Double Team: A Menage Romance

by Sabrina Paige

  She goes to the door, pulling it open to let Noah and Aiden step inside.

  My heart skips a few beats at the sight of both of them in tuxedos, arousal immediately flooding my body.

  "Give me one second to get this mic on her and then I'll give you some privacy," Vi says, walking over to adjust my dress.

  "You're sure that's turned off, right?" I whisper as Vi situates the pack under the back of my dress.

  "It's definitely off. I'm not even sure it's working at all, actually. The light isn't coming on. I'll grab a new one for you." Vi dashes out of the room before even waiting for me to respond.

  "I have to go out in ten minutes," I warn them. "My parents are late. I have to introduce someone and –"

  "We'll be here and gone," Noah says. "We just have something to say, all right?"

  "I –" I start. I have something to say too. I want to tell them I shouldn't have run out like that.

  "Me first," he says. "I should have told you about the fact that I was looking at offers all over the place. The truth is, I was going to, but then things kept happening with you – with the three of us – and I didn't know what the hell was going on. First I thought it was just fun, what was happening – and by the time I realized it might be something more than that, it was too late to just tell you. I'd already kept it a secret, and I thought if I told you, it would screw things up for sure. And Dallas and Miami aren't far, and I didn't think it was lying exactly."

  He runs his hand through his hair, a pained look on his face.

  "I shouldn't have just run out of there. I just– it felt like you were deliberately trying to hide it, but everyone else in the world knew about it. So I was just the idiot girl you were screwing who wasn't in on the joke."

  They walk up close to me, and I inhale sharply at their proximity, breathing them in. I'm heady just at their scent, reminded that it's been two days since I've been in their bed. Every part of my body is turned on at the thought of being between them.

  Noah slides his fingers under my jaw, turning my face up to him. "You're not the idiot girl we're fucking."

  "We royally screwed up by not telling you," Aiden says, his hand going up to my hair, tucking an errant strand behind my ear before grazing my neck with his palm, sending goose bumps over my skin. "I screwed up as much as he did. You should have known from the beginning, gone in with eyes open."

  "It's just– this whole thing has been insane," I say, my words already breathy. I close my eyes as Aiden's hand moves down my arm, as my body responds immediately to their touch. "You're backstage here– at a charity event where my parents are going to show up any second. You can't be here. And I don't think I would have even risked it if I knew you were just leaving and–"

  They don't let me finish talking. Noah puts his hands on the sides of my dress, hiking it up over my thighs as I let out a little squeal, then picks me up and carries me to the nearest wall, pushing my back up hard against it. The mic pack digs into my back, but I don't care.

  My breath catches in my throat as he puts his lips against mine, and my body responds to his touch. I let out a moan as he slides to his knees in his tuxedo, pushing my thighs further apart. His fingertips graze the fabric covering my pussy. "Your panties are all wet," he whispers, but it's more like a groan.

  "I'm wet, and I have to go in ten– eight– minutes," I whisper. "And neither of you should be here."

  "We want– no, we need– to apologize," Aiden says. Standing beside me, he turns my face toward his to kiss me hard on the mouth, his tongue seeking out mine as Noah slides his finger under the fabric of my panties. I let out a long, desperate moan into Aiden's mouth.

  "I need to apologize on my knees," Noah growls. "I need to smell you. I need to taste you. I need to make you come."

  Oh my God.

  It's wrong– so wrong– that I'm even considering doing this right now. I'm minutes away from needing to be out there on stage, and I'm going to go out there disheveled and reeking of orgasm? And I'm in here with them when I could so easily be caught and- oh, shit, Aiden is slipping his fingers down the front of my dress, covering my nipple, and Noah is pushing my panties to the side, his warm mouth between my legs.

  How in the world can I think rationally when they're doing what they're doing right now?

  I can't. I spread my thighs wider for Noah, groaning as he thrusts his fingers inside my slick pussy before covering my clit with his mouth. "Oh my God," I breathe. My body responds instantly– so quickl– to the sensation, the fact that it's been two days since I've felt either of them between my legs made instantly obvious.

