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Brad nods thoughtfully, his blue eyes sharp.
“Yeah, but maybe we’re lucky. Hell, all the guys at Club Z would love a chance with her, and we’re the ones she approached. I mean, we get lucky all the time, but then again, as good-looking assholes, it’s bound to happen.”
I nod because we’re wealthy, well-connected attorneys with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and the builds of gladiators. The motto around this place is “work hard, play hard,” which means that we rake in the dough through Rose Law, but also take care of ourselves. I hit the gym twice a day, and I know Brad and Casey sometimes even do more. One of those assholes is signed up to do an Ironman this year, and I don’t envy him. It’s going to be brutal, even if you come out sculpted like a Greek god from the training.
Yet Casey frowns, still unconvinced.
“Yeah, but why? Why would a unicorn land in our lap like that? And why the fuck do unicorns even exist? They’re myths and total fakery.”
I roll my eyes again.
“Bro, the term ‘unicorn’ is just a figure of speech. Let it go.”
But Casey’s on a roll now, his eyes flashing.
“I’m just saying that I find it fucking bizarre that a hot girl would appear out of nowhere and ask to be gangbanged. I mean, that doesn’t sound fucking bizarre to you? Who the hell does that?”
Brad nods thoughtfully, his big form massive on the sofa.
“Yeah, it’s odd,” he acknowledges. “But it’s not impossible. I mean, hell, women have needs too. Maybe she was watching porn and got into the idea of gangbangs. If you were going to find a gangbang, where would you go?”
Casey immediately speaks.
“The fucking Cannon Biker Club. That’s where you’d get your twat pumped by a dozen dudes.”
Oh shit. We’re back to that, huh? But I merely shake my head.
“We’re just in the early stages, brother. We just met Carrie. Let’s give her a chance, okay? It’s no skin off our noses, and what is there to lose? It’s not like we’re invested.”
Brad chimes in then, backing me.
“Yeah, we might as well roll the dice. Fuck, if she turns out to be a slut like Xenia, then what can I say? Lightning struck twice.”
Therein lies the conundrum. Who knew there were so many hungry pussies in Manhattan? In the world even? But I guess the feminist revolution has touched off a movement, and women aren’t afraid to articulate what they want anymore. If they want a fuckfest with an unknown number of men, then so be it. If they want to contort themselves into a clam-shape before sucking hungrily at their own clits, then it’s going to happen. Let me point out, as well, that these aren’t working girls. Xenia and Carrie aren’t getting paid to act like sluts, so these are just normal women with filthy, nasty desires.
I lean back, sinking into the sofa. What the fuck has the world come to? To be honest, I’m grateful for women’s lib and it’s fine that our better halves are able to share their deepest desires with their partners now. It’s just that … well, goddamn. Who knew it would cause problems for us?
Grunting, I look around. Well, at least we have this place to relax in. The penthouse is airy and huge, and it’s practically an altar to uber-modern décor. Some folks might call it “cold” or “uninviting,” but we like the sleek couches, thin-as-a-razor flatscreen TV, and contemporary finishes. It’s true that we don’t have any plants or shit like that, but fuck it. We’re three bachelors living together. No one’s going to the local florist to buy roses and lilies.
At that moment, my phone pings, and I reach down to check my messages. That’s when my eyes go wide because holy shit. I slipped my card to Carrie before we left, and it seems she picked it up and wants us bad.
“Fuck me,” I grunt. “Who would have guessed?”
My buddies stare at me.
“Why? What happened?” Casey demands.
I shrug.
“Well, speaking of the devil, Carrie just reached out to me, and she’s even nastier than we thought.”
Both of my buddies sit forwards, their expressions hungry.
“Show us,” Brad demands, his voice already raspy. “Goddamn, what did she do?”
Wordlessly, I hand him my phone and his pupils dilate as he looks at the screen.
“Fuuuuck,” he growls. “Sweet Jesus.”
