Jokers: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 2) (3 page)

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Melita breathed.

“Yeah…. Well,” I swallowed hard over my dry tongue, “I guess I have a proposal to write.”

The dress was blood red, skin tight, and utterly bad ass. The limousine arrived outside Melita’s bungalow at seven o’clock and I climbed into it feeling positively feline.

I couldn't stop touching it. I loved the way that the thick satin embraced my belly and hips. Like the midnight blue dress that Melita loaned me, this dress had a similar cup-shaped neckline that supported me amply, but the back plunged so low that I had been forced to go braless. My breasts jiggled and bounced sensually within the supportive confines of the satin, and I grew excited at the thought of just what Lyle and Owen were going to do with that.

I brushed my finger pads lightly against the raised rhinestone crust of my small handbag. Now that I had almost nothing to my name, getting everything into a tiny, fashionable purse was refreshingly easy. Inside the bag was a neatly folded presentation, just notes printed on white paper. I relished rehearsing the way I would describe it all.

At first I had fretted over it, glaring at Melita's computer screen like it had betrayed me. But once I told myself to just shoot for the stars - why not, what did I have to lose anyway - the words simply seemed to flow out of me like I had had them the entire time. I couldn't wait to explain my vision to them.

The limousine pulled to the curb in front of the Nantucket theater, an elegant vintage building with all the glamour of the Old Chicago Theater District. I could feel the eyes of passersby and theater patrons swinging toward me like spotlights as I exited the limo and stood for a moment on the sidewalk to collect myself. As I stroked my hands over the curves of my dress I felt it settle around me like a second skin. I could have lived forever in that dress.

A stranger in a tuxedo approached me, holding out his hand for mine. He cast his eyes away deferentially.

“The Misters Jack will be slightly delayed,” he murmured politely. “They have requested that I escort you to their private box.”

I nodded silently, praying that my mute demeanor could be interpreted as confidence and an appropriate level of entitlement.

The valet led me through the lobby and then through a small, ornate doorway and up a flight of stairs carpeted with handsome patterned rugs.

He bowed politely in front of a narrow door and opened it for me. I nodded to him as though I had any idea if nodding was the appropriate response — was I supposed to tip him or something? — and entered the small booth, pushing aside the heavy velvet curtain with one hand.

The private booth was dark and cozy, with three plush, wooden chairs with scrolled backs arranged in front of the ledge. Aside from the small lights at ankle height it was a completely dark, private space. I stood at the hip-high railing and stared out into the theater to watch patrons gradually filling the seats on the main floor below me. The sound of their murmurs filled the air like moths fluttering upward toward the hand-painted night sky on the domed ceiling.

The crowd subdued itself to whispers as the orchestra began the musical opening. I stood for a few moments more and then settled into the middle seat of the box. Though I wondered where the Jacks were, the thrill of waiting for them was delightful.

The music swelled, filling the space with the sumptuous sound of a full orchestra. I let the reverberations of the kettle drums and low horns ripple through my chest cavity, noting with a smirk how my bosom seemed to sympathetically vibrate.

As the main curtain on stage rolled swiftly up, I felt a change in air pressure in the booth. Though I ached to turn around, I sat completely still for a moment and then leaned slowly forward, resting my forearms on the curved wooden railing. The sultry air of the booth swirled over my bare back and my skin prickled with anticipation, knowing that the dress plunged so low that I probably was exposing more than a flirty furrow at the base of my spine.

Peering toward the stage, I tried to focus on the beginning of activity down there. A woman in Victorian dress sashayed furtively toward the front of the stage, apparently looking for something. I breathed deeply, willing my heartbeat to settle, wondering what was going to happen next.

As she began the first trilling notes of her song, I felt a light touch along the back of my neck. It trailed down between my shoulder blades and was quickly joined by another. The sensations of the combined touches were difficult to separate from one another and as they drew slow, symmetrical shapes down my exposed back, I felt like I could see them in my mind’s eye. Chevrons, a twisting mandala, and ziggurats of light traced paths through my mind followed swiftly by racing waves of goosebumps.

