Bunny

My heart is beating fast again. I wasn’t sure that my interview with Royce had really gone all that well, but when I got the text instructing me to meet in the penthouse suite in the hotel for another interview, I knew I probably still had a shot.

A shot at the strangest job I have ever heard of.

Chicago looks fascinating, but I don’t think I have time to go exploring right now. In any case, it’s huge. Here, in a luxury hotel on the lake, half the windows look out over at the beautiful blue expanse of Lake Michigan. The other half look out over a dense hive of building after building, with millions of people sprawling all the way out to the suburbs, I’m certain. It’s bigger than I thought. A little claustrophobic, honestly.

It’s probably safer to just wait at the hotel bar for forty-five minutes or so before taking the elevator up to the penthouse. I guess this is where they live? In a hotel? It’s a little strange. I had always thought that hotels were meant for temporary housing, but I guess if you own the damn things, they can be whatever the hell you want.

Rich people. They’re weird.

I sip delicately at my vodka and cranberry juice, wincing as the liquid burns against the back of my throat. Royce’s dick was huge, and the way he shoved it all the way to the back of my tongue was almost more than I could take. I was almost gagging but forced myself not to. I’m certainly not going to give up that easy.

Part of me wants to use some of my free time to give Dahlia a quick call. I want to tell her everything that happened… and I also want to find out why she thought it was okay to basically pimp me out to these guys. Kind of weird, no?

And also kind of awesome?

I wasn’t joking with Royce about the dreams. I don’t think I ever even told Dahlia about them. I used to dream all the time about having a whole fairytale stable full of handsome men to pick from. Guys who’d want to do things to me, give me baths, build things for me or tear things down. Guys who looked at me like I was the princess whom they were sworn to defend.

I had one really good fantasy about a monastery in the remote parts of Portugal or something. I mean, I wouldn’t recognize Portugal if I were actually in it, but it always sounded really exotic to me.

So one day, I’m just hiking or horseback riding or doing something fabulous… four-wheeling or treasure hunting like Indiana Jones or something… and I come upon this monastery.

They’re a bunch of quiet hunks in monks’ robes who haven’t seen a woman in decades, maybe even ever in their whole lives. When I arrive, I tell them I’m looking for directions but secretly I’m trying to get ahold of a rare manuscript they’re keeping in the catacombs. They’re all just dazzled by me. They can’t wait to get their hands on me.

The abbot sets up a private chamber for me, after insisting that I stay for a delicious, handmade dinner served by half a dozen handsome holy men. I retire to the chamber and fall into a deep sleep on the handmade feather mattress.

When two of them have my legs in their hands, their faces buried in my crotch as they both lick me, at first I don’t even realize I’m awake. How could they want something so sinful?

But as I wake more completely, I realize there are many more of them. One has his toes in my mouth. One is rubbing is soup can-thick erection in my armpit. But they all reserve my pussy for their abbot, making sure he gets the most tender slice. By the time he appears at the foot of my bed, opening his robe to display an eagle-shaped pattern of hair across his muscular chest that trails down to that glowing, bobbing hard-on below, I am more than ready for him. I’m practically begging for him, even though I don’t speak Portuguese.

See? This is like a dream come true, really.

Still, I would like the chance to give Dahlia a little bit of a hard time about it, after all her pompous security fairy tale bull. Then again, maybe she didn’t really know. But maybe August knew, and maybe he could sense that I would be completely down with this. It’s fantastic. Assuming everybody is as beautiful as Royce, I don’t see how I could ever complain.

And assuming, of course, that baby Sophia is cool with me too.

Yeah. Because apparently that part of the job is serious too. Yikes. Can’t forget the tiny human life I’ll be entrusted to foster.

The bartender walks over, modestly keeping his eyes down. I suppose he sees a lot of single women in this bar, hanging out and waiting for their lovers. He probably has to use a lot of discretion.

“Another drink, miss?” he murmurs.

I lick my lips, surprised to note how parched I feel. Royce definitely woke something up inside me. A deep thirst.

“Wellllllllll,” I sigh, tapping my straw against the cream-colored paper napkin, “I really shouldn’t. I mean I really shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be at a job interview upstairs in a half an hour… oh. Eighteen minutes. That was fast.”

“I see,” he murmurs confidentially.

“So maybe just the check?” I offer with a shrug. I’m sort of sad I’m not going to be able to have another drink. I could really use two or three or seven more.

“No check, miss,” he smiles, still keeping his eyes averted. “You can have whatever you want here.”

“Oh,” I inhale sharply.

He walks away, and I’m almost certain that he is not smirking at me. I can have whatever I want? With no check?

So he must know who I am, and that means he knows why I am here… and probably what the Worth brothers are interviewing me for.

