Harem: An MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

  Joel nods at me in agreement, but Cheryl doesn't seem totally convinced yet.

  "Why was she so laser focused on you, Ethan?" Cheryl says. "Doesn't that seem odd?"

  "Cheryl, you're overanalyzing this," I say. "It's not fucking odd at all. This is a porn audition we're talking about. She did what she needed to do."

  "Okay, I trust you," Cheryl nods.

  I'm glad they finally agree, but do they really have a choice? Not if they still want their jobs. It's nice to have them on the same page, but at the end of the day, I don't need their approval. I look down at my Apple watch. Not only has it been buzzing non-stop with emails from the press regarding Illicit Escape announcement—it seems everyone and their mother wants to give it a whirl—but my watch also shows me that it's 11:05. I'm five minutes late to my next meeting.

  "You'll have to excuse me," I say. I push my chair back and stand up. I fix my suit coat and straighten my silk tie. "This has been productive, don't you think? It's going to be a great month."

  I walk out the door and continue down the hall when I feel the presence of someone behind me. I can hear what sounds like a woman's heels clicking against the hard floor. I turn around and see Cheryl. She stops, and for a wordless moment, looks at me with her hands on her hips, and her lips scrunched. I haven't seen her strike this kind of pose in a while.

  "Do you have something you need to say to me?" she asks. I can practically see her shoe tapping against the floor in irritation.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

  "Come on Ethan. I've known you forever," she says with a look of exasperation. It's a look that says she didn't believe a word I said during our meeting.

  "I really don't know what you're talking about," I maintain with a shrug. "Does this have anything to do with our meeting just now? Because everything is fine. I mean it. You have to believe me Cher—"

  "You better watch yourself," she says, cutting me off. Her brows are knitted in seriousness. It reminds me of an angry caterpillar.

  "Now you're acting like the crazy one," I say, throwing my hands up. "I mean come on. Do you even hear yourself right now? I don't know what kind of story you've been spinning in your head, but—"

  "Stop it, Ethan. I've known you for too damn long. Since when have you ever cared so much about hiring a particular porn actress for this company?"

  "Well, I—" I begin, before she cuts me off.

  "I'll give you the answer, Ethan—it's never," she says. "Not once. So why now? Who the hell cares if we hire Ella and Bella with the big tits, versus some skinny blonde that can hold your gaze?"

  "She's not just some skinny blonde," I say. "I see a certain quality in her. A star quality."

  "Oh come on!" Cheryl laughs. "Are you serious? Some woman with a perfect body and who only has eyes for you makes you lose your head all of a sudden? I can see it in your face. You personally like this one."

  "What a joke—I do not! This is pure business," I reply.

  "I'll say this again because I care, Ethan," Cheryl says. "Watch yourself. This is—"

  "You're treating me like you're either my mother or a jealous lover."

  "Stop, Ethan," she continues. "And let me finish. This is a business of sex and flesh."

  "Don't you think I realize that?"

  "Well, in this business, you can't let your emotions get in the way. You can't be blinded by it all"

  And with that, I watch as Cheryl turns around and walks down the opposite end of the hall without looking back. As I stand there, her words echo in my head.

  Am I allowing my emotions to get the best of me?

  Brittney

  I walk into the corporate headquarters of Illicit Entertainment. The outside of the building is white and non-descript. In fact, if I didn't have the address in my hands, I wouldn't have believed this was the right place. But the interior of the building is a different story. The open-floor concept of the main room is sleek and modern. The lobby is outfitted with black leather furniture, and glass-topped tables. It all fits. I mean, a company getting ready to unveil the next big thing in porn technology should look like this, I think to myself.

  "Well, isn't this fancy," Walter says in his slight English accent, whistling. "Look over here—there's even a giant interactive LCD screen that makes it look like you're standing under a waterfall."

  "I've never seen you look so star-struck before," I laugh.