The singer swayed from one side of the stage to the other, gesturing toward the meaning of her words and opening her arms broadly to fling her emotions across the crowd. I could barely process what he was doing as the thrill of being touched by a number of un-seeable hands multiplied. I arched my back and rolled my neck, pressing my skin into the sensation and offering myself for their touch.

The first fingers that slipped inside the borders of my dress surprised me, but they shouldn't have. I could already feel the intention and determination of those gestures. Somehow it was completely relaxing. The familiar surge of luxurious confidence swelled within me. I felt like a goddess, like a luminous silver screen star. I had earned this extravagantly sensual treatment. I met it with a regal sense of entitlement and unabashed desire.

Closing my eyes, I undulated and rocked gently in my chair, almost dancing with the many invisible hands as they danced over my body. I felt a grip at the back of my neck pulling me gently and I submitted to it, falling back to rest against the plush back of my chair. Hands appeared at my ankles and slid up my inner calves, opening my knees beneath the sumptuous satin and sliding between my humid thighs.

I could feel them both beside me, on either side, pressing close against my flanks and pulling my legs open. One hand hooked behind my knee and lifted slightly, resting my leg over his knee. The other side immediately followed suit. There I was, pinned once again between two men who acted as though they were of the same mind, opening me up like a present.

I should've been embarrassed but I wasn't. I couldn't be, for I was so filled with the image of myself as the bombshell that I could only act that way. Even as they had me spread-eagled in the booth, I couldn't resist. I could see myself from outside of myself and the image was simultaneously so strange yet so correct that I clung to it enthusiastically. That's the person I wanted to be: obliterated, adored, and transformed.

Both sides of my neck were simultaneously assaulted by the hot, wet mouths of my lovers. I sighed and dug my fingers of my chair to hold on. Fingers simultaneously breached the borders of my panties from both sides. They stroked me lightly up and down a few times and I could feel the downy stubble that had just barely begun, electrified with the sensation. A low moan escaped my lips as desire mounted inside of me. I wanted to feel their touch deeper within me.

Though I had just been bruised and sore not minutes before that, suddenly I felt completely restored and filled with longing. The first fingers stroked down the center of me, toying with the lush wetness there. Another arm circled tighter around my shoulders and the mouth on that side growled against my neck.

I rolled my hips, trying to maneuver myself against the slow inspection of those fingers. A body pressed up against me on the other side, pushing up on that leg and opening me further.

Though I was fairly certain that I had two ardent and determined hands simultaneously stroking and opening my sex, it still wasn't enough. I wanted more than to be explored. I wanted to be worked into a frenzy. I wanted to come. And I didn't want to wait.

Looping my hands around the back of each of my companions, I rolled my head first to one side and found the waiting mouth of one of the Jacks. I kept my eyes closed and opened my lips against his, biting and sucking gently at the lips that had just been on my neck. He was warm and swollen from kissing me, and I dragged my tongue slowly around the borders of his fine, thick lips.

Turning my head to the other side, I found the jaw of my other lover with my fingers and tilted his head upward to meet mine. He plunged his tongue into my mouth, dragging it back and forth along the ridges of my teeth in a provocative in and out motion. With his tongue spearing against mine the fingers at my sex began a similar motion, finally breaching my entrance. I sighed a moan of longing into his mouth and nodded my encouragement.

Finally they seemed to understand what I wanted and all at once they began manipulating me expertly, with one set of fingers slipping in fast circles around my clit and another set of fingers diving into my entrance, pressing forward at just that right spot.

I circled my hips extravagantly, shamelessly rubbing myself against the ministrations of those two hands. The fingers at my clit circled faster and faster, working quickly to trigger a light that got brighter with each second inside my belly. The other hand pushed and smoothly but shallowly inside me, focusing on that spot as though trying to meet the other fingers.

The orchestra below us swelled, understanding exactly what we were doing and encouraging us to rise as it rose. Vaguely, I heard the opera singer's voice spiraling up through the music as though dashing up a staircase.

My brain turned to words.
Yes, yes
is all I could think.
More, more.

I rocked against the sensations, submitting completely to the brightening glow within me. I knew it was a firework that was suspended just moments before explosion. I knew it would burst soon. I needed only to submit, to work with it until it finally split open.