  I'm so quickly near climax I can hardly stand it.

  "This is just a preview," Noah says as he flicks his tongue over and over my clit. I'm so wet I think I'm dripping down my legs as Aiden reaches around my back, fumbling with the zipper to my dress. He yanks out the mic pack.

  "I'm taking this off," he growls. "I want your tits in my mouth."

  "You… can't," I breathe. "Oh my God. You can't. I have to go out there and you can't make me look like I've been…"

  "Fucked?" Aiden growls. He throws the mic pack on the ground.

  "Fucked. Yes," I breathe. "Holy shit."

  Aiden pulls the loosened fabric of my dress down over my breast and tongues my nipple as Noah fucks me harder with his fingers.

  "When you finish with this political bullshit, you're going to come straight to our bed, Grace Sullivan, and I'm going to come in this sweet–"

  Noah thrusts inside me with his fingers.

  "Oh, God."

  "Tight–"

  Thrust again.

  "Perfect little pussy of yours," Noah says, the tips of his fingers pressing against the sensitive spot inside me.

  "And I'm going to come in your tight, little, almost-virgin asshole," Aiden says.

  "Oh, fuck," I breathe. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me." Aiden stifles my moan with his mouth, but it hardly does anything to mute me as I come so hard with Noah's face between my thighs.

  The door bursts open.

  I'm still coming as Brooks, Davis, and Vi run into the room. Noah's fingers are still between my legs, my pussy still contracting around him and I'm dizzy, so completely out of it, I don't even understand what's going on.

  "Vi! What's wrong with you?! Get out of here!" I shriek.

  "Don't say anything!" Vi orders, her voice shrill. "Don't say another word!" She slides in her skirt and heels, grabbing the mic pack off the floor and yanking the cords from it before she tears across the room and tosses the entire thing in a pitcher of water.

  "Ma'am, you need to come with us," Brooks says, her voice measured, as if it's every day she walks in on the president's daughter getting it on with two football players.

  "Fuck," I whisper, panic rushing through me. "Turn around!"

  They all spin around, and Noah slips his fingers from between my legs, standing and pulling down my skirt as total chaos erupts. Vi and I are whisked out of the room by Brooks and Davis while Noah and Aiden are immediately escorted behind us by other Secret Service agents.

  I can hardly catch my breath, my heart beating furiously. "What the hell is going on?" I ask the question, even though I have a sinking suspicion based on Vi's behavior with the mic pack.

  But I don't want to say the words.

  Brooks and Davis push us toward the SUV, but Vi puts her hand up. "Like hell that's happening," she says, her voice tight. "Someone's already got the valet pulling my car up, Grace."

  "Ma'am, we need you to come with us," Brooks says firmly. "Your father–"

  "My father wants me to get in the car?" I look behind me for Noah and Aiden, but I don't see them. I look at Vi. "Where's your car?"

  "Come on," Vi says, taking my hand and pulling me behind her. The valet pulls up in her car just as we reach it, and Vi is peeling away from the building as soon as she shuts her car door. "Your security will follow us, but it beats being trapped with your parents on Air Force One or something."

&nbs
p; "Noah and Aiden–" I start, looking in the side mirror behind us.

  Vi shakes her head. "Out of there in the opposite direction," she says.

  I exhale heavily. "Please tell me what I think just happened didn't just happen," I say, my voice trembling.

  "I'm sorry, Grace."

  "How?"

  "The campaign manager had some dumb intern running the live feed, and the girl turned it on early, I guess. Your mic pack didn't even look like it was working when I left, so I'm not sure how I even missed something like that–"

  The image of Aiden tossing the mic pack on the floor flashes into my mind. "Oh, God. It must have jarred something loose when he threw it or hit the on button… Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no." The full realization of what everyone must have heard hits me all at once and I collapse heavily back against the seat.

  "They only heard part of it– thirty seconds, maybe. But it was the last thirty seconds when Noah and Aiden were telling you–"

  Oh, God. Telling me exactly what they wanted to do to me.

