“Maybe.” My word comes out in a whisper. Could it be that they were... made to disappear?
I think of Jet’s casual threats from last night. Maybe this is a dangerous mission. Perhaps I should give it up.
My reminder dings once more. Pay Rent Today! Hitting the dismiss button, I release my fears with the reminder. I need this article. Sitting up taller in my chair, I steel my resolve. “I completely understand, sir. I won’t let you down.”
The line goes dead.
Releasing a nervous sigh, I refocus my eyes on the screen. “Come on, Lulu, you got this,” I whisper to myself, willing myself to type something, anything.
I start with the word spank. I have the s, the p, and the a. I stare at the screen.
Then hit ‘delete.’
If I can’t even type the word spank, how am I going to tell the whole city what happened to me?
Stalling, I email my landlord, asking for a one-week extension on rent. Telling them that I’ll have an advance as soon as I turn in my article next week. Instantly, their reply comes sailing into my inbox.
One sentence, all caps: THIS IS THE LAST TIME.
Having that taken care of, I breathe a sigh of relief and try to come up with a plan. I need to go back. To see them again. To have hot, crazy sex that any woman would be envious of, any man would want to emulate. Write that experience for everyone to read—a story I can show my face at the bar after printing.
What if I were to go back?
Have a nice, sexy night with two men that doesn’t involve one of them bending me over a table and spanking my ass like a naughty little girl? We’ll have a wonderful night of ménage, and then I’ll type it out word for word.
I’ll edit it down of course, leaving out the whole crazy ‘daddy’ element. Leave out the discipline that I’m sure they’ll want to instill. Just some good old-fashioned sex with two hot dudes who are built like Marvel superheroes.
Who wouldn’t want to read about that?
It’s decided. Now I just have to go and make it happen.
I feel like my stomach has been filled with liquid concrete and it’s hardening. Weighing me down. Making me sick.
How can I go back?
The experience was so shameful, so humiliating... so fucking hot.
And we didn’t even have sex.
It’s not a question of if I’m going to do it. It’s a question of how I’m going to do it.
Number one—I need power. I need to feel powerful, ooze woman power, be in control. I feel a little boost of confidence just knowing that me going there on my own accord makes me the one in charge. I’ll tell them exactly what I’m there for—one hot night.
Nothing more.
But I don’t want to raise their suspicions that I’m going through with the article. They can’t know I’m there for research. I’ll tell them they made me curious. That I’m a hot-blooded woman and I want to experiment with ménage. That I’ve decided to let them fuck me.
I’ll be in charge. I’ll get laid. And I’ll write my article. Keep my job. Pay my rent. And have a story to tell the grandkids.
Okay—that won’t be appropriate, but at least I’ll have a story that will impress my girlfriends over drinks at happy hour and potentially sell a million copies of The Spread.
Now all that’s left to do is go find them. And lose this nagging feeling that if I write the article I’m going to be at the bottom of the Hudson, a concrete block tied to my ankles.
I flip my laptop shut. Pack it up. Grab my phone, my over the shoulder computer bag, and my coffee cup—there’s melted ice in there and the dregs of an iced mocha latte, not to be wasted.
Balancing on my ten-dollar heels (I’ve never had the privilege of owning red bottoms) I hold my head high and teeter down the long aisle between the two rows of desks.
Am I imagining my colleagues talking about me as I make my way through the office? I see a few heads turn. Hear a few hushed, gossipy whispers.
They heard me talking on the phone to Hue. They know I’m up against a deadline.
And—more scandalously—they know I’m trying to write a first-person kinky sex piece on the most powerful—and secretive—family in the world.
If they are talking about me, they are probably jealous, or doubtful, or... worried for my life. My throat suddenly feels tight and I take the last sip of latte.
I step out onto the city street. Toss my cup into the trash. Take a deep breath.
My gut tells me where to find them.
