Double Your Pleasure Bundle (12 page)

He slipped out of her and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

* * *

Oh, god.
Why had she hesitated? Even for an instant? If Brooks and Alec could make her feel like that without even fucking her…damn. She wished she’d stayed the other night in the dressing room—then she’d be having round two. She opened her eyes to tell them as much when hands wrapped around her middle and hoisted her in the air.

“Put me down!” Oh my god! He can’t carry me!

“No.” He hoisted her up into his arms and all she could do was hold on. Legs wrapped around his waist, arms holding his shoulders, hoping he didn’t drop her. But he wasn’t struggling. No staggering, no unease. He just walked out of the living room like she weighed nothing at all.
Wow
.

A door opened and before her eyes adjusted to the dark, he was laying her down on a huge white bed. “I thought we’d all be more comfortable on a bed.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Alec strode up to her—naked and sexy as hell—and she smiled. Two men. Two sexy, in control, horny men who wanted her. It couldn’t get better.

“Then what are you waiting for? Come sit down so I can finish what I started.”

Alec grinned and came up next to her, reaching out to tweak a nipple before sitting on the edge of the bed. She stood up and turned toward him, sticking her ass out behind her as she bent over to lap at his cock again.
Mmm
. She loved how different they were from each other. Brooks with his gentle hands and dirty words. Alec with his know-it-all smirk and nimble fingers. And their cocks.
Damn
. Brooks was thick and solid where Alec was long and smooth.

She grinned and licked a circle around Alec’s spongy head. Even their dicks matched their personalities.

“Something funny?” He reached out and pulled her hair off her face, holding it back to watch her take him deep.

As she pulled back, she shrugged. “This. I’ve never done anything this crazy.”

“Mmm. And we’re just getting started.” Brooks stepped up behind her—stark naked, cock sheathed, and ready for another round.

Rachel blinked.
Oh my god
. She knew what a threesome meant—sex with two men. But somehow seeing him standing there, eager and waiting, it made it so much more real. Sexy. Powerful. Screw holding back. She was going to enjoy it. She shook her ass at him and he slinked closer, reaching out his hands to stroke her thighs.

She closed her eyes and turned back to Alec, taking his cock in her mouth deeper than ever before. Sliding down in quick bursts again and again. Letting his velvet head bump the back of her throat, licking the underside of his shaft on the way up.

As she slid back down, Brooks massaged her ass—swirling his hands in gentle strokes until she moaned. Her pussy throbbed, desire and need soaked her channel and spread down her thighs, and if he didn’t fuck her soon she’d die from anticipation.

Alec groaned and leaned over and she opened her eyes to meet his heated stare. “Fuck, Rachel. You’ve got a mouth like a damn whirlpool.”

Brooks slipped his hand between her legs and she groaned. “And a pussy like Niagara Falls.”

She groaned even louder and pulled back. Alec’s dick bobbed in the air as she turned around. “Please, Brooks. Fuck me. I want you inside me.”

He smiled and grabbed her by the hips, angling her body ’til she bent ninety degrees. “Then I’d hold on.” With a single thrust, he buried himself inside her—plunging into her depths and bottoming out, hips slapping ass and drawing out a moan.

She turned back to Alec and took his cock in her hands, stroking the spit-soaked shaft as Brooks pulled back. She opened wide and as he thrust forward, Alec’s cock filled her mouth. His tip eased down her throat and she shuddered.
Oh my god
.

With Brooks fucking her from behind and Alec filling her mouth, she was surrounded and consumed. Her pussy clenched in a rolling wave and she struggled to focus. To give Alec what he craved. Wrapping one hand around his shaft, she flattened her tongue and wrapped her lips around her teeth.

Alec groaned and pulled her toward him by the hair. “Fuck, yes. Harder, Brooks. Fuck her harder.”

Brooks obeyed, slamming into her and forcing her further down Alec’s shaft. Again and again he thrust, working into a punishing rhythm that had her moaning and shaking and gagging around Alec’s dick. But instead of freaking her out or turning her off, it made her needy. Desperate. Her clit throbbed, her muscles clenched, and as Brooks slid his hand around her thigh, she almost fell apart.