  I think my heart actually stops beating.

  Everyone heard that and… the rest of it…

  I'm going to be sick.

  "No," I whisper.

  Vi's hand flies to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Grace," she repeats. "The room heard a live feed of two football players giving the president's daughter an orgasm."

  Everything spins. I think I'm going to faint. Vi is saying something now, but it sounds like she's speaking from far away, like she's in a tunnel. My phone is ringing and ringing and ringing, interspersed with Vi's ringtone over and over and over.

  "Grace?" Vi asks. "Grace?"

  Everything goes dark.

  44

  Grace

  "Hiding here was the right decision- the only right decision you've made in a long time," my mother says with a scowl. She's wearing an all-white suit standing in the middle of the expansive, modern, all-white room in one of Vi's ex's mansions on Star Island where she practically blends in with the living room.

  Vi drove us from Colorado to Miami– nearly three full days of driving- where her very wealthy ex (I'd call him a boyfriend but Vi doesn't do boyfriends) took us into his gated compound, and we've been hiding out for the past day. We ditched our cell phones on the way, and have been behind the gate since we arrived, so no one except my security who followed me and the White House knows where we are. At least for now.

  I exhale heavily. I'm exhausted. I might not have internet or phone access, but I saw the newspaper and tabloid headlines Vi's friend brought in this morning. I wanted to see what the damage was with my own eyes.

  It was as bad as I'd feared. Headlines this morning read "The O Heard Round the World!" and "President's Daughter Donates Live Porn For Campaign Fundraiser!" People are already selling my orgasm as a fucking ring-tone.

  All of the articles have been about me. I might as well have an S for slut painted on my forehead, because that's what they're calling me: the slutty daughter of the president. Or the mentally ill daughter of the president.

  None of the articles have mentioned Noah or Aiden by name. Yet. They've been my unnamed lovers in every article. Or my rapists, depending on who’s writing the article.

  "I don't need a lecture, mother. Did you come here for a reason or just to scold me?"

  "Scold you?" she asks, her voice going up an octave. "Scold you?! You didn't spill ice cream on the front of your dress, Grace Monroe Sullivan. No, you acted like a common whore and fucked two men on a live audio feed at your father's campaign fundraiser!"

  "Oh, fuck you," Vi bursts out. "And fuck your slut-shaming and fuck your campaign fundraiser."

  If my mother's head could spin entirely in circles, I think it would right now. "You," she hisses. "You're not to say another goddamn word. If you think I don't know what kind of an influence you've been on my daughter–"

  "Your daughter is twenty-six, not twelve," Vi says. "And she's been through enough already."

  "How dare you talk to me that way!" my mother screeches.

  "Vi," I warn, finally finding my voice. Except my voice is conciliatory. "It's– I fucked up."

  "You're damn right you fucked up," my mother yells. "You ruined everything for your father. Do you understand that? His approval rating dropped twenty-two percent in the last forty-eight hours. His polls are down by thirteen points! And, so help me, you're going to fix it."

  "Grace!" Vi says, looking at me with wide eyes. "Tell her to go to hell."

  "But she's right. I shouldn't have done- that- at my father's campaign fundraiser," I admit. "It was impulsive. And ill-considered. And I'm sorry it got broadcast for everyone to hear. Hell, I'm more sorry about that than you can imagine. I'm sorry I got caught." I take a deep breath and resolve to say what I'm going to say, setting my jaw and looking at my mother with defiance in my veins. "But I'm not sorry it happened."

  "You'll be more than sorry, do you understand?" my mother shrieks. "You don't want to think about your father's career? Fine. Don't want to consider all the good he still has left to do during the next four years? Fine. Don't want to think about the fact that you've completely destroyed your life forever, that you'll be remembered as 'that girl' for the rest of your life? Fine. But you'll be doubly sorry when your paramours lose their contracts, everything they’ve worked for, because of your inability to keep your legs closed!"

