Two Billionaires For Her: An MMF Romance

by Ellie Rowe

  That thought has been creeping into my mind a lot lately, but it’s getting harder to convince myself. The “job” that I’m referring to isn’t stripping, despite what Max Kleeberger wants to believe.

  Fuck him, I think. He can believe what he wants. As long as he still believes that I’m actually here to strip, I could give two shits what he thinks of me. I know what I’m really here for.

  Still, I never thought that being the youngest FBI agent in the field would bring me to the fucking Wiggly Jiggly. Undercover was undercover, but still, this was embarrassing. I was glad that none of my friends from the academy could see me now, dressed up like every other blonde bimbo that was hoping to make a quick buck by selling themselves.

  But something shady is going on here . That much I’m sure of. The drug kingpin I’ve been tracking is connected to this place somehow, even if I’m not one hundred percent sure how.

  My guess?

  Money laundering. And if that’s the case, Kleeberger is surely involved, which is why I need to keep my guard up. In order to get to the bottom of this, I need to be as friendly as I can to Max.

  “Becky, darling, how are we tonight?”

  Speak of the devil. Leave it to Max to barge in without knocking.

  I turn to face him, with my now lipstick slathered lips puckered. He looks the same as he always does, small and mousy, with features that closely resemble a rat. He wears a tacky looking black suit, one that seems to scream “I came from the bargain bin, but I have just enough class to make anyone that wears me look high profile for a minute”.

  Max sees me gazing him up and down and winks. I want to throw up in my mouth; does this guy actually think he has game? Money, no matter how much he has, can’t buy Max Kleeberger an ounce of good looks, but I don’t want to say so. It’s like I said:

  Undercover is undercover, whether I like it or not.

  “Maxie,” I say, trying my best to sound enthusiastic and playful. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I walk slowly and seductively towards him, tracing my nails playful on his shoulder. I can smell his cologne, and have to try my best not to gag.

  “Well, Ms. Brash, I came for you tonight because I have a...” he pauses for a minute and looks directly into my eyes. “…special assignment, I suppose you could say.”

  Without missing a beat, I get down close to Max’s ear and whisper:

  “What can I do for you, Boss man?”

  I love fucking with Max like this. He’s practically drooling, and I silently remark that his mouth probably wouldn’t be hanging open if he knew why I was actually here.

  “There are two very important men out there, Ms. Brash. Men that hold the future of this club in the palms of their hands. They’ve both given me very generous offers for the club and the land it’s built on, and as it stands, I’d be perfectly happy to work with either of them. Provided I get my seat on the board of directors, that is.”

  What the fuck is going on here? I think, as I continue to trace my nails along the shoulder of Max’s suit. I knew there was more going on here than meets the eye, and I guess I’m not wrong.

  Instead of voicing my concerns, I do my best to play along.

  “And what do I have to do with any of this, Maxie? You know business isn’t my strong suit. That’s your job.”

  Max brushes my hand off his shoulder and walks to the door of my dressing room. Pulling it open, he gestures outside.

  “I need you to fucking dance for them, Becky. And no halfway shit, really lay it on thick. Get them to fight over you, and when they do-because believe me, they will-offer them a little more of the ‘good stuff’ for whoever signs the deal. Can you do that?”

  Walking towards the door, I smile at Max and blow him a kiss before I head to the stage.

  “Of course, Maxie. You can count on me.”

  Without waiting for his reply, I climb the stairs to the stage and gaze out at the crowd. It’s the typical bunch, tired looking bastards who are undoubtedly looking to get lucky. The music blares mechanically, and I close my eyes and start dancing.

  Shake your ass, shake your tits, then shake your ass again. Nothing special, just get what you need.

  I become vaguely aware of the cheering, but it’s hard to hear over the music. Remembering what I’m here for, I open my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men Max told me about.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Despite always trying to not get too involved in the stripping, I immediately feel myself getting wet.