His thick fingers forced their way between her folds and as he pumped again, he rubbed her clit. An orgasm ripped through her without warning—turning her pussy into a vice and her mouth into a vessel.

Brooks grunted behind her and as she clenched, he came, emptying his seed into the condom and sagging over her. Only Alec remained.

“Looks like I’m the last one. Lucky me.”

Brooks pulled back and before she could cry out at the loss, he was turning her around. Foil ripped and in moments, Brooks was kneeling in front of her, guiding her trembling legs back into Alec’s waiting body. He slipped inside, the length of him hitting places Brooks couldn’t reach, and she struggled not to fall over.

“Easy, babe. I’ve got you.”

She nodded and looked into Brooks’s eyes, staring as Alec rammed into her from behind. Over and over. Harder and harder. Touching her hidden places, her deepest secrets. As another wave of desire washed over her, Brooks inched forward, reaching out to stroke her clit while he captured her mouth in a kiss.

Their tongues lapped at each other as his fingers circled her little nub and Alec pumped from behind. One. Two. Three. That’s all it took. Alec grunted behind her—slamming against her ass a final time and Brooks flicked her clit. And she saw stars. Bright white, dazzling and overpowering. She slumped against Brooks’s chest and slipped into an exhausted fog.

* * *

Mmm. Where am I?
Rachel rolled over and landed on chest. Naked man chest.
What the…?
She bolted upright and looked around.
Oh my god
. Brooks laid on one side of her—sprawled out in a giant X. And Alec laid on the other—one arm over his face, his naked body on full display. It all came back in a rush. Her. Them. Naked. Bent over. Cocks. Mouths. Pussy.
Holy hell
.

It’d been the best sex of her life. With two men she barely knew. And now she was sitting in a billionaire’s bed in the Hollywood Hills and she didn’t even have on a bra.

Rachel eased off the bed and crawled around in the dark.
Where are my clothes? Oh, god.
Memories of stripping on Alec’s couch in the living room hit her and she paused.
I am not wandering around his house naked looking for my clothes.
She grabbed Brooks’s cast off dress shirt and pulled it on.
There. That’s better than nothing.

With a deep breath, she stood and looked around. Minimal furniture, shut doors. No bathroom in sight.
Damn it
. All she wanted was a chance to freshen up, wipe off the smeared makeup and get back into bed before anyone noticed she was gone.
There’s got to be a bathroom around here somewhere.

She opened the first door. Closet.
Damn.
She opened the second. Hallway.
Well, that’s a start
. She wandered down the hall and opened the first door she saw. A wall of windows greeted her with an oversized desk plopped in the middle of the room.
Definitely not a bathroom
. She turned to shut the door when the pictures on the wall caught her eye.

Wait. Those aren’t pictures
. She stepped inside and flicked on the light. They were records. Some platinum. Some gold. Like those you’d see in some famous singer’s house. Or a record exec. A chill washed over her and she stepped into the room.

She started in the corner, reading the albums. They were all big time stars. Major talent. All signed to Falcon Records.
Wait…what?
The label she’d just recorded a demo for…the label who’s representative saw her at the Vortex. Her heart thumped in her chest and she spun around.
No. This can’t be happening.
She stepped up to the desk and picked up the first piece of paper sitting on top.

A Falcon Records contract. The following agreement is entered into between Falcon Records and Rachel Anne Madison for the sole purpose of producing and releasing a studio album…

Oh my god
. The pages fell out of her hand, landing on the desktop one by one.
They’re billionaires. From an IPO. Not record label executives. This can’t be real
.

“Rachel? Are you alright?”

She looked up and Brooks stood in the doorway, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

She blinked back a rush of tears. “Who the hell are you? And why did you lie?”

* * * * *

Continue reading Backstage Billionaires with
Part Two
now!

