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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.