They’ll be in that same strange, empty warehouse room behind the jewelry store. I have a feeling they’re waiting for my return. They were both so sure, so confident that I’d be back, I doubt they’ll be surprised to see me.
In an attempt to calm my nerves, I walk the ten blocks it takes to get to Bachman’s Jeweler’s, my feet hurting with every step in my cheap, pinching shoes. My mind is cloudy as if I’m moving through fog and before I know it, my hand is on the handle of the door to Bachman’s Jewelers. Perspiration dots my brow.
I open the door. The bell dings. Charlie looks up.
At first, there’s a welcoming smile on her bright face, but then a cloud comes over her. She’s recognized me; the girl who went snooping where she shouldn’t have been, all on Charlie’s watch.
Her lips purse, her eyes narrow. One hand, sparkling with diamonds, goes to her slim hip. “May I help you?”
“I-I’m sorry I busted in here the other day. I’m working on an article and I was snooping around and—”
She comes from around the counter that separates us. Inches from my face, her words cut me. “And thought you’d just show yourself around? Making me look like an idiot in the process?”
Whoa. Here I thought she was a mindless Stepford wife dressed in a thousand dollars’ worth of Chanel, but this girl’s got some grit. Her floral prints and bouncing curls had me underestimating her.
I take a step back. “Sorry about that.”
She’s pissed and I need her on my side to find Liam and Jet. What can I say to get her in my corner? I look at her ring and remember what Victoria’s told me of Charlie—of course.
“Look, like I said, I’m really, really sorry. It’s just that I have my sights set on being a Bachman Beauty. Ever since Victoria caught herself a Bachman husband I’ve just had that itch, you know what I mean?”
My statement couldn’t be further from the truth—I’ll never marry; I’ve no need for a husband—but I must have played the card perfectly because a look of understanding comes over her face and there’s a new light in her eyes.
I’m surprised by how well my words worked as she grabs both hands in mine. “You’ve been bit by the Bachman bug! I totally understand! I remember how badly I wanted to be a Beauty. How can I help?”
“Well, there’s the guy... two guys actually.” I look up at her, suddenly shy.
She gives a little gasp, her perfectly manicured red nails going to her lips. “Archer?”
“Archer? No, actually their names are Jet and Liam. Who’s Archer?”
Her cheeks now pink, she shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I just—I know where they are. They’re in the back. Here, follow me.”
She turns on the heel of her red-soled shoe, briskly making her way across the store. Thankfully we’re the only two in the shop—I’m a bundle of nervous energy and having extra pairs of eyes on me right now would push me over the edge, making me run in the opposite direction.
Charlie reaches the door that I snuck through just a week prior. She gives me a curt nod. “Wait here.”
She disappears behind the door. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling like I have to pee. After what feels like an eternity, Charlie reappears.
Holding the door open for me, she gives me a knowing grin. “Daddy and Papa will see you now.”
Heat rises in my face and there’s no way my cheeks are anything other than bright red. Passing by her, I murmur, “Thank you.”
“Sure thing,�
�� she says in a singsong tone.
The door bangs as it closes behind me.
Standing before me are the two huge men, their arms crossed over their massive chests.
My daddies.
The thought has my cheeks burning, my panties melting. Pushing it aside, I focus on my mission.
Jet wears low-slung dark jeans and a tight black tee. His hair hangs over one of his ice blue eyes as he stares at me, his cool look sending a shiver through me.
Liam is wearing a green shirt that accentuates his muscular build and lights up his moss-colored eyes. His sandy hair is brushed back and he stares at me as if I’m a meal to be devoured.
“She’s back,” Jet says.
Liam nods. “It’s before six. You owe me twenty.”
“So it is. Put the twenty grand on my tab,” Jet says to Liam.
Holy shit! Twenty grand on a bet? Over me...
“What can we do for you?” Jet asks.