He’s got a hell of a lot of nerve, judging me.

“Actually, sir?” I ask in a raised voice. “Just a quick shot of Patron, okay? One for the road.”

“Yes, miss,” he answers right away.

Immediately he pours out some tequila from a fancy bottle into an elegant stainless steel shaker with a few ice cubes and begins rattling it vigorously over one shoulder. He pours it into a small, decorative glass and slides it in front of me with a small plate containing thinly sliced limes and a tiny pile of pink salt.

I don’t even care how nice this hotel is or who sees me. I lick the back of my hand, then dunk it into the salt and pop it back into my mouth. Then I shoot the tequila and finish up by putting a whole lime slice on my tongue. It burns like hell in my sore mouth, but I don’t even care.

That’ll show him.

“Thanks so much!” I singsong as I walk away, surprised to find that my knees are actually a little bit wobbly. I guess three ounces of hard alcohol in forty-five minutes is sort of a lot, and I might even be a little bit tipsy.

“Miss Bunny? Miss Bunny?" I hear a voice say as I am crossing the elegant foyer toward the elevators I used earlier this morning. I glance over my shoulder and see a small, wiry older woman with a manic smile headed right for me.

“Yoo-hoo!!” she calls out hopefully.

“Are you looking for me?” I ask her, careful to keep my voice completely even and sober-sounding. So far, so good.

“Mr. Worth is expecting you?”

My hand drifts toward the elevators. “Yes, I was just going up to see him. Mr. Worth.”

She stops when she’s about three inches away from me, then averts her eyes the same way as the bartender. What is it with these people? Is this some kind of witness protection program? Like, they won’t be able to testify against me or something?

“Yes, certainly,” she continues conspiratorially. “May I show you to the private elevators? I’m afraid the guest elevators don’t access the West Penthouse.”

“Oh, certainly,” I smile, confused. “It’s a good thing you stopped me. I would’ve been riding elevators all afternoon!”

“Oh, we can’t have that!” she sighs, cupping my elbow gently and guiding me in a way that almost feels like I’m not being guided at all.

We hustle across the foyer and around the back of the reception desk to an ornate set of doors. She opens one of the doors, and behind it is an accordion-style metal grate that leads onto vast nothingness. Immediately, I hear a metallic whirring and watch as the metal bar descends, revealing first a pair of feet in shiny shoes, then some sharply pressed trousers. When the whole elevator car is even with this floor, the man jerks the old-fashioned lever to stop it and pries the gate open.

“Miss Bunny?” he asks me with a smile. “Shall we?”

The woman pushes me gently toward the elevator car and I climb into it, fascinated. I’ve never seen one of these except in the movies. It must be ancient.

The operator drags the security gate closed with a clang, then grabs the wooden handle of the control. It’s worn and shiny, looking sort of like the control of an old pirate ship or something. There are no buttons, just this man working this lever.

The elevator shoots up quickly, rocketing toward the top floor. I place a hand against the flocked wallpaper to steady myself, appreciating the carved wooden decorations that adorn the ceiling. I’m pretty sure that’s Art Deco. I saw a movie about it once or something.

“Here you are, Miss Bunny,” he says in a soothing voice as the elevator slows to a stop. He opens the gate for me and holds out a hand toward the vast room in front of me.

Biting my lips together, I hold my breath and force myself to walk in. This is not like anything I’ve ever seen before, except maybe in magazines or old films. It’s dark with wood paneling and tall velvet curtains. Light comes through the two-story windows and falls on the floor in golden trapezoids.

There are pedestals with statues and painted vases distributed artfully across the room, as well as tables of various sizes with chairs arranged around them. Along one wall, there is an oversized pool table with two red balls on top of it. And on top of the fireplace, the front half of a moose hangs, glaring hoarily out at the room.

“This is our father’s taste in decorating,” comes a voice.

“Yes it’s quite… impressive,” I blurt out, searching for the right word. “I feel like I’m in church, or in a movie about kings and queens of England or something.”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to think,” he informs me.

The light from the windows has me a little bit blinded, and I squint toward where his voice is coming from. As he approaches me, he seems quite familiar.

It’s Trey. The man from first class.

The man who… oh jeez.

I suddenly realize I’ve been sitting in the lobby of his hotel, getting day drunk on his tab after blowing his brother. Not a big deal, considering yesterday I made him get me off under a blanket at thirty thousand feet.

Sure. Why not.

But as he steps into the light, he doesn’t seem embarrassed, so why should I? He smiles, his cheeks dimpling just a little bit. Not a whole lot—not like a cheerleader’s dimple. More like a manly sign of approval.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I do enjoy a glass of champagne,” I smile, referring to the complimentary drink the airline attendant tried to offer me that I was too horny to accept.

