Double Dare: A Fake Fiancee MMF Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  And with that, I’d accepted the answer. There was always be the brand of possession on me because I belong to two alpha males who love one another, as well as me.

  And turning back to my lovers, I made sure they knew it. Getting up, I turned to face Mason, lowering myself onto Derek’s mouth as Mason rode his dick. Grinding my hips down, feeling that skilled tongue on my insides, made me cream even more, hot juices running wetly.

  “Fuck baby,” grunted Mason, his ass so breached by the big pole. “Fuck baby, that’s hot.”

  I murmured sweetly, leaning forward to kiss him.

  “Good,” I cooed. “Because give it up for me. Give it up for me now.”

  And as if on cue, both men came hard. Below me, Derek’s mouth clamped on my clit as his big body shook and trembled, releasing blast after blast of hot white up Mason’s ass. And Mason was just as out of control. The dark man gripped his pole as it spurted like a fire hose, coating my torso in sticky, steamy semen, each virile rope coating me with cum as he roared with ecstasy.

  But it’s what I want. It’s what I crave, a life with these two men. Because Mason, Derek and I started illicitly for sure. Not even two months ago, I was an eighteen year-old virgin working in a coffee shop, packaging donuts and hot drinks for whoever came by.

  But like out of a fairy tale, a dark, handsome stranger stopped by my store, and a relationship of sorts started. It didn’t blossom, not the way you see in meet-cute movies. Quite the opposite, it was a dark fantasy come true, with another male lover in the picture, a handsome blond giant who craved cum and pussy juice, lapping it up like the sweetest nectar.

  But despite everything, things have worked out. We’re together now, sampling one another, and soon enough I’ll be walking down the aisle in white, their ring on my finger. Will it be perfect? No. Will our relationship be flawless and impeccably balanced? No. But nothing is ever perfect, and the difference is that we’re willing to try. We’re willing to go where no one’s gone before, and it’s more than a fake engagement this time. It’s more than the need for a baby, more than the money that’s been released by the trust. It’s about us as people, as devoted lovers, and our commitment is stronger than anything in the world.

  So yes, I’m going to become a missus. Against all odds, curvy, shy Katie Jones is going to be a wife to two men, handsome alphas both. I’m continuing my studies, and Mason and Derek have already bought me a small studio downtown so that I can pursue my art. But even more, my lovers want me to be happy. They want me to be satisfied for sure, content and curvy, filled with their cum non-stop, giggling and sated. And what girl would say no? Because there are happy endings out there, and I’ve found mine for sure.

  THE END

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  Continue on to read The Wicked Virgin: An Office Romance.

  The Wicked Virgin

  An Office Romance

  (Erotic Romance)

  © 2016

  By Cassandra Dee

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  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Tammy’s got a drawer full of s*x toys at work. Guess what happens when her billionaire boss finds out?

  Nick Martin was the ultimate alpha male. He was a billionaire CEO, handsome as sin and dirty as all get out while I was just a lowly typist in the company pool. But when Mr. Martin found my secret drawer …

  I was screwed …

  In more ways than one …

  Twisted around and bent over …

  And all I could say is, “Mr. Boss Man, do I get a RAISE now?”

  Note: This is an office romance between a lowly intern and an alpha billionaire. Realistic? Heck, no! But give in to your wildest fantasies and come on board for the ride!

  DEDICATION

  For all the wicked ladies out there …

  Turn those fantasies into a reality!

  PROLOGUE

  Nick

  I strode through the basement of the luxury office building, my long legs eating up the hall. It was deserted, the hum of machines vibrating, the clank of an elevator switching into gear. But a low moan reached my ears before sliding into a high-pitched whine, punctuated by a breathy, muted gasp. What the fuck?

  My steps slowed until I was standing in front of the women’s restroom. Another gasp rang out, followed by a shriek and then a full-on scream of ecstasy, the walls of the restroom turning the place into an echo chamber. By now my dick was ramrod straight and I pushed the door open, sure I was going to catch some couple in flagrante, fucking each other up against the wall.

  But instead there was only one woman in the restroom. Or a girl, more accurately, with her skirt hitched up, panties discarded, one heel high up on the counter so that her bare snatch glistened under the restroom lights. God, I’d never seen such a beautiful cunt before. It was pink, puffy, running wetly, cream trailing down her thighs all the way to her ankle, a wet spot pooling on the tile.

  And the girl was playing with herself.

  One hand held her snatch open so that her clit was on view, the hard nub pulsing, throbbing with pleasure as she traced a delicate finger in circles around the bud. Her snatch jerked again and more cream worked itself out, spilling wetly from her hole.

  But the brunette just kept teasing, moaning deep in her throat, throwing her head back with no idea that she had a witness. Her big boobs heaved and swayed as she continued to finger, this time hitching the skirt up even higher so that her ass was bared.

  And I watched, dick on fire, as her other hand circled in back to her butt, tickling her cheeks, wandering into that deep crack, a musty crevice that I could smell even from my position by the door. I took a deep breath, there’s nothing like the scent of mixed pussy cream and back hole, I fucking love it and my dick was about to explode from the excitement.