I begin to stammer, but my words are cut off. “I w-wanted to—”
“You know what she wants us to do for her.” Liam’s eyes dip just below my waist. “She wants us to service that pretty pussy of hers.”
Shifting my weight, I press my thighs together beneath my dress, as if I can stop the flow of arousal from dampening my panties. “I’m here to talk.”
Jet says, “Is that so? I thought you were here to see what it would feel like to have my tongue between your thighs.”
I look away.
Liam laughs.
Jet’s gaze travels toward that back room. The mystery one with the screens. “We can’t talk here.”
Liam looks at the Rolex on his wrist. “It’s quitting time. I’m starving. Let’s take her out to dinner and hear what she has to say.”
“And then maybe we can all have dessert.” Jet’s dark brow raises, a smoldering grin stretching across his handsome face.
I float like a cloud, my mind a million miles away as they escort me through the store. They stand, one on each side of me, taking up almost the entire width of the sidewalk. Some people cross to the other side of the street when they see us, a wary look in their eyes.
They take me to a small restaurant with white tablecloths and lit candles on the tables. Without even waiting for the hostess, they take a seat at an empty table in the corner. As if it’s been left open for them.
As soon as we are seated a basket of bread and three ice waters appear on the table, condensation beginning to form on the outsides of the glasses.
Jet sits across from me; Liam beside me. Every time he reaches for his water glass, his big forearm brushes mine, sending little pulses of electricity over my skin.
Jet’s icy gaze hovers over me, creating an energy of its own.
I’m sandwiched between them in some sort of odd triangle.
Every one of my senses is turned up a thousand percent, electricity shoots through my veins making me unable to nibble at the bread that Liam’s put on my plate. There’s something about this... date, if you want to call it that, that has me feeling more alive than I’ve felt in a long time.
A very long time.
I’m turned on, terrified, and extremely nervous. Time to make small talk. “So, why don’t you two tell me a little bit about yourselves.”
Jet raises a brow. “You came back to find us to do a little get to know you quiz?”
“Partly.” I need back story for my article, and so I need to convince these men to trust me, to open up. I do what any female in my position would do—I flirt. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I give a sweet smile, leaning in toward him. “Tell me, Jet, what first brought you to the Brotherhood?”
He eyes me suspiciously, but at the word Brotherhood, light flickers in his eyes. “I’m a former... let’s call it government employee.”
“Tell me more?”
He looks unsure, but then, surprisingly, begins to talk. “I enjoyed the job at first. I was a wide-eyed innocent until I found that the men who were supposed to be the good guys were more corrupt than the criminals we were charged with sentencing. I was sent on an undercover mission to infiltrate the family. I liked what I saw. I had more respect for the men in the Brotherhood than I did for the ones I worked for.”
“How did you make the switch over?”
“I was working with another agent. He sensed my growing respect for the family and dropped me. That’s when I told one of the Brothers of my interest in becoming a recruit.”
“And the other agent? What happened with him?”
Jet’s eyes darken. “He’s no longer with us.”
A chill runs through me, and I can feel the color draining from my cheeks. I hold the glass of ice water up to my mouth, using it to shield the reaction on my face. Regaining my composure, I turn to Liam with a bright smile. “And you? How did you first get involved?”
“Is this an interview?” he asks.
“No. Just... trying to get to know you. That’s all.”
He gives a bored shrug. “Like a lot of the guys, I grew up broke. My father cared more about buying alcohol than putting food on the table. There weren’t a lot of opportunities where I come from. Late one night I was washing dishes in the back of this Greek place I worked for. A man came in the back door, a gun in one hand, a package in the other. He had a black tattoo showing from beneath his tee shirt sleeve. He asked me to deliver a package for him—a box wrapped in brown paper—and gave me a hundred-dollar bill. I’d never even seen a Benjamin in person before. I did what he asked, pocketing the money. Slowly over time, he asked me to do more tasks. As I earned his trust, the tasks became more... sensitive, the compensation more lucrative. A few months ago, Rockland came to me, asking me if I’d want to be considered for initiation. I said yes.”
