Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 31
Somehow, they seemed to know it was driving me wild. Somehow they had the willpower to only take one stroke each. Somehow I didn’t scream at the top of my lungs with unfulfilled desire.
It went on, and on, and on. Forever. An endless cycle of being fucked by each of them, two in the ass and one in the cunt, always leaving me wanting more.
By the time Michael was ready to come, I was vibrating with desire. He roared his climax for the entire plane to hear and his hot salty seed gushed onto my ass cheeks. Gregor and Donovan joined him moments later with their own frantic cries. The sensation of their steamy spunk all over my skin, my deepest fetish, was like a sledgehammer to my soul. The muscles inside my pussy spasmed and squirted and I came harder than I ever have in my life, tied down to the bed with a blindfold over my eyes, their warm seed finally allowing me the release I’d so desperately desired and had been so cruelly denied.
They were gentle as they untied me. I fell into Donovan’s arms and kissed the salty sweat from his lips. All three of them glistened with perspiration from their efforts, but their smiles were wide and genuine.
“I know you disabled the cameras,” Gregor said, stroking my hair back from my face. “But I’m pretty sure Ernest heard that scream.”
*
The rest of the flight was relaxing and uneventful. We watched Netflix on the television while drinking beer and eating snacks. When we landed in London we had fish and chips delivered to our plane, crispy cod with thick fries slathered in ketchup that we wolfed down in our famished state. We slept across the Atlantic, woke up for coffee in New York, and then made the final trip south to Virginia.
Cali was playing with Legos on the floor of the living room when we came home. She didn’t even hear us climbing the stairs until we were right on top of her, that’s how focused she was on her construction. She liked to build things with her hands. Maybe she would be an engineer some day.
“Mommy!” she squealed, attacking my legs first. I was always first. I held her close and inhaled the smell of her dark hair. It was getting longer every day, and thick too.
“Daddy!” she said when she hugged Michael, then “Daddy! Daddy!” when it was Donovan’s and Gregor’s turns. She didn’t see anything weird about having three daddies. If anything, she thought it made her more special.
“Her nose has been running a lot,” Daniella said as she greeted us. A worried look fell over her face. “Went through an entire box of tissues cleaning her up. I Googled what might cause that…”
I kissed our neighbor on the cheek. “Her allergies have been acting up. She’s fine, Daniella.”
“I’m going to send you this list of diseases,” she said, holding up her phone. “Just for you to look at.” She crouched down and held out her arms. “Time for me to go, little spider.”
“No!” Cali flew at her babysitter and gave her a big hug. “Dani no leave. Dani stay and play.”
“Sorry little spider, I have a midterm to study for.” She looked at me and sighed. “Molecular biology.”
“Yuck,” I said. “Good luck.”
The moment she was gone, Cali sprinted back over to her pile of Legos. “Daddy! Come look!”
We all knew who she meant: Donovan was the one she played Legos with. It was cute how they each had a different hobby with her. Michael read her bedtime stories. Gregor watched cartoons. Donovan played Legos and Lincoln Logs. I did a little bit of everything because there was nobody like mommy.
Donovan laid flat on the ground next to her and said, “Is this a car?”
“NO!” she said with a giggle. “Is a truck.”
Donovan turned his face into a mask of excitement. “Ohh! Wow!”
I slipped one arm around Michael and another around Gregor. We were building a wonderful little life for ourselves.
Eventually we would need to stop taking dangerous contracts. Things were different now that we had a little one at home, but the boys still loved the action and excitement involved with the job. But I could tell they were coming around. Realizing how important it was to stay safe for little Cali.
You know what made me happiest? Knowing that Cali wouldn’t end up like me. I’d lost my father and it derailed my life for years. There was a missing part of my soul where my father had been, a part which I’d tried to fill with work and revenge and hateful thoughts toward Juan Gonzalo Blanco.
But Cali? She had three dads in that part of her being now, instead of just one. Sure, something could always happen to one of us—God forbid. But even if that happened, there were others to help support her. If something ever happened to me I knew that my three lovers would always be there for her.
And that made me happier than anything else in the world.
“What do you want for dinner, sweetie?” I asked.
“Macaroni!” she said without hesitation. Donovan arched an eyebrow at me.
“Better give her what she wants.”
“Can you cut up little hot dogs in it?” Gregor asked. “That’s my favorite.” He looked sideways at Cali.
“That’s my favorite too!” she screamed. “Did you hear that? Daddy’s favorite is my favorite.”
Michael and I went into the kitchen to get started on dinner. The four of us were home and safe, and none of us could stop smiling.
None of us wanted to, either.
Bonus Scene
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*
It was supposed to be just a sizzling one-night stand.
Some dripping hot fun with my sexy coworker.
But then my new lover introduced me to his two gorgeous friends and their Ocean's Eleven style plan.
Getting into my pants isn't Bryce's primary goal.
My new lover tells me a secret.
The casino where we work is a front for the Russian mafia.
$12 million worth of dirty money is cleaned every week.