  These men, both of these men, look like Greek gods. They have perfectly chiseled upper bodies, and their jawlines are heavenly. Keeping my eyes on the blonde haired one, I shimmy my way off the stage until I’m standing directly in front of him. He looks even better up close, and I widen my legs so that I can straddle him. I’m close enough now that I can smell him, and I make a mental note that he smells much better than Max.

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” He smiles up at me and places his hands lightly on my hips as I grind, and I feel myself getting wetter.

  C’mon, Becky. Remember what Max said.

  Before I can ask him anything about the deal with Max, the other man waves in my direction, apparently jealous that I chose the blonde man first. Without missing a beat, I lean in close to the blonde man’s ear:

  “There’s more where that came from, if you take the deal with Max.”

  I don’t wait for a reply, because I can tell he’s confused. Instead, I make my way over to the second man and repeat the same thing for him; straddle and grind. The music is loud, but if I strain I can almost hear his heartbeat. He’s excited, and as much as I usually try to not get too involved, so am I. I can feel myself getting wetter, and when the second man puts his hands on my hips, my heart skips a beat.

  “I just told your friend…” I pause a little bit between each word, teasing him. “If you take the deal with Max, there will be more, if you know what I mean.”

  I expect to see his eyes widen with surprise, but they don’t. He only smiles at me and winks, and then replies with what I can only guess is a swagger that has been perfectly honed from talking to other women in situations like these:

  “Be that as it may, I don’t want to think about later. Just stay here for a little while, and don’t let Peter get close to you again. You’re mine.”

  Four

  Darian

  I’ve never believed in the existence of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. I never believed in the Tooth Fairy either. Then again, I never believed that the perfect woman existed.

  Until now.

  Crimson lips that were made for kissing, legs that go on forever, and hair that’s even silkier than silk. And her eyes...fuck me. Just one look at her and my cock’s standing at attention, ready to muscle its way out of my pants. Granted, all strippers are supposed to be as hot as a furnace, but this one is something else entirely.

  Someone tugs on my jacket and I can’t help but frown. Someone’s trying to distract me, but I’m not having it—this might be the best moment of my entire fucking life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it be ruined.

  “Darian,” I hear a woman’s voice say, and I finally sneak a glance at whoever’s annoying me. It’s Chloe or Kloe, or however the fuck you’re supposed to spell it. “Let’s get out of here. You said we were going to have fun.”

  “We’re having fun, babe,” I mutter, dismissing her with a wave. As if I’m going to leave this seat after getting the best lap-dance ever.

  “You said we were going to Graybar,” the blonde one insists, and now I’m starting to get really annoyed. Can’t these chicks see that I’m having a transcendental experience right here? I mean, shit, this stripper is hot enough to make Buddha reach enlightenment all over again.

  When I ignore them, they decide to throw a fit.

  “You think a stripper is more interesting than us?”

  “She’s a stripper, Darian!”

  Alright, now I’m pissed.


  Without even looking at my two lovely companions, I reach for my wallet and pluck a fat stack of bills from inside it. Holding them between two fingers, I shove Mr. Benjamin Franklin and all his clones down the blonde’s cleavage. I don’t even have to look. My hands have an auto-pilot system when it comes to tits.

  “Scram,” I tell them with another wave of my hand. “There’s enough there for a few rounds at Graybar. Or for a mortgage down payment. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with that money.”

  They mutter something but I don’t even listen. Hell, these two might have been screaming and clawing at my back, and I wouldn’t notice it. Right now, my undivided attention is reserved for the fucking goddess that has descended from the skies and crash-landed on this joint.

  “How have I never heard about you before?” I ask her, my jaw slackening as I watch her dance right in front of me. She runs her hands down the side of her body, her hips moving to the beat, and then her fingers brush over her nipples. My fingers twitch as I imagine how’d it feel to hold her breasts in my hands, to feel the warmth of her naked skin, and—

  “You haven’t heard of me before?” She laughs, and her lips curl into a seductive smile. Before I know it, I’m imagining these full lips wrapped around my cock. “I gotta say...I’m disappointed.”