  And the brunette didn’t let me down. As her finger in front played with her hole, a finger in back touched her little pucker, her anus contracting sharply with shock.

  “Ohhhh,” she moaned, her head lolling on her shoulders, lips parted. “Ohhhh.”

  But the girl kept going, dipping her fingers into her rear end and twat, sampling both places at once, letting her wet flesh grip the soft penetration, lightly brushing, teasing herself.

  But this was no innocent. Like a whore, she threw her head back and screamed lustily, her pussy and ass twitching and jerking as orgasm surged, boobs swaying this way and that, nipples hard, cunt ejecting pussy cream as she came over and over again.

  I watched, mesmerized, as she fucked herself, that pussy spasming, her finger caught in a volcano as her ass clenched as if possessed, another digit trapped in molten fire.

  And when it was over, my dirty little girl let out a long wail, her moans loud enough to shake my eardrums, resonating in the public restroom.

  But public be damned. I own this building and I’d just seen something I wanted on premises.

  So I made my move then, the door snicking shut behind me.

  “I’m Nick Martin, CEO of Luxor,” I growled, pulling out my stiff shaft, the head dripping wetly onto the cold tile. “You must work for me. You are …?”

  The girl gasped then, cheeks flushing as she spun to face me, curls flying, cunt still slickly wet. But it was too late because as my employee the brunette was about to get a new responsibility added to her job description. And I was going to teach her every step of the way …

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tammy

  Have you ever been wicked?

  Just a teensie weensie little bit wicked?

  And did it feel good?

  This is the story of how I went from innocent intern to … well, something a lot less innocent.

  The day
began as usual. My alarm went off at 5 a.m. and I rolled out of bed, groaning. But I couldn’t afford not to get up. Literally, I couldn’t afford it because it’s my job at Luxor Corporation that pays my rent, my tuition, my clothes, food, books, everything.

  So I struggled out of the sheets and reached for clothes I’d set out the night before. Hopping up and down a bit, I yanked the pencil skirt over my hips, grunting slightly, aghast at the tight fit. When had it gotten so small? Had the dry cleaners ruined my favorite little black number? Damn it, tears filled my eyes because I had no money and the skirt would be expensive to replace.

  But in the back of my mind, I knew the truth. It wasn’t the dry cleaners, it’s me. I’m a curvy girl, the kind with generous boobs, wide hips, and a round, juicy ass. I’ve always been bigger, so to say, and it’s always a challenge to find clothes, especially work clothes that fit my Jessica Rabbit proportions.

  So sighing, I shook my head, there wasn’t much I could do about it right now. Making sure I looked presentable with one last desperate tug at my skirt, a little shimmy of my hips, I grabbed my bag and raced out the door. The 301 bus comes only once an hour, so if I wanted to make my ride it’d be a hustle. It’s a solid hour commute each way and I planned on doing a little reading on the ride, maybe try to study up on organic chemistry.

  Because in addition to my full time job, I’m also a student at Hudson University. It’s a tough load to juggle but I don’t really have a choice. In fact, I’m only in college thanks to a wonderful guidance counselor, Ms. Lincoln, who encouraged me to apply, told me I had the grades and grit to make it. So with a trembling hand, I’d filled out the zillion forms, not expecting much, and was genuinely surprised when a fat envelope arrived in the mail.

  Tearing open the FedEx package, I’d gasped and colored, suffused with happiness. They liked me! I was in! A letter from the Dean himself stating, “Hudson University is happy to offer you admission …”

  But that’s when the fairy tale ended. Because right behind the admission letter was my financial aid offer, and my eyes immediately started welling up when I saw the number. Had they missed a zero? Or maybe there was a typo, this couldn’t be right. But there’d been no mistake, it was my name and social security number at the top. Hudson was “pleased” to offer me five thousand dollars of grant money per year, renewable for four years.

  But that was the problem. Five thousand was a pittance, a mere drop in the bucket. Tuition is FIFTY-five thousand per year. So by the end of year four, I’d be two hundred thousand dollars in the hole if and when I graduated.

  But Ms. Lincoln hadn’t been wrong when she said I was full of grit and determination. I put a resume up on Monster and started applying furiously, throwing myself at any and every job although at seventeen, I didn’t have much experience except for a past stint flipping burgers and some random babysitting gigs.

  But the stars aligned in my favor and I was called in for an interview with Luxor Corporation, a real estate conglomerate in Midtown. It’s owner and CEO is Nick Martin, billionaire playboy and handsome as fuck man about town, in the news as often for his latest female conquest as his most recent business acquisition. But that had nothing to do with me. I’d applied for a low-level role, just one step up from intern, I’d never see the top dog himself.

  And when I got the position, it never occurred to me that I’d have occasion to meet Mr. Martin. In fact, in the three months I’ve been here, I still don’t know where he sits, what he does, or even caught a glimpse of the man. I’d love to, sure, just to see if Nick Martin’s as hot as he looks in the papers, but unfortunately billionaire CEOs don’t come by the basement very often, Mr. Martin’s probably in a glass penthouse in the sky, about as far from me as you can get.