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JACKS

Billionaire Brothers 2, Book 1

Meg Watson

CHAPTER 1

“I want you to go over there and drop your tits on that guy by the door.”

“Melita!”

“What?” she whined, all innocent, her lips pursed in a cartoony O shape.

“Just…. quit it, please,” I sighed, barely able to hear myself over the southern rock blaring above our heads.

“Do it,” she commanded, her eyebrows raised in a straight, serious shelf of kohl black.

“I’m not doing that,” I muttered into my gin and Diet Sprite. Angling carefully away from the door and the hunk standing next to it, I positioned my cleavage over the table and tried to camouflage it with a bar napkin.

“You should
totally
do that!” she insisted as though she hadn’t heard me, plucking the napkin from my fingers and tossing it away. “It’ll be good for you! And me too! I can, like, live through you voraciously or whatever.”

“Vicariously,” I corrected her automatically. Apparently that word-a-day calendar app was starting to take hold. Sort of.

She shook her head, her shiny black curls dropping onto her forehead one by one.

“What?” she hollered against the music.

“Nevermind!” I yelled back just as the song finished. My voice punched out into the open air, and several people turned around to look at me like I had deliberately smacked them in the back of their expensively gelled heads.

“Christ, Melita, can we just go?” I said, gritting my teeth and lowering my voice to an appropriate level.

I ducked back toward my drink and hunched forward over my purse, wishing I could disappear. Crowds and bars have always made me feel conspicuous and dorky, and the skin-tight sheath dress she forced me to borrow before we left her apartment wasn’t helping at all. Every time I exhaled I could feel my own breath on parts of my cleavage I was sure weren’t supposed to be exposed.

“See, you’re too smart,” she nodded sagely, plucking her straw between her purple lips and sucking down another huge swallow of her drink.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She shrugged. “You’re all brain. Too smart for your own good with all your words, your big thoughts. You live up in
there
,” she growled, eyes narrowed, her dark grape fingernail describing a lazy triangle somewhere near my forehead, “when you should be living all
down in there
.” Her hand dropped dangerously close to my thigh and she pointed at my crotch with short, stabby motions.

I slapped her hand away, aware of the sidelong glances we were getting from nearby tables.

“You just leave my crotch outta this, Mel,” I warned her.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah sure, why not.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I,” she sing-songed.

“Ugh.”

I pulled my phone out of my purse again and checked it, hoping she would savor the last word and be done with this conversation. No new messages. Shit. Melita cut her eyes toward it and quickly looked away.

“If he’s not here in five minutes,” she started again, her voice deceptively reasonable, “I want you to drop them tits on the next handsome guy that walks in.”

I thumbed the smartphone face bitterly and chucked it back into my purse.

“OK, first of all, Carl’s just late, let’s cut him a little slack--”

“Again,” she reminded me in a mutter.

“Yes…
again
, whatever. Shit happens. And second... exactly who drops their tits, Melita? Seriously? Is
dropping tits
like even a thing?”

Her face fell into a perfect diagram of surprise.

“Is it even a thing?” she repeated incredulously, her voice spiralling up like an air raid siren. “Is dropping your titties
even a thing
?”

I looked around, nervously yanking on the deep V of my dress as a few nearby hipsters angled their eyes toward us.

“You’re telling me you’ve never just rolled up on a man and brushed your nips against his arm? Are you serious?”

“Lower your voice!”

“Why do you even have them big ol’ country girl titties if you’re not going to use them, Bree? It’s a waste, I tell you! It’s a damn shame!”

I snatched my purse off the table and threw it on my shoulder, hugging it across my cleavage with both arms.

“OK, I’m leaving,” I announced.

She swished the straw around in her mouth, suddenly demure and thoughtful. “Well. But. I’m not done with my drink.”

“Melita, you were right…” I said through my clenched teeth, folding forward at the waist and trying to stay stable on the hooker heels she’d strapped to my feet. “He’s not coming… It’s late, I’m tired… What. What can I say. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go,” she moaned, tipping her head to the side. “You said we were going out. I got the babysitter, I paid for the babysitter, and now here we are in this fabulous fake-country bar for rich people…. I fucking love it here. We are not leaving.”

