The Proposal

by Kitty Thomas

  I glance over to find that Dayne has put on a pair of lounge pants and is back to sitting in that blue chair, watching with the same intensity he watched me the first time. Soren takes the bottle from me and helps me to my feet.

  “Hold her for me,” Soren says.

  Griffin stands behind me and holds me in his arms facing Soren. He cups and squeezes my breasts and nips and kisses my neck while Soren slowly undresses, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Did you warm her up for me?” Soren asks, the question aimed at Dayne.

  “See for yourself,” Dayne says.

  I glance over to find Dayne's eyes trained on mine. He's poured a glass of scotch from a side cart a few feet away. He sips it as he watches the rest of this show. There's a minor power play going on between Soren and Dayne. Soren may not be jealous exactly, but he doesn't like not being the first to fuck me. He doesn't like a single moment passing without him in control of it.

  “Spread her open,” Soren says, this time directed to Griffin.

  Griffin's hands are suddenly between my legs, spreading me lewdly open, angling my hips up so that Soren can get a full unobstructed view of my recently waxed pussy. I feel my entire body flush at the heat in his gaze.

  “She's so fucking wet,” Griffin says.

  “You're welcome,” Dayne says.

  Soren only chuckles. And then his terrifyingly large dick is inside me. It's an even more intense fullness along with that pleasure-pain again as I adjust to his size, so grateful that Dayne warmed me up for him.

  I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of being pressed between Griffin and Soren's hard bodies while Griffin holds me and offers me up like a sacrifice to Soren's primal hungers, all while Dayne sips his drink and watches. After a few minutes, Dayne pulls his dick out and begins to stroke it, already ready to go again.

  “Come, now,” Soren orders.

  My pleasure shouldn't be voice-activated, but with Soren it is. I'm too used to his orders to come, his voice low and growling in my ear over the phone, that my response is immediate and well-trained. I come again as he releases inside me, fucking me even harder until he's emptied himself completely. His mouth claims mine again in another of those searing possessive kisses as he pulls out of me. Part of his release slides down my thigh.

  Before I can catch my breath, Griffin pushes me onto the bed. “On your hands and knees,” he orders. Just like Dayne, he wants to take me from behind.

  “Wait,” Dayne says.

  Griffin stops. Dayne rises from the chair in that slow graceful way he does and hands his scotch to Soren. Then he joins us on the bed, sitting in such a way so that my head rests in his lap. I glance over to find Soren taking Dayne's chair, and finishing his drink while he watches the rest of what genuinely somehow feels like my deflowering.

  Griffin strokes my back while Dayne pets my hair, and all at once I feel very safe and cared for. But a moment later, Griffin is inside me, and once again I'm not prepared for the harsh intensity, and the way that initial thrust steals my breath away.

  While Griffin is fucking me, Dayne strokes my cheek. I whimper in response.

  “Let me inside your mouth,” he says.

  The way Dayne gives commands is primal ferocity cloaked in gentle civilized language. I take him into my mouth, trying to focus on sucking him and at the same time relaxing my body so that Griffin can take his turn inside me. I'm so hot right now at the idea of both of them taking from me like this.

  The two of them are still soothing me and stroking me as their dicks thrust without apology, seeking release. And all the while Soren sips on Dayne's abandoned drink and watches them take their pleasure. By this point I'm floating on waves of sensation. I am their vessel to fill, to pour into. I am their plaything, their toy to use.

  I don't think I can come again, but then Griffin shifts the angle of his hips and hits my g-spot. I whimper and moan around Dayne's cock as I come for Griffin, giving him my pleasure just as I gave it to the other two men. Dayne no longer requires my effort, he's holding my head in place, fucking my mouth. I allow him to use me in this filthy carnal way. Both he and Griffin come inside me at the same time.

  “Be good and swallow for me,” Dayne says, gently stroking my throat.

  I obey him and then glance over to find Soren's gaze is full of fire, the grip on his glass so tight I'm afraid it will break. His dick is hard and ready to fuck me again.

  21

  Livia

  Afterglow

  The Present.

  The hotel has a honeymoon suite, but we didn't take it. The bed in the presidential was larger. We still got all the romantic honeymoon perks, except for a heart-shaped jacuzzi. Ours is regular shaped.

  I lie in bed between Griffin and Dayne who both absently stroke my bare breasts. The touch somehow isn't sexual right now. I'm not even sure they realize they're doing it.

  But I don't say anything. I'm so wrung out all I can do is lie here trying to put together the shards of who I was before tonight. There is an absolute and complete rift in me. There is Livia before and Livia after consummation. And these two Livia's exist worlds apart.

  There was an agitated tension with the men that has finally faded away which I'm not sure I was fully aware of until the moment it was gone. But now that I think about it, I realize the tension started the day of the pre-nup because in a very real way I was married to both Dayne and Griffin on that day, but still not yet married to Soren.

  People often don't think of marriage as a contract, but it is. They usually try to blend the legal event—which happens behind the scenes as if by magic—with the social/spiritual event that happens in front of friends and family in whatever sacred space they've chosen for the ceremony.