  Remember when I said this woman was a goddess? I might’ve been mistaken, because it’s highly probable she’s a fucking demon. Here I am, trying to dial up the charm, and she swings her hips and crash lands on Peter’s lap.

  Any other woman and I would’ve just gotten up to my feet and dragged my sorry ass out of this joint.

  Instead of doing that, I remain in my seat, watching as this she-demon throws her arms over Peter and grinds against him. Of course, Peter isn’t content with just that—no, the greedy bastard actually reaches for her breasts and runs his thumb over her hard nipples.

  “You’re something else,” Peter whispers, his glazed eyes torn between the woman’s face and her tits. I might hate the bastard, but I understand his dilemma. Don’t get me wrong—breasts are God’s gifts to men, but this chick is beautiful. Put her in a nun’s garb, and my cock will still stand at attention for her.

  “You’re not so shabby either,” she purrs, pushing her hips against Peter. He lets out a small groan and his eyes roll in their orbits. It’s a pathetic display...but understandable.

  She keeps on grinding against him for what seems like a fucking eternity—it might only have been a few seconds—but I still can’t tear my eyes away from her. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s weird to be this hard when Peter’s in my line-of-sight, but what the hell. This woman is worth it.

  “Don’t worry,” she purrs, looking at me over one bare shoulder. Her eyes are cat-like, dangerous and brimming with amusement. “I haven’t forgotten about you.” Moving fast, she lays one hand on my knee, and her fingers drift toward my inner thigh. Without a moment’s hesitation, she flattens her palm against my cock, and now I’m the one struggling to hold it together.

  Like the seductive demon that she is, she slides out from Peter’s lap and lands on the couch between us. Now her hands are on both our cocks, and she’s massaging them with the expertise of someone with a PhD on dick-handling.

  “What about giving me your two hands?” I say, already reaching for my wallet. That’s when I remember I’ve handed Mr. Franklin to my disgruntled dates.

  Shit.

  “You can’t even afford one hand,” this she-devil laughs, but her hand remains on my cock all the same. “Don’t worry, I’m doing this pro-bono.”

  “You don’t need to do pro-bono when you have me,” Peter tells her, a gigantic wad of cash in his hands. “Ditch that loser.” With a massive grin, he starts tucking folded 100 dollar bills on her thong. Just the sight of his knuckles brushing against her thigh is enough to drive me up the wall.

  Yeah, so much for his paragon-of-virtue act.

  “This is a smart woman you’re talking to, Peter,” I tell him, already reaching for my credit card. Cash is king, sure, but when it comes to New York...plastic is the fucking emperor. “And smart women don’t care about warehouses moguls, or whatever the fuck you like calling yourself. They care about the good life...and when it comes to the good life, there no one better than Darian Strong.”

  “Is this a bidding war?” The woman tips her head back as she laughs, and locks of silky hair spill down her tan shoulders. I move to kiss her neck, but she pushes her index finger against my forehead, keeping me in place. “I’m sure your conquests love bidding wars, but I’m not one of your conquests. You can’t claim me that easily.”

  “Then how?” Peter and I say it at the same time, which annoys me to no fucking end. We’re already sharing this woman’s time right now, even if against my will—do I really have to share the same words with this prick?

  “I like winners.” She purrs those words into my ear and gives my cock a hard squeeze. When she whispers the same words into Peter’s ear, I have to make a conscious effort not to shout that there’s only one winner here. But I’ve watched Game of Thrones, baby, and I know that a man who has to say he’s the king...well, he isn’t a true king at all.

  “Oh, look at that.” She gives us both a coy smile and springs up to her feet. “The song’s over.” She turns her back to us, offering us a mouth-watering view of her ass, and starts walking away. She does it in such a regal fucking manner that I can’t help but feel like a peasant.

  Almost as an afterthought, she stops and looks back.