And then I was coming. I arched and bucked with the cascading swells of light that coursed through me. Hands or arms slipped behind me and held me up, completely supporting me as I gave in to the rocket fire of passion in my body.

The sounds of my lovers’ exclamations of approval and desire melded with the peak of the orchestra's performance. I could sense their scent had changed, and I felt that animal satisfaction of knowing that there was a reciprocal desire in the air. The three of us had created our own atmosphere.

As I quaked and shuddered, hands gently closed my legs and smoothed my dress over my thighs. Lips and noses nuzzled my neck and whispered words of appreciation in my ear that I couldn't quite understand anymore since language had left me.

I smiled luxuriously, finally opening my eyes to gaze back at the beautiful faces that stared down at me. Lyle was at my right and somehow I had known it was Lyle all the time. And Owen was at my left, and somehow I had known that too. Though they were like two halves of a pair, yet they were still distinct and individual. And together, they were a kind of magnificent I had never even contemplated before.

Lyle smiled, the unrequited passion showing thickly on his features.

“Let's get out of here, shall we? I think I've seen this opera a few times.”

I nodded mutely, so happy to know there was still a whole night ahead of us.

I barely remembered the limo ride. We traveled back down the small staircase and through the lobby as though on a trolley or cloud made of our own intentions. It hardly seemed real. It was like a fantastic dream where you will something and then suddenly it's happening.

In the limo, I could barely keep my hands off of them. Now it was my turn to attempt some two-at-once-type ministrations and I was delightfully surprised at how easily I was able to use both hands to simultaneously unzip their trousers.

My fingers found their cocks already swollen and thick. With one on each side of me in the plush, far back seat of the limousine I stroked them simultaneously until they both rose turgidly from the tops of their pants.

I have to admit: as an artist, the symmetry of this lovemaking appealed to me immensely. Though it was difficult to manage the coordination since my right hand was decidedly more apt, the pure choreography had a delicious balance to it. I wondered how far I could take it. Can I make them both come at once? Can I make them sigh at once? Can I make them both fall in love with me at once?

Whoa, where did that come from? Get a hold of yourself, woman.

I made a silent promise to myself right there. I wasn't going to get swept away in this. I wasn't going to let myself get hypnotized, which I had to admit was probably twice as likely since there was twice as many hypnotists in the vehicle with me.

Be vigilant, Bree. All of the parts; none of the hearts.

Remember that.

I worked their cocks with long, slow strokes, twisting my fingers around the circumference to enjoy the velvety skin and the throbbing hardness just beneath that. I wanted them both ready and practically bursting by the time we got to our destination, wherever that was.

The limousine glided anonymously down the busy downtown streets. I could tell from the expressions of the people on the sidewalk that they couldn't see into our vehicle because of the tinted windows. All they could see was a distorted reflection of themselves as we slipped through their evening. I felt incredibly powerful as I manhandled these two extraordinary animals to near-orgasm all the while rolling through a thousand people's lives, and they didn't even know it.

The limousine pulled to the curb beneath the lit awning in front of a wide terrace lined with extravagantly planted terra-cotta pots. Owen blinked and looked around when my hand slowed to a stop.

“Time to collect myself, I guess,” he said with a hungry grin. “I hope there is more of that coming.”

I nodded and shrugged out a flirt.

“I guess that depends on what you think of my proposal.” I purred brazenly.

“Oh? Do you need me to get a multimedia team together?” Lyle asked as he tucked his obvious erection toward his hip and tried to button his tuxedo coat over it.

“I think I can manage,” I said in a strangely appropriate business/seduction tone of voice.

What is the word for business sexy? Is it like business casual?

The driver opened Lyle's door and he got out, extending a hand to me to help me get to the sidewalk in my restrictive yet fabulous dress in the most elegant way possible.

The doormen both glanced discreetly away as they swung open the twin doors, and I entered the lobby of the skyscraper with my matching boyfriends. Once again all eyes turned toward us as we crossed the room. It was almost as though I could pick out the individual emotions that were being broadcast toward us: some envy, some astonishment, some brazen appeals to be invited.