  "C'mon, you have to admit—this has to be one of the most tech savvy buildings in the city—just look at these sensors," Walter says.

  "Is there a directory somewhere?" I ask. "This place is massive. How are we going to find her?"

  "Over here. Let's see… A, B, C—Cheryl. There she is. Second floor," Walter says, with his finger hovering over the list of names.

  We leave the lobby and step inside of the elevator. Ads for upcoming Illicit Entertainment movies with titles like Pussypocalypse, Two Girls One Bed, 40 Girls and 40 Nights, and Panty Dropper in Paradise adorn the walls.

  "They're creative," I say. "I'll give them that much."

  "I guess that's one way to put it," Walter shrugs.

  The elevator chimes open on the second floor, and to our right, we find a woman sitting at her desk. She looks to be in her early 40s with golden brown, wavy hair. This must be Cheryl.

  "Hi, are you Cheryl? I'm Brittney."

  "Of course! It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, extending her hand. "We're all so excited to welcome you to the Illicit Entertainment family. Ethan speaks highly of you."

  He does? That's good to know. And if she's calling him by his first name, they must be close. I mentally shelve that comment in my brain. I wonder to myself what he's been saying to everyone. I guess my audition went even better than expected, which is good. I'm off on the right foot, and a step closer to my goal.

  "I'm looking forward to it," I say. "And this is my assistant Walter."

  He extends his hand to Cheryl. "Nice to meet you."

  They shake, and he holds onto her hand for a few extra seconds. Is it just my imagination or does Walter seem to have a special sparkle to his eyes? Cheryl's kind of cute, I suppose. Plain, in a way. But cute enough for an older woman.

  "Okay, let's get the boring formal stuff out of the way," Cheryl says, pulling a stack of paperwork from a manila folder. "These contracts walk you through our onboarding process."

  "There's a lot of contracts—" I say. And there is. The stack is a formidable size.

  "It looks like a lot, but these are pretty standard for the industry. There's an NDA—for the new technology we're rolling out, a W9, our codes of conduct—you get the picture, all the obvious documents," Cheryl says.

  "Okay, where do we start?" I ask, ready to get through the pile of paperwork.

  "Let's quickly go over this company's do's and don'ts. I think that's a good place to start," Cheryl says.

  I look over at Walter—who hasn't said a word. He seems to be transfixed by Cheryl.

  "First, your sexual health is important to us," Cheryl continues. "We expect a high level of personal hygiene on the set, and we have a strict testing and STD prevention protocol. Also, if you are escorting or thinking about escorting outside of your work with Illicit Entertainment, we strongly urge against that."

  She puts her hands up almost apologetically and continues. "A stigma still remains in the industry you know toward those entertainers who choose to go down this path."

  I nod my head as she continues her spiel. I've heard this all before.

  "There may be gonzo scenes in the films you shoot to give it a more 'realistic' quality—of course that's you interacting with the director and cameramen. And you can expect a healthy dose of pop shots, facials, and creampies. I assume you're okay with all of the above?" Cheryl asks.

  She's all business now, but is she for real? None of this is new to me from my days as Brittney White. "Sure, I get it; I've been out of porn, but I've been around this industry for a while," I say. "Where do I sign?"
<
br />   At this point, I just want to get this over with. I watch as Walter excuses himself from the room. "I'll be right back," he says to both of us. He feigns that he needs to use the restroom, but I know better. I know he's scoping the building out.

  Cheryl points her finger to the bottom of the fourth page and I add my signature. We continue on through the paperwork, and while I don't show it, the NDA makes my insides coil like a guarded snake.

  I'm not a liar—at least I never used to be—but here I am, preparing to sign a document that asks me to not disclose anything about the technology that Illicit Entertainment is rolling out, which goes against the very reason why I'm even here. But Simon's high-pitched voice floats back into my mind.