  “This was fun, boys.” She gives us a little wink. “But it was just a taste. Whoever signs with Max here...gimme a call.”

  And, just like that, she’s gone.

  What the fuck just happened here?

  Five

  Peter

  I slept like shit.

  After a night like the one I just had, you’d think I’d sleep like a baby, my head filled with sweet thoughts of that damn stripper. Yeah, no such luck. I spent the night tossing and turning, kicking at the bedsheets as if they were trying to strangle me. Sure, the sweet thoughts were there, but they had the sharpness of a knife.

  “What’s your fucking problem, Peter?” I ask myself, my voice echoing through the vastness of my bedroom. I swing my legs off the bed, pull the curtains open, and pad onto the balcony. Down below, the streets and avenues of New York stretch as far as the eye can see, like some frenetic web of roads. That’s one of the best things about owning a penthouse—the view.

  I take a deep breath, praying the fresh air will help me relax, but it doesn’t work. No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about that woman. The way she appeared out of nowhere and sauntered toward us, purring like a kitten and moving like a panther...just thinking of it is enough to make me hard.

  I rake one hand over my face.

  When was the last time I felt like this? I can’t even remember. Work has always been my mistress, and I never paid much attention to dating. You don’t get to be a billionaire if you’re spending half your time between someone’s legs. Unless you’re Darian Strong, that is, but I rather not talk about that asshole.

  Not wanting to feel like a miserable asshole all morning, I put on a suit and head to work. Again, you’d think that the sight of my headquarters, and the polite ‘good morning’ of a dozen of my loyal employees would be enough to lift my spirits...but no. That stripper remains lodged in my mind like a fucking splinter, and everytime I try to remove her she just digs in deeper.

  I spend the better part of an hour trying to focus on the projection costs for a warehouse I’m planning on Jersey, but it’s useless. Before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed my phone and summoned my army of lawyers. Like suited-up vampires, they’re in my office five minutes later, desperate to hear who I want them to bleed dry.

  “As you’re aware, I’m trying to purchase Wiggle Jiggle from Max Kleeberger.” I lean back on my seat, not truly believing what I’m about to say. “The bastard is demanding
a seat at the board if he’s to sell, and I want to know if—”

  “A seat at the board?” Johnson squeaks. He’s a tall bastard, but he’s so thin that I’m actually surprised a breeze hasn’t carried him away from New York. He’s the most cautious of the bunch, so I can’t say his fearful squeaks are a surprise “No, that’s a terrible idea. Anyone with access to the board of directors will also have unprecedented access to the entire company. We don’t want to grant powers like that to a strip-club owner, especially one with Mr. Kleeberger’s reputation.”

  I keep my mouth shut, but when the rest of my lawyers start nodding their agreement...well, that’s when I know I’m truly losing the plot. Am I really considering giving Max Kleeberger a seat at the table just because a woman told me to? I’ve never made a decision with my dick before. As well-endowed as I might be, I pride myself in having an even more powerful brain.

  Up until now, that is. My brain has waved a white flag, and my cock has proudly assumed the throne.

  “Alright, back to work.” I wave my lawyers away and, once I’m alone, I pace my corner office like a caged beast. It’s actually surprising that I’m able to pace, given that I have a fucking boner right now. Yeah, as unprofessional as it might be, I’m lusting for that woman right now, and I’m lusting so fucking bad I can’t even think straight.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, but that just makes it worse. The moment I’m staring at the back of my eyelids, I’m back at Wiggle Jiggle, and those long and delicate fingers are pressing down on my cock. And then there are her legs, smooth as cotton candy, and that sweet scent of sin. Let’s not even get started on her breasts, or on her ass, or on...fuck, why does everything about that woman has to be so damn perfect?

  Another deep breath and I’m back on my desk.

  “Annie, get me the Chief of Police.” I slam the phone back on its cradle and wait as my secretary makes the connection. Once there’s a flashing red light, I pick the phone back up. “I need a favor.”