I could absolutely get used to this. I thought I liked being glanced over and immediately forgotten, but this kind of superstar attention definitely had its appeal.

Lyle kept his palm pressed against the naked base of my spine and guided me toward the elevator. Owen walked two steps ahead and swiped his thumb across the biometric scanner.

“That's an impressive security system you have there,” I observed. “I didn't even realize that was a scanner at first.”

“We have every reason to be protective of our privacy,” Lyle murmured very close to my ear. The trickle of his breath around my earlobe made me shudder with aftershocks and I realized again that there was still more to come.

“So you’re telling me people don't randomly send limousines to pick you up when you're staying at your friend’s house and thinking your movements are private?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, that," Owen chuckled as the elevator plunged skyward.

“I told you it was our job to know things,” Lyle said with a shrug.

Yeah, I know a few things about you too now.

Google had been practically gushing with praise for the Jacks when I typed in the simple phrase Lyle and Owen Jack. It actually autofilled the rest as soon as I typed “Lyle and O—” because apparently I was not the only person curious about them.

The results had been strangely and abundantly starry-eyed: from bromancey articles praising their technological and strategic skills as businessmen, to the adoring blurbs expressing thanks for the tiger and marsupial nurseries at two zoos, to breaking ground on several cutting-edge children’s hospital wings, to sudden Make-A-Wish-type splurges with families jetting to movie sets and Disney World.

The media had an embarrassingly gooey love affair with these two, and as I skimmed through each ever-more-complimentary article I felt both amazed I had never known anything about them, and slightly tooth-achey at all the super-sweetness of it all.

“Well, as long as you always promise to use your powers for good,” I pouted with exaggerated disapproval. Yes, they’d spied on me, but in order to give me presents. It was hard to be upset about that.

“In your case,” Owen purred as he tilted up my chin in his fingers and ran his nose beneath the line of my jaw, “that is an easy promise to make.”

“You have to admit, though,” Lyle said as his hands slid across my blood-red-swaddled belly, “that was pretty cool.”

“Cool? Well… Okay, yes that was fairly impressive. Or anyway, I think it was, but I'm not really in the espionage business so I probably can't say for certain what the difficulty level of that really was.”

The image of three articles flashed through my head, each expressing shock and admiration for the Jacks’ pricing and subsequent acquisition of undervalued tech firms. They’d taken businesses that were about to tank, plucked them from the eddy just before they dropped down the drain, and propelled their founders into near-overnight wealth. One article noted how one of the stipulations was that the founder reconfigure the entire company’s compensation so that each employee was a millionaire. The breathless employees’ responses compared them to Santa Claus more than once.

I felt Owen’s head nodding against my lower neck as the elevator slid silently skyward.

“That's exactly it,” he observed quietly while planting gentle kisses against the top of my shoulder. “Nobody knows how easy or difficult our job really is. The mystery is part of the appeal.”

The doors slid open to an enormous cavern of a space. Lyle slipped from the elevator first and found a keypad on the wall, setting the entire room ablaze in succession as banks of light sprang to life.

A line of dark windows along one far wall twinkled prettily with the curve of the Chicago shoreline that plunged to blackness at the edge of the lake. Though I could make out a few dim lights on the lake, the void was infinitely and suddenly black in comparison with the bustling city below us.

“This is amazing,” I breathed as I stepped into the room. I could almost feel Owen and Lyle grinning proudly behind me.

“This is nothing,” Lyle said wryly. “You should see our place in Rio.”

“Is that what you do?” I asked as I circled the room like a prom queen, dragging my fingers over every shiny surface, drinking in the details of the handmade, antique rugs, the museum-quality furniture pieces, the unostentatious arrangement for conversation and life.

“Is what, what we do?” Lyle replied as he wandered to the couch and perched himself on the arm. He cocked his head playfully at me.

“Stalking baristas to pad your trivia team?” I answered with a casual wave of my wrist.

“Oh yeah, more or less,” Owen chuckled as he inspected the contents of a well-stocked bar cart. And really, that did seem sort of true: what was the real difference between researching a barista and researching an obscure tech company? I guess I could see how they were parallel.