  I can almost hear him repeating those words in the limo that made my insides grow cold, "I can give Richard a file." Richard is not a name that I ever want to hear again. I've worked hard to move on. So, I place the blue ballpoint pen to the paper and scratch out my signature.

  "We have high hopes for you," Cheryl says with a smile. "Ethan says you've got a star quality about you."

  "I won't let you down." I force a smile.

  Who have I become? It's like I've walked into a new body. I don't even recognize myself. One minute I'm helping women victimized by infidelity and abuse, and I'm doing well—Man Chaser LLC is actually kicking ass if I'm honest, and yet the next minute, I'm whisked back into the porn industry to steal some plans, and I'm trying to protect myself from some wannabe billionaire who seems to be coked out of his mind.

  Now that the last of the paperwork is signed, I thank Cheryl again for walking me through it all, and I think of a pretext to go find Walter. "I need to make a call," I say, and I excuse myself from the room.

  I quickly walk down the hall, peering into offices in the hopes that I'll see Walter. After walking around for a few minutes, I finally see him rounding the corner and we nearly bump into each other.

  "Where have you been?"

  "Where have I been?" he asks. "You know I've been taking a look around this place, but you nearly blew our cover. I walked back into Cheryl's office to find you and she gave me a confused look. She said you had left a while ago," Walter complains.

  "Well, I'm here now. Let's finish scoping this place out," I say. You go left and I'll go right.

  We need to find out as much as we can about this place. He agrees and I continue down the hall, walking as quietly as I can against the hard floor, until I find a corner office that catches my attention.

  It has large windows that overlook the city. The lights are on but no one is inside. I notice that the walls and desk are adorned with what appears to be family photos. There's a large mahogany desk with a dark-brown leather chair. I walk over to one of the walls and peer closely at the photos.

  This must be Ethan Kane's office. One photo looks like it's from the early 80s—grainy with age. It shows a young blonde-haired boy flanked by what appears to be his mother and father. When I look closely, I realize that the little boy in the picture is Ethan.

  My eyes travel further across the wall and I see a picture of a man in a military dress uniform. It's an even older picture, and given the family resemblance, I figure this must be Ethan's father.

  In another photo, I see a woman. She's sitting in a wicker chair—she must be in a backyard because the backdrop is a sprawling lawn with the hint of a flower garden in the far distance. I lean in closer, squinting to make out the details. What kinds of flowers are those? I figure this must be his mother. There's certainly a resemblance. I wonder if she's sitting in her family's yard in this picture, or—

  "Looks like you're already making yourself at home," a voice says, breaking my thoughts.

  My heart nearly leaps through my throat as I hear a voice coming from directly behind me. I look up and whip my head around to see who it is, and I come face to face with him.

  It's Ethan Kane.

  Ethan

  She's up to something. You don't stay in someone's office uninvited, and look through their things unless you have a reason.

  Look at her. Standing there nose deep in my family pictures. What's she looking for, and what was she expecting? I'm sure she's guessed those are my parents. Women always want me to bring them home—to meet mom, and maybe shake hands with dad. Maybe that's what Brittney was hoping for too. What she doesn't fucking know is that they died years ago.

  I can't help but notice the angle of her body. She's bent over ever so slightly, her firm and fuckable heart-shaped ass taunting me in that dress. My eyes travel further down to her legs, toned and slender, they seem to go forever. I definitely have a thing for heels, and hers seem to be a solid five inches.

  For some fucking reason the fact that she's here doesn't even bother me. If I had caught any other person snooping around my office uninvited, I would've thrown them out—in fact, no one at this company would've been caught dead doing that.

  But Brittney is different.

  There's something about her that draws me in and keeps me there. I swear I'm like a paperclip flying into a magnet when I'm around this woman.

  What the fuck is wrong me? I'm Ethan fucking Kane, and I definitely don't keep women. I fuck 'em. Move on. Repeat. So what is it about this one that keeps me coming back?