  Because yeah, I sit underground now, in the sub-basement really. I used to have a desk on the third floor with a bunch of other marketing folks but when my boss got into a motorcycle accident, stuck in the hospital indefinitely, HR moved me down here.

  It’s a terrible location. I’m right next to the boiler, so it’s really hot and I often have to undo the top two buttons on my blouse just to cool down a bit. Plus, there’s no one else around. I’m literally alone down here, in a tiny little office with no windows, the hallway outside silent, floors polished, only the occasional whine of building machinery coming on with a heavy metallic creak.

  And so I’ve been coming to work each day, letting myself in, wandering the halls by myself. At first, I tried my best to hold down the fort without my boss, to be his representative, but it didn’t really work. When clients realized that an eighteen year-old girl was now the only person in Interactive Marketing, they slowly disappeared, finding other outlets, other resources to handle their needs. So now I sit at my desk and read the Employee Handbook, peruse random marketing texts trying to teach myself the ins and outs of this job. But it’s impossible to fill eight hours a day and most of the time I’m on my own.

  And I’ve become really wicked.

  There’s a women’s restroom down the hall from me, and I’ve been using it for fun times. It’s my guilty little secret. I’ve got a locked drawer of sex toys in my desk and I take them with me to the women’s restroom for a small pick me up a couple times a day now. It’s so delicious, tremors running up and down my spine, my little cunt flexing and creaming, and the hours go by so much faster now. Did I say I was a good girl? Well I’m not … I’m bad.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tammy

  The bus ride to work this morning had been tough. Instead of getting to study, I’d been subjected to a number of different trials and tribulations. First, there’d been the bus itself. I don’t know what happened but the Midtown Express today was especially creaky, its shocks worn-down and aged, and it seemed like every pothole was a giant indentation in the road, jouncing us up and down, making all the passengers bobble. It was so bad that I was even a little car sick in my seat in the back, my stomach queasy, slushing around, a headache coming on.

  So I got up and moved all my stuff to the front of the bus. Sometimes it’s better to ride closer to the engine, there’s less swaying and swift jerky turns that way. Except the only seat I could get was next to a middle-aged man, a guy who looked okay at first but immediately started chatting me up when I sat down.

  “Hey, what’re you reading?” he asked.

  I looked up politely. That was a common enough question, nothing odd.

  “Organic chemistry,” I replied. “It’s tough but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “Oh really?” he asked. “What are you studying for? I’m a pharmaceutical sales rep, I know some of this stuff,” he said with a wink.

  I was immediately on alert. Even though I’m just starting out in the medical realm, I’d heard so much about Big Pharma and their unscrupulous ways that my defensive shields shot up.

  “I’d like to be a nurse,” I said slowly. “I’m a student at Hudson University downtown, I’m hoping to get my B.S. in Nursing in a couple years.”

  “Oh great!” he replied, “My sister got her B.A. from Hudson too. Nursing you said? I think Kristen was Creative Writing, but she really enjoyed her time at Hudson.”

  “Oh me too,” I said, smiling a little now. “I love the school, I just wish I got to participate more.”

  “What do you mean?” the middle-aged man asked, taking in my work outfit, the skirt and blouse neatly tucked in. “Aren’t you going to classes? Or is this get up for a part-time job?”

  I looked down at my corporate gear, so different from the casual jeans a student might wear.

  “Yeah, I have a full-time job in addition to my classes,” I admitted ruefully. “I work during the day and take mostly evening classes so I feel like I’m not really a part of the Hudson community. Most events happen during the day, the club meetings, the rallies, all the good stuff, but by the time I get home at night, I’m so tired that it’s impossible to drag myself out again. Not that I have any time anyways,” I said a little wistfu
lly. “Between work and classes, I’m completely booked.”

  The man looked at me skeptically again.

  “Really, no time whatsoever? That’s a hard path for a little lady like you.”

  And I colored slightly.

  “It’s not that bad,” I replied firmly, straightening my shoulders, holding my chin up. “I’m lucky to have the chance to go to college, I just didn’t want to take out a ton of loans so I decided to work full-time while taking classes.”

  And the man nodded thoughtfully.

  “I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “I’ve got thousands of dollars in student debt, I’m still paying for it even though I’m forty,” he said with a wry grin. “Can you believe it? There’s something seriously wrong with the American education system.”

  “I totally agree,” I said, shooting him my first real smile. “I just don’t want to have a mountain of debt after I graduate because entry-level nurses don’t make much, and I can’t afford to be paying student loans on top of rent and bills,” I said. “It would be overwhelming, I’d probably forget something and disaster would strike.”

  “Well, maybe I could help you,” he said slowly. “You’re on this bus every morning right?”

  I nodded. You often recognize your fellow travelers even though people never talk. It’s part of having a long commute each day, the faces become familiar even if you don’t know their names.

  “I’ve seen you,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I like the way you carry yourself, you’re a beautiful girl with a good set of smarts. Maybe we could work out a deal.”