising in my core, that loved every minute. That was hot. Really hot. I have never felt anything like it. To hold one brother in my mouth while the other services me, his insistent tongue lapping at me, his fingers sliding in and out. Pretty good for a virgin, I think with a smirk. They probably would never suspect it.

  To keep myself from getting too distracted, I keep dictating my notes. I can't believe they agreed to all this, knowing how protective they must be of their image. But I guess maybe protective is one of those words that normal people interpret in a different way. Obviously they haven't minded having their sculpted, naked bodies photographed from airplanes. One time, a sc
uba diver actually swam up to them with an underwater lens and got a good picture of some vaguely Royal daughter letting Dillon (or maybe Emmet?) teabag her on top of a reef outside the Marshall Islands.

  Craziness. Absolute craziness, I remind myself. What on earth makes me think that I can keep up with these two madmen?

  So maybe protective is not a word that I'm interpreting correctly. But still, how did I get them to agree to this? The merger must be really important to them. As important as the book is to me. The conservative public image that I will give Emmet must be more valuable than I thought.

  Perhaps I’m just that good of a negotiator.

  I shudder involuntarily, again remembering those moments in that private room in their club. Still stunned from seeing that actress playing the role of a stripper like that, I followed them to the room, not really understanding what was going on. I knew we were running away from that blogger, but did I really know what I was running into?

  Once alone with them, I felt like I was being prepared for dinner… like I was the main course. Their eyes were hungry and keen, predatory. Every move I made, they made a counter move. Every word I said, they were ready with the counter argument. Finally, I just realized that I needed to be what they were — to become a predator in my own way. I needed to tell them what I wanted. And as soon as Emmet asked me, it was as clear as day.

  I want freedom.

  I'm tired of following everybody's expectations. I'm tired of being on the long end of the rope, towed behind a very large crowd of other people who determine the pace and direction of my life. Everybody seems to know what's best for me: where to go to school, what career to take, what to write, how to do it, and how much of it I own.

  But now seems like the perfect time for that to end, and I think that's exactly what they're offering me. Autonomy, they promised. Liberty. Creativity. And maybe I can test my own boundaries, just a little bit. What would Cinderella do? I mean, if I’m all dressed up in the gown with the pumpkin stagecoach, shouldn’t I go for a little ride? Shouldn’t I enjoy it?

  Probably not. The twin to my desire, embarrassment floods me again and I wonder what I was thinking. I try to remember how I got over that feeling last night, how I swallowed my impulse to run away and just became somebody different. I invented a character, like Hannah told me to do. The kind of character who walks around strip clubs and lets herself get locked in private rooms with two gorgeous, horny billionaires, apparently.