  "Looks like you're already making yourself at home," I say, breaking her concentration. She's so into these pictures that she doesn't even realize that I'm standing directly behind her.

  I swear she jumps about six fucking inches in the air. I'm pretty sure I saw her heels lift up off the floor. She whips her head back to see me and she stumbles into my chest. A tinge of embarrassment flushes across her cheeks.

  By instinct, I reach out to steady her and my hands rest on her waist. Why is it that's the first thing I grab on a woman? There's a thrill of electricity that goes through me when I realize I'm touching her. I'm literally holding her in my hands. It takes me right back to her audition—her on my lap—my hands on her hips, her ass, her breasts.

  I'm so distracted by the fact that I have her hips in each of my hands that I forget what I even wanted to say. My mind's erased everything prior to this moment.

  "I—uh—I was hoping to find you," she says. "These are great photos."

  "Those are my parents. They're dead."

  "I'm so sorry," she says.

  "Don't be. It happened years ago."

  The way she's looking at me right now makes me want to press my lips to hers. I want to take her over my shoulder in animalistic lust. I'm already mentally undressing her. Can you blame me?

  It takes me a moment to remember that we're both standing here in my office. Her hand is on my chest, and she keeps it there. My heartbeat increases with anticipation.

  I should let go of her hips—I should walk away—maybe help her out of the building and into her car or something. I'm now her employer. This should be the one woman I don't go for—she's an Illicit Entertainment employee now. I have enough of those women around here. And yet …

  But I don't move. For some reason, I remain in that position. I can't seem to help myself. There's a moment of silence before I speak.

  "I see you like the parents, but what about this mug shot?" I ask with a smile, pointing to my face.

  "Not bad, I suppose," she says with a smirk. "Those lips of yours are looking especially delicious right now." As she says this, she brings one hand up to my face and brushes her fingers across my bottom lip, tracing its edges. My cock twitches at her advancement. I'm already growing hard under her slight touches.

  "You'd be surprised what these lips can do," I say.

  "You think so?"

  "I know so," I reply, my eyes locked on hers. Our gaze intensifies, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. The room feels at least ten degrees hotter.

  "Are you flirting with me?" she asks. It's a loaded question. I can tell by the smile on her face.

  "If I were flirting with you," I say, "I would reach into my desk over there, pull out the bottle of r
are top-shelf bourbon that I've hidden, buried underneath a stack of files—a bottle that I've been saving for a woman like you—and I would drizzle it down your chest."

  "What else would you do?" she asks, her eyes smoldering with desire. She's breathing heavier now. The air around us is thick with longing.

  "If I were actually flirting, I'd reach down and place my lips and tongue on your breasts, licking the bourbon off of your bare nipples before traveling down the rest of your body."

  Her lips part into a smile. "I like a man with a plan," she says, ginning. She's raking her nails through my hair and when they touch my scalp, an electric current runs down my spine. "That's a map I can follow."

  I lean in, bringing my lips an inch from her ear and whisper, "What I'd like to do to you right now is anything but professional. And given my position in the company, I'm not sure that's wise."

  She doesn't move; her one hand is still on my chest. There's an electric current binding us together, and it's palpable. It's like someone has flipped a switch and it's an unbreakable circuit. I almost detect a moan from her lips, but it's so soft that I can't be certain.

  I lean in again, my breath on her neck, and I move my mouth down to her exposed shoulders, dragging my lips across her bare skin. This time her moan is audible and loaded with an insatiable craving.

  As soon as my breath hits her neck, and my mouth touches her shoulder, her lips part. I want to grab her hair and bring her mouth to mine.

  Instead, I slide my right hand around to the small of her lower back. She doesn't resist my touch. I feel her moving in closer, and I take that as my cue to move my hand from her back, even lower. I move below her waist now, and cup her ass cheek in my firm palm.

  "Ethan Kane," she whispers. "I guess what they say about you is true."

  "And what's that?" I ask.