Money that is lightly guarded.
It’s there for the taking for anyone with the guts to try.
Like the four of us.
Bryce, the flirty blackjack dealer with a panty-dropping smile and wit as sharp as a razor.
Eddie, the blunt security guard covered with dangerous muscle.
Xander, the country music singer who strums his guitar with corded-muscle arms and lust in his eyes.
But the stakes are high.
If we’re caught, we’ll end up buried in a shallow Las Vegas grave.
Can we escape with the money—and our lives?
Sage
I hurried to the locker room and changed into my outfit. Waitresses at the Volga wore these sexy Soviet style military uniforms, complete with brass buttons down the front and gold stars on the shoulder with a backdrop of communist red. But instead of soldier slacks these uniforms boasted a short skirt and black jackboots to show off our legs.
It could be worse. At least I didn’t have to wear a ridiculous push-up top to show off my tits like the girls at the Venetian or Bellagio. Small victories.
I clocked in on the wall computer and then quickly made my way toward the serving bar. Theming aside, I was able to walk faster in these jackboots than I could in normal heels. I scanned the area as I walked, praying that I wouldn’t see my boss. He was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed a serving tray from the waitress supply stack and pushed through the door onto the casino floor.
It was like walking into the inside of a pinball machine.
Lights were everywhere—an overwhelming amount of flashing colors and neon letters no matter where you looked. A cacophony of sounds drifted from the slot machines to my left and right. Cash register sounds, the computerized sound of coins falling into buckets, every manner of beep and clink and siren. I was bombarded by the smell of carpet cleaner and cigarette smoke too. Fortunately all of my senses were used to this. You had to get used to it when you worked in this town.
Directly ahead of me was the relatively calmer section of the table games. Blackjack tables, gimmick versions of poker, roulette wheels, and craps. That was my section tonight. Beyond that, on the opposite end of the casino, was the Volga casino’s secondary stage where a man in a cowboy hat sat on a stool playing the guitar. If I strained my ears I could barely hear the music—he sounded good.
I imagined myself performing on a stage that big in front of a packed casino. Just thinking about it sent a shiver up my spine. Something to work towards.
“Drinks,” I said as I approached the first blackjack table. It was surprisingly full, six men hunched over their chips in a semicircle. The blackjack dealer, a cute blond with sharp cheekbones who I’d never seen before, gave me a smile. “Drink orders?”
“Scotch, neat,” one man ordered. Two others asked for me, and the remaining three guys ignored me, too focused on their cards to stop and place an order. I mentally took note of their orders and their table.
The name of the game as a casino waitress was volume. The more people I served, the more tips I got. It was that simple. It took a while to walk back to the serving bar and wait for drinks, so the most efficient thing to do was collect a full tray of orders before heading back to get them filled.
Since I only had three orders, I turned to head to the next table over.
Zeke, my boss, was blocking my way.
“You are late,” he said in a slow, thick Russian accent. His face was hard and his nose had been broken more than once. The three-piece suit was totally out of place on his frame. He looked more like the bouncer at a club than a shift manager at a casino.
I tried to hide my wince. I’d thought I was in the clear when I didn’t see him in the back. “Hey Zeke. What’s up?”
“You are late. Do you deny it?”
That was a trap. There was nothing he’d love more than to catch me in a lie. “I’m a little late, yeah. I had to take the bus, and it stopped at every damn corner on the way here…”
“We talked about this, yes?”
Two of the blackjack players looked over their shoulder at us. It was incredibly unprofessional of Zeke to chew me out here in front of everyone.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, sir.”
I turned away. I was trying to be overly formal to get him off my back, but it had the opposite effect. He grabbed my arm before I could get to the next table and said, “Do not be sarcastic with me! You have already been given a warning. Perhaps I should fire you.”
Fire. Shit. That didn’t sound like just an idle threat, and it sent ice running up my spine. I couldn’t lose this job.
I made my face as remorseful as possible and prayed he took it as genuine. “You’re right. We did discuss this once already, and you were nice enough to give me a warning. It’s my fault and I have no excuse. I promise it won’t happen again.”
The three seconds he considered me felt like an hour. Then he caught sight of something behind me and quickly shouldered by. I turned to watch him leave and quickly realized what it was.
Coming down the enormous grand staircase was an entourage of men in grey and black suits. They walked in a protective formation around a man in a flawless ivory suit who looked around the casino like he owned the place.
Because he did.
Vladimir Yegorovich, the owner of the Volga Hotel and Casino, was completely bald and held himself with an air of power. Even from this far away I could tell by the way he moved in slow, confident strides, head gazing this way and that. As Zeke approached two of the bodyguards seamlessly changed their stride to block his path with their bodies, causing Zeke to stop dead in his tracks with only the look on their face.
Yegorovich approached and gave Zeke a smile, slapping him amicably on the arm. The two exchanged some words and then Zeke grinned and went running off, presumably to complete one task or another for the Russian boss.
“You gunna get my cranberry juice or what?”