“But you were right,” I said slowly, drawing the words out for maximum effect until she started smiling like a cat. “You were riiiiiight.”

“I sure do love it when you say that,” she admitted.

“I know you do. And you were so,
so
right.”

“Because your boyfriend is a weenie,” she said too loudly, one finger poking toward the ceiling, preacher-speaking-truth-style.

“Melita--”

“Say it,” she commanded.

I sighed and made a face. “Because my boyfriend is a weenie,” I repeated glumly as some kind of country pop song started, just like the other one.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That really does feel pretty good. Tell you what. We can call Operation Harden Carl’s Flaccid Manhood a failure and go catch a movie or something if you do me one favor…”

“OK, what?”

“Drop your titties--”

“MELITA!”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, rolling her eyes to the conspicuously wood-panelled ceiling like she was having a conversation with the angels about how stubborn I was being.

I paused to consider my options: Was I going to be able to get her out of the bar without a theatrical monologue about either my boobs or Carl’s manhood? I couldn’t be sure. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, and I had a suspicion the three Long Island Iced Teas were egging her on.

“Fine,” I sighed resolutely. “You did loan me this dress… after all…”

“And it looks a-
mah-
zing on you, did I mention?”

I nodded. “You did. And thank you. You’re a good friend. And it’s totally not your fault that Carl is not here to see your handiwork and throw himself at me.”

“Pssht,” she agreed. “Exactly.”

“So tell me,” I said sweetly, reaching out to stroke her arm, “what do I need to do to get us out of this fucked up hillbilly outpost of a bar?”

She cocked her head at me, her lips pursed in a thin line.

“Melita, dear? Just clue me in?”

Her breath came out in a puff through her flared nostrils. “Brienne, I just want you to try it. Just flex your girl muscles a little bit. Show me you can.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. The joke seemed to be over and I could see her grandma’s face coming through, all serious and intense behind her thickly made-up features. This was the expression she reserved for her most grave moments. She was Making A Point, and I realized she wasn’t going to give up.

“You seriously want me to, like, hit on somebody.”

“Yes,” she nodded once, her curls flashing forward in agreement.

“Which is totally unlike me. Because I have a boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m just… not that kind of girl.”

“Agreed,” she nodded. “You’re not that kind of girl. You’re a goddamn country song in a borrowed dress and everything. And you are going to flirt with a man….”

“Melita, why?” I whined. On the one hand, it was probably harmless and I should just do it so we could leave. On the other, it seemed gut-churningly disloyal.

“Because I want you to prove it.”

“Prove what? What are you talking about?”

“Prove that Carl didn’t trade in your vagina for, like, a travel-sized packet of Kleenex or something.”

“Stop it.”

“Or a bag of wavy Ruffles.”

“Oh, I do love potato chips.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Great, now I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” she snapped. “Now I want tacos. So do it. Show me you’re not really letting some chucklehead turn your cootch into dust. Prove you still have your V card, and then let’s go get us some barba-freakin-coa.”

“But seriously whyyyyy?” I whined again, now full-on freaking out. I felt cornered, and I didn’t like it one bit. She leaned forward and glared at me.

“Because you keep telling me how
unhappy
you are, how
lonely
you are, how
sad
you are that your weenie boyfriend acts like you’re invisible, and yet you won’t do a damn thing about it. It’s like you think you are a passenger on this train and you are
not
. This is your life. You’re the goddamn conductor, Bree, so act like it. Be a woman. Go.”

She pointed toward the door and glared at me while she sucked the last couple slurps from the bottom of her glass.

“OK give that to me,” I said with my hand out, figuring that another drink would buy me a few minutes to get a plan straight in my head. She held it out with a vigorous nod, and I wondered briefly if I was going to have to give her a piggyback ride up the stairs to her front door later. Again.