“Fascinating,” I breathe, trying to keep my composure. This article is going to be my meal ticket. And how can Liam blame me for it after the story he’s just shared? We’re both just trying to earn a buck.
“Now that we’ve answered your questions, it leaves me with one. Why did this little lady come our way today, Liam?” Jet asks, sending a cool look across the table.
“I think someone got a taste of something they liked, Jet. I think someone is looking for a little double daddy action.” Liam sits back further in his chair, eyeing me. “A Duet.”
Ignoring the throbbing between my legs, I try to play it cool. “You guys don’t use your sick little pet names for one another when you’re out in public?” I ask. Picking up my glass, I take a long sip of water.
Liam gives a snort. “Sick?” He leans over so close that when his lips move I feel them stirring the baby fine hairs around my ears. “Your pussy tells us a very different story. One where the more we call ourselves Daddy and Papa, the wetter you get.”
Lifting my glass, I take another sip. “I-I don’t think it was that. Your hands were all over me.”
“My hands aren’t on you now and I’d bet if I slipped my fingers between your thighs, I’d find your pussy to be soaking wet,” Liam replies. Beneath the table, his fingertips creep over my knee, up to the hem of my skirt.
I push his hand away.
He sits back, laughing quietly.
Jet leans in, elbows on the table, and stares at me, a lock of black hair over one eye. “To answer your question, no. We keep our daddy names for private times.”
Releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I say, “That’s good to know.” At least I’ll be spared the humiliating of calling them Daddy and Papa in earshot of the waiter.
“What do you want?” Jet asks me.
Staring into his eyes, I find myself unable to lie.
I have to tell them the truth.
Summoning every ounce of courage I have, I sit up straighter in my chair and meet his eye. “I want to write my story. Just like I told you the first time I... met you.”
Jet says, “Met us? You are referring to when you were sneaking around and got your naughty little bottom spanked for putting your nose where it didn
’t belong, aren’t you?”
I say, “Semantics. Anyway, I didn’t get any material I could use the last time I was with you—”
Liam interrupts me. He twirls a butter knife in his hand, shooting me a bored look. “Don’t want New York City thinking that you’re not some big, powerful feminist journalist, but just a naughty little girl who likes to have her bottom spanked?”
Damn if this man isn’t set on making my face match the shade of red of my hair.
Clearing my suddenly tight throat, I pretend he hasn’t spoken, grow a pair of steel lady balls, and give Jet my best resting bitch face. “I told you I’m writing an article on the Bachman kinky lifestyle and that’s exactly what I intend on doing. So, I need to... experience it firsthand, in order to write up an accurate report. And I’m kind of on a deadline so I’d appreciate it if we could knock this out.”
Jet’s brow furrows. “Knock this out?”
“Tonight.”
My little speech makes him chuckle. His chuckle grows into a laugh and as his laughter grows, so does my rage.
“What the hell are you laughing about? Never had a women proposition you before?”
“No. I’ve had plenty of women proposition me. Us, in fact.” He nods across the table at Liam. “But this is the first time it’s been demanded of me. You act as if you have any control. At all. Which you don’t. If we want you, we’ll have you.”
“How dare you say something so cocky.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, mimicking him with my best impersonation of a caveman. “If we want you, we’ll have you.”
He raises one dark brow. “It’s true. You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I’m here because I’m a journalist on a deadline. Nothing more.”
Deny, deny, deny. Even though my panties are about as wet as if I’d just pulled them out of the wash.
Liam leans over, so close his breath is doing that tickling thing again. “You’re here because you’re a bad little girl who needs not one, but two daddies to keep her in line.”
Thank god I don’t have to respond to that because the waiter is making his way over to our table. He hovers behind the open seat by Jet. “Hello there. May I take your order? Start with the missus?”
Daddies: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 4