Lyle stretched his arms over his head and sighed with something like satisfaction. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, pleased to see them in their natural habitat. It was obvious this was normal for them, though it was unlike anything I had ever seen. The view was breathtaking. The furniture and paintings were one-of-a-kind masterpieces. But they seemed totally at ease.

This was the place where they really lived, not just a spectacle to impress me. There were actual divots on the 200-year-old sofa in front of the 80-inch plasma screen that indicated that these brothers probably watched a decent amount of football while resting their buttocks on a piece of furniture that was worth more than Melita's house.

It was offhanded and yet ridiculously lush. I guessed this was just how billionaires live. Somehow I expected them to almost be transient, to never really settle down and just jet from hotel penthouse to hotel penthouse all over the world. But I guess even the stupidly wealthy have to live somewhere.

“And the dress?” I asked with a quirked eyebrow at Owen. “It fits so well. Did you have me laser-scanned when I wasn't looking, perhaps?"

"Oh ho ho,” Owen chuckled as he plunked perfectly round spheres of ice into the bottom of three rocks glasses in a line. He fingered the necks of two crystal decanters of amber liquids as though trying to decide between them. “The dress, yes… Lyle, why don't you explain that one?”

I cut my eyes toward Lyle to see his expression. He rolled his neck back and forth and stared at the ceiling as though trying to formulate a clever answer.

“Well, you were not laser-scanned.”

“Oh? Because the dress feels like… Like it was made for me or something.”

“Oh… Well…”

“Just admit it, Lyle,” Owen grinned as he pressed a cool glass into my open hand. I drew it up and took a tentative sniff, surprised by the smell of alcohol, certainly, but also the golden aroma of… What was that? It smelled like grasses? It smelled like a field at the end of summer full of high grasses blowing in the wind.

Okay, that's pretty amazing.

Lyle just shrugged and turned away as though extremely interested in finding the TV remote or something. “It's just something I'm good at.”

I looked up at Owen, trying to decipher the mischievous glint in his eye.

“Something you're good at?” I repeated.

“Oh yeah, he's real good at it.”

“You're good at… What?”

Lyle turned around with a frustrated and slightly embarrassed expression, holding his hands in midair as if to fend off any criticism.

“I'm good at... Fine. I’m good at
clothes
,” he said in a rush. "Okay? Is that so wrong? The minute I saw you I had a list of four designers and knew exactly how to dress you. So that's my secret power. Everybody has one… Mine just happens to be not as cool as
some other people's.
”

He shot Owen a pointed look as he accepted his drink and perched himself back on the edge of a Louis XIV settee as though that was the sort of thing people did every day: rested their asses on museum pieces.

“Well, shoot, that is
totally
a superpower far as I'm concerned,” I said, looking around as though this was obvious. “I know I've never been good at it. Clothes are always sort of a hassle and, you know, it's just really easy to give up and start shopping at Caftans R Us or whatever. You can dress me anytime.”

I raised my glass in salute and then took my first real sip of the sunny liquid. It trickled through my insides, spreading light from the inside out.

“He can dress you,” Owen said with a smile as he gazed into his glass, “and I can
undress
you. See how well we work together?”

“Yes, you are quite the dynamic duo,” I agreed without reservation, remembering with a delightful shudder how they had worked me into such a satisfying frenzy not half an hour ago.

Note to self: find the bed.

“Undressing you is not his secret power though,” Lyle said with raised eyebrows. “Why don’t you tell her, Owen?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh, it's nothing,” he averred, bringing his glass back up between his lips. I watched his lower lip curl around the rim and was filled with another wave of hunger. I’d seen a similar picture of him in the Wall Street Journal with a celebratory glass of champagne raised to his lips after they founded and funded a soccer club in Detroit with a trust that would last 30 years. Santa Claus indeed.

I should be nibbling on that lip.

“You're not getting away with it that easy,” Lyle persisted. “I had to cop to my secret power, and you have to cop to yours. I bet if you share, she'll tell us what hers is.”

I raised my hands to proclaim my innocence. “I have no powers.”