  The typical marriage is a boilerplate contract with the state. A pre-nup is a way to legally alter the non-negotiable rules you'd otherwise be forced to follow in the event of breech of contract... better known as divorce. Marriage is the only contract that extends for a lifetime but which you can't actually negotiate the terms of.

  I'm not sure why Soren decided not to just make his own private contract with me and leave official legal marriage out of it. We still could have had a wedding. Nobody would have known the reality behind the scenes, but Soren is too traditional—from his engraved stationery to the way he legally bound himself to me—that's why he's the legal husband, not because he's the scariest or has the biggest estate—even though both things are true—but because he's the most traditional even if he tries to hide it.

  I watch Soren as he speaks low over the phone from across the room.

  “Food will be here in about thirty minutes,” he says when he disconnects the call.

  “Huh? It's after midnight,” I say.

  “The room service here is 24 hours. I'm not finished with you yet, but you need to eat.”

  He's right. Now that I think about it, I'm starving. So much was happening, and I was so scared that I didn't eat very much at the reception. It makes me sad because I pored over about thirty different menu options, and chose food that would have been really delicious if I'd had the appetite for it. As it was, I'd just managed a few bites.

  “I wish we had leftover wedding cake,” I say to no one in particular. I literally got the one bite Soren fed me, and that one bite was incredible. It might be the best cake that was ever created, and I got a single bite of it.

  “We do have leftover wedding cake,” Soren says. “I can call down and have some brought up with the food if you'd like.”

  “Thank you.” I feel so shy right now after what we all did together.

  He nods and crosses back to the phone and makes another brief call, then he sits in front of the television in the adjoining room. Everything feels so strange. After what the three of us did together one would think I'd be more comfortable with them, but I'm less. I know they aren't going to just disappear on me now that we've slept together—there are legal documents after all—but I feel more unbalanced than I did when this day began
because the reality of being permanently in the bed of three men is finally truly settling into my brain.

  I'm on edge because I know so much more is coming on the honeymoon. I would berate myself for agreeing to this except that there's no blame to be assigned to me. Soren took the illusion of free will away, and in this moment I'm grateful for that small kindness.

  Griffin and Dayne have moved from stroking my breasts to alternating between kissing them and the side of my neck. I arch first into the touch and mouth of one of them, then the other.

  Dayne's hand slides between my legs, and I am suddenly awake and hungry again for something more than food.

  I wonder if they'll keep me up all night feeding their insatiable lusts, and I'm grateful we don't have a flight to catch in the morning. The jet leaves when we're on it.

  By the time room service arrives Dayne and Griffin have shifted back to innocent cuddling. Soren answers the door and steps aside to allow the food to be rolled in. Shock and embarrassment cover the young attendant's face as he quickly looks away from the sight of me in bed with two men who aren't my husband.

  And he knows we're from the wedding. Everyone working at the hotel today knows who is in the presidential suite. And even if that weren't true, it shows in his discomfort at what he's walked in on as well as the fact that my wedding dress is discarded on the ground in clear view of the door. It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together, unconventional though they may be.

  The bedroom is a separate room from the main part of the suite, but the doors are sliding doors that at this moment are pulled wide open, disappearing into the walls on either side. So from the bed, the three of us have a clear view of the door that leads into the hallway, and the attendant has a clear view of us.

  Soren slips him a few hundred dollar bills and whispers something in his ear. The man nods quickly and flees the room as if he just witnessed a mob hit.

  Soren rolls the cart the rest of the way to us and parks it next to the side of the bed Griffin is on. No one makes any comment about the fact that the attendant saw this or that the groom just paid him off to keep what he saw to himself. In fact, I'm sure that besides the attendant, I'm the only one uncomfortable about it.

  Lids are removed from the food to reveal club sandwiches and fries, and a platter with several pieces of our wedding cake on it. Soren passes me a soft drink and a plate with a sandwich and fries, and lets Dayne and Griffin get their own.

  I barrel through the food like a twelve year old who has yet to learn table manners. It may not be the food I picked for the wedding, but after not having a full meal since lunch, it seems like the best thing I've ever eaten.

  “All right, Eliza,” Soren says. “Will I need to pay for etiquette lessons as well?”

  I roll my eyes at the reference. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” I recite.

  “Smart ass.”

  I pass my empty plate to him, and he trades with a piece of the lemon cake and a fork. I let out a moan of pleasure as the moist tangy sweet cake slips past my lips.

  “My God this is incredible,” I say. Without even thinking I offer a bite of my cake to Griffin. He has a piece of his own, I'm just so thrilled with this cake I want to share it. His intense blue gaze is locked on mine as he slowly chews and swallows.

  Then he feeds me a bite of the cake from his plate. And now that we've accidentally done this feeding-each-other-cake wedding ritual, I feel compelled to turn and offer a bite of my cake to Dayne. Everyone has gotten strangely solemn in this moment as if this is the most serious wedding ritual any human being has ever participated in. Dayne takes the offered cake from my fork, then feeds me a bite from his own plate.