I flinched and smiled at the man. “Of course,” I said, trying to regain my composure.
“Don’t feel bad, honey,” one of the drunk blackjack players said. “If you get fired I’ve got a job I can hire you for.”
His buddies sitting next to him snickered and waited to see how I would react to that. Fortunately the blackjack dealer cut in with a loud and authoritative voice.
“Dealer has 15, hits, and… oof. Dealer has 21. Tough luck, buddy.”
The drunk guy cursed as the dealer took away his chips. The dealer gave me a sympathetic look. He had the most piercing blue eyes, eyes I wished I could stare into longer.
I gave him a tight smile and moved on.
*
Being a waitress sucked.
The tips could be good, especially if you were lucky enough to work the table games on a busy night. Slot machine players were notoriously stingy and never tipped, but card players always tipped in cash or house chips. On a good evening shift on Friday or Saturday I could pull $500 in tips, which was especially important since we got paid less than minimum wage.
But we also had to deal with assholes. It sucked, but it was part of the abuse women took every day, especially as a scantily-clad waitress in a casino.
Sometimes, when I was having a bad night, I imagined the roles reversed. Rich women sipping expensive liquor and pinching the asses of nearly-nude beefcakes who served martinis. But then I’d get my own ass pinched and the fantasy would vanish like cigarette smoke.
Just another reason to work hard as a singer.
Tonight was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday. There were a lot of Russian men playing at the high-stakes blackjack tables, all of them wearing nice suits and ordering glasses of Stolichnaya vodka like it was water. It seemed weird for Russian visitors to come to a Russian-themed Casino, but they tipped well and didn’t leer or say anything rude so I didn’t mind at all.
I let my eyes linger on a table while passing out drinks. One Russian guy with ridiculous bleached hair had a big stack of silver chips bet on this hand, at least $35,000. He had 17 (a Queen and a seven) while the dealer was showing an 8. The Russian tapped the table with a finger to signal hit, which made me and several other players wince. You weren’t supposed to hit on 17, even when the dealer was showing an 8. Sure enough, the next card he was given was a 6. Bust.
If the Russian was bothered by losing a waitress’s salary on a single hand, he hid it well. He shrugged and thanked me as I handed him his drink, then pushed another stack of chips forward for the next hand.
My shift went quickly since it was a busy night, for which I was grateful. I only had my ass pinched twice, “accidentally,” brushed against three times, and I was only propositioned by not-as-clever-as-they-think patrons two more times, so all in all it was better than most nights. Plus I was able to catch most of the country singer’s performance which provided a delightful distraction.
I clocked out without seeing Zeke again for which I was thankful.
It was exhausting being on your feet for so long. I didn’t want to change into my other outfit just yet—my Volga uniform was more comfortable than the cocktail dress and heels—so I skipped the locker room and went straight to the kitchen. The smell of roasting meat, baked bread, and platters of shrimp made my mouth water and my stomach growl like a rabid dog. I weaved through the working cooks until I reached the pantry in the back.
The Volga had only been open a month but the service staff already had a special routine. It started after Candice got chewed out by Zeke two weeks ago but had become a nightly thing. One person would bring a bottle of hard liquor to the pantry to share among the others. People would chip in their own tips for a share of the bottle, and we’d pass it around and bitch about the night we’d just had.
It was fun because it was a different group every night. Tonight six people were already there when I arrived: three card dealers, two waitresses, and a bartender who looked like he was already three sheets to the wind.
My eye was on the bottle tonight. I pulled out a red $5 chip that I’d been tipped, tossed it into the costume Soviet hat on the floor with the other buy-in, and said, “Deal me in.”
“With pleasure,” one of the other waitresses said, handing me the bottle. I drank deep of the brown liquid, savoring the burning sensation as it went down my throat and warmed my belly. It was good shit, higher quality than someone normally brought.
“Your money’s no good here,” said the guy sitting on a crate of potatoes across from me. He pulled my chip out of the hat and tossed it to me. “You get to drink for free after the ass-chewing you took.”
I winced. I realized it was the blond blackjack dealer with the piercing blue eyes, the one who’d seen me get chewed out by Zeke. His name tag said Bryce.
“I wish nobody had seen that,” I said.
“Nobody should have seen that,” he said. “Dude was being a real dick. You don’t bring that drama onto the casino floor where customers can see it. They’re trying to have a good time.”
I tossed my chip back into the hat. “Thanks, but I pay my own way. And I intend to drink my fair share of that bottle tonight.”
He put his hands up. No wedding ring. “Fair enough.”
The seven of us shot the shit while passing the bottle around for half an hour. It was nice spending some time with fellow grunts being ground into powder by the cash-hungry machine of the casino. We all had a mutual struggle in our shitty roles. One card dealer mentioned that she had a customer tell her she had pretty hands, then tried to grab one of her hands when she took his chips. They had to get the pit boss involved, who ended up calling security to haul him out. Another waitress mentioned how one middle-aged couple invited her back to their room because they’d always wanted to have a threesome.