  "Are you threatening me?" I ask, appalled. My own mother?

  "Let me be crystal clear. We have fixers doing what they do at this very moment– patching up every loose end pertaining to this unfortunate affair. Now, there's nothing that can be done to take back the fact that your voice has been broadcast everywhere– there were mobile uploads of you recorded on phones at the fundraiser within seconds of it happening. But there are loose ends to tie up that would affect your boyfriends greatly if they were to come untied."

  "Don't listen to this, Grace," Vi interrupts.

  "Shut up," my mother snaps. "Your neighbors, your colleagues, your staff at the camp– anywhere those men might have been seen with you– are all being interviewed as we speak. Payoffs are being made, favors being given, to retain their silence. Non-disclosure agreements are being signed. Everything is being done to ensure that at the very least, your boyfriends remain anonymous. And if you want them to remain anonymous, you're going to do exactly what I say."

  "Their silence– they won't want that…" I start, but my voice drifts off as I think about the contract Noah is about to sign– about the contract Aiden just signed. There are morals clauses in those, aren't there? Behavior requirements. Noah and Aiden said they had to stay on the straight and narrow.

  If they couldn't play football…

  If my family– if being connected to me- were the reason they couldn't play football for the rest of their lives, they would resent me forever. I would have taken away everything from them.

  I can't be the reason for their total destruction. I won't.

  So I make a deal with the Devil.

  45

  Aiden

  It's been thirty-three days since the incident.

  It's been thirty days since we were picked up in an unmarked SUV outside of training camp (because in the midst of all of this shit, training camp started) by armed agents in suits and taken out of town to a landing strip where the First Lady met us and told us to stand down.

  "My daughter has been eviscerated in the media," she says frostily. "She has been torn apart. My husband's last term in office and his re-election campaign are now marred by this disgusting incident."

  "Where is Grace?" I demand. I don't give a shit about the president's re-election campaign or what the hell his last term in office is like.

  "Grace is going to rehab," the First Lady tells us. "It'll be announced tomorrow. This little dalliance she's had with the two of you is going to be written off as a byproduct of a nervous breakdown triggered by the stress of working on her father's campaign and running the foundation."

  "What
, are you kidnapping her?" scoffs Noah. "This is ridiculous."

  The First Lady raises her eyebrows. "Oh, I see. You think she's being held against her will? How quaint. I'd figured both of you were slightly more worldly than this."

  "She wouldn't have chosen to go to rehab," I say.

  She narrows her eyes. "Did you really think that the daughter of the President of the United States is going to continue an affair with two athletes?" She practically spits the word. "You didn't think this was ever going to work long-term, did you? Surely the two of you aren't that naïve. She was never going to choose you over her family– you do understand that, don't you? The First Daughter wasn't going to pick even one of you over her image and her family and her career and her country. She certainly wasn't going to choose both of you."

  "We want to talk to her," Noah growls.

  "Oh, you want to talk to her?" The First Lady mocks him. "That would do wonders for her reputation, wouldn't it? If you care at all about her, you'll leave her in peace so that she can pull together the scraps of dignity she has left."

  If we care at all about her, we'll leave her in peace…

  The First Lady was right. Grace was completely annihilated in the media– and we were not, even though we should have been right there in the same articles. Instead, we were written off as her unnamed lovers.

  For the past month, Noah and I have both been on edge, seething, barely speaking to each other. Noah stomps through the house, angry and sullen and practically breathing fire. We've gotten in trouble for rough play at practices. Noah got fined after he told a reporter to fuck off and walked out of an interview.

  Mama Ashby called right after the campaign fundraiser. Word travels fast, even in West Bend. She wanted to know if Grace was okay and said that the next time she saw us, she was going to slap us both upside the head. That was until we told her that Grace's mother had convinced her to go to rehab, or that Grace had chosen rehab (and her family and her image) over us. Bess insisted that didn't fit with the Grace she met in West Bend, but who the hell knows? A few weeks ago, I would have thought the same thing. But Grace is the daughter of the president.