  Then the four of us sit and stare at each other. I don't feed Soren. I did that at the reception.

  All of us have shared cake. All of us have consummated whatever this is together. And there was a witness to this union who scampered off two or three hundred dollars richer for a two minute delivery.

  No one speaks another word as we finish our cake, then Soren takes plates and glasses, and rolls the cart out into the hallway to be collected later.

  “Put on your bikini, we're going to the pool,” he says when he returns as if the moment we all just shared never happened.

  I should complain of fatigue and beg for sleep but I am way too amped up to sleep. Besides, Soren isn't done with me yet.

  22

  Griffin

  After hours swim

  The Present.

  It's a little after one in the morning when the three of us escort Livia to the pool. Despite the things we just did with her and to her, she's still such an innocent lamb, having no true idea of the wolves who surround her, or our intentions. She is far too easily led through the forest.

  Soren plans everything to the tiniest detail, and we've known for weeks exactly how this day and night would go. What seems like a spontaneous after hours swim is anything but. She's wearing a black bikini and cover up as we guide her down the hallway having just gotten off the elevator.

  How quickly she's moved from the innocence of the white dress to the sin of the black bikini. I can't say I'm complaining.

  The three of us wear swim trunks, but mine and Dayne's are mostly for show so she doesn't become alarmed and spook like a frightened young colt before we reach our destination.

  “It's closed,” she says when we reach the door and the sign with the hours on it. She seems disappointed, and I almost want to hug her. And I know Dayne does. Dayne has always been the softest with our women. And he's become even more taken with Livia than usual.

  Soren says nothing but simply slides his key card into the slot beside the door. The light flicks from red to green, and the door lock clicks open to allow us entrance. Soren arranged to have things set up for us, to disable the security codes that lock down the pool even with a key card after midnight.

  Livia looks uncertain. “Won't we get in trouble?”

  Soren just laughs and guides her inside. It's sort of hilarious that anyone would come scold us for swimming past midnight with the rate we're paying.

  Dayne and I stand outside the door as bodyguards, lest another rule-breaking guest attempt to walk in and interrupt. He and I exchange a glance and look in through the window.

  I know what Soren is telling her. He's telling her to take the bikini off. He's telling her it's okay because Dayne and Griffin are guarding the door. No one can get in, and no one will be allowed to peer in through the window. But she sees right through the faux concern for her public modesty.

  She points now, having seen the black shiny globes overhead. They're meant to look like part of the décor, and probably most people don't even think about it, but she knows they're cameras. Livia is both one of the smartest women I've ever met, and somehow also one of the most naïve. She is both light and darkness, innocence and sin. And as it all unfolds before us in the most beautifully fucked-up story, I'm glad Soren insisted that we all initiate her tonight, on her wedding night.

  I feel bound to her now in a way I didn't feel with just the contracts we signed, even though it was those legal documents that truly tied us together.

  First-time sex between a couple on the wedding night is one of many traditions that still contains an unexpected thrill. And it's every too-greedy man's loss not to get this experience. Consummation means so little when you've already been consummating for months or even years. The specialness is gone. People talk about the importance of sexual compatibility—and I agree—but there are a lot of sexually dissatisfied married people who took each other for plenty of test drives before vows were ever exchanged.

  The cameras in the natatorium are all in working condition, filming everything that happens with both sound and image. At this very moment there are a couple of men in a room on the basement level who can see the video and hear every word of what happens between Soren and Livia.

  I adjust my dick, the uncomfortable tightness causing my mind to scream to be inside
her again. I don't technically have to stand here. Dayne is enough of a deterrent. There's no need for this Secret Service level of security on one door. For fuck's sake. Soren and Livia aren't royalty or celebrities, though I'm sure despite the bribe, the late night kitchen staff is abuzz with what's really going on on the wedding night of the Fairchild/Kingston wedding.

  I could watch and listen from the security room. After this is over Soren will have the footage. It'll end up in a safe at the estate, and when we're feeling nostalgic one of us will no doubt take it out and watch and jerk off. Maybe all three of us will. Maybe we'll make Livia watch it and touch herself while we watch her.

  We could have arranged this late night pool access with money and had the cameras turned off. I could go to the basement right now and shut it down—though not without a serious confrontation with Soren later, and I want that video footage as much as he does. I want this wedding night souvenir.

  The price that was agreed to for having the security code disabled was that they'd be allowed to watch. Soren wants them to watch. He gets off on it. I do, too. And the erection Dayne is sporting speaks for itself.

  As soon as this is over, I'll go get a copy of the video and the original will be deleted from their system. I should go down there now to make sure they don't secretly make their own private copy, but I can't bring myself to move from this spot where she exists in full color only a few yards away from me.

  Livia isn't playing along, though. She's still wearing her cover up. She moves swiftly back toward the door, practically in a full run, reaching for the knob. Her face says she's sure that Dayne and I will save her, that we'll protect her from Soren. I put one hand up against the door to block her escape. Dayne and I exchange a glance, and I'm surprised to see he doesn't waver. I always thought he'd be the weak link.