He smiles back, his lips parting over perfect, white teeth.

“I like where your head is at,” he says approvingly. “Let’s do that.”

As he walks to the bar area, I notice that he seems a little bit different than he did at the airport. Airports stress everybody out, I guess. I thought that TSA lady was going to have him arrested.

But now that he’s back in his home environment, this is a different sort of man. He walks with an animal strength, as though he’s only using 2 percent of the strength that he has. Like he could pounce into action at any time.

He returns with two champagne glasses filled with bubbling golden liquid and hands me one.

“Let’s get to know each other a little better, shall we?” he asks, pulling out a round-backed club chair for me. I sink into the antique leather, suddenly weary all the way down to my bones.

“Ask me anything,” I quip as I draw the glass up to my nose, sniffing against the tiny bubbles that burst in my nostrils. “I’m an open book.”

“Oh, I don’t think this has to be that kind of interview,” he sighs. “Let’s just have a conversation, if that’s all right with you? My brothers will probably ask you every question under the sun, anyway. No need for me to be redundant.”

“Of course,” I smile, remembering how he confidently fingered my pussy, bringing me to a quick and wonderful orgasm, exactly what I needed on my first airplane ride. “I mean, I feel like we already know quite a bit about each other. I’m a very good judge of character.”

He raises his eyebrows in a friendly challenge. The sunlight glances off the sculpted waves of his dark-blond hair. From the side, I can see his eyes are light green-gray. He looks very little like Royce, and I assume they take after different parents. I wonder if his light coloring came from his mother or father.

“I like to think I’m a good judge of character too,” he answers. “So, are you comfortable?”

“With the nanny… arrangement? Is that what you mean?” I ask brazenly.

I’m happy to see his grateful smile. I can tell that’s not a question he wanted to ask directly.

“I’m completely comfortable,” I shrug. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“That’s good,” he nods. “I’m happy that you’re here. And was your meeting with Royce satisfactory?”

I suddenly realize that I’m being just a little bit dumb. Of course, when he said he wanted to have a conversation he didn’t mean that he wanted to have a real conversation. He’s just talking like a rich guy with manners, of course. He means, can I blow him too?

Well, turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?

“I would say that I started this trip completely satisfied,” I smirk, setting my champagne flute on the table and sliding from my chair. I knee-walk slowly toward him across the thick, plush carpeting.

“Ah, ahem... that’s wonderful to hear,” he says in a thick voice as he watches me approaching. When I finally reach him, I drag my nails across his knees, pushing them open so I can wedge myself between them.

“Oh, you are an unusual creature,” he murmurs. His hand slides up my shoulder and cups the back of my neck.

My pussy is instantly wet again, remembering how he treated me. Now I want to make him feel just as good. I slide my hands up his trousers and find his throbbing cock, taking it out through his fly. He slides down the chair so I can wrap my lips around it, covering him in slick saliva so that I can mouth the entire shaft.

“Ohhhhhh, unhhhhh, my God,” he moans, bucking against my tongue.

The soreness in my mouth goes away quickly as I set to the task of getting him as hard as he possibly can be. I cheat a little bit by using both my hands instead of deep-throating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

I’ve got his cock in both my hands, sucking hard on the head when I hear a door open. I open one eye to see what’s going on and see… him? Also coming through the door?

“Fuck yes... you’re gonna make me come!” he groans, plunging his cock against my mouth. I squint my eyes closed again, sure that I’m hallucinating or suddenly extremely drunk. Could he have drugged me in the champagne or something?

But I’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to do it. I squeeze his cock against my palms, urging him to come. He obliges instantly, jamming his dick to the back of my throat and emptying himself directly into my stomach.

“Oh, this is a pretty sight,” comes a voice from the side. I open my eyes again to see his mirror image standing over us, a wide smile on his face.

“Trey? What’s going on?” I ask the man in the chair as his dick goes soft against his thigh. His eyes are half closed and his mouth is open.

“That’s Brock,” the other voice says. I look up at him in alarm, then back at the nearly comatose man I just sucked off.

“He’s… wait. Who? What’s going on here?” I ask nervously, standing up and wiping my mouth.

The other man smiles and saunters toward the table, picking up a glass of champagne and downing half of it.

“I’m Trey. Remember me? From the airplane?” he reiterates slowly so I can figure it out.

The room is kind of swimming, kind of slipping back and forth like water sloshing in a bucket.

“Of course I remember you,” I mutter.

“And that’s my brother, Brock,” he continues. “Don’t worry. Lots of people can’t tell us apart. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything!” I huff defensively.

Trey—the real Trey—looks me up and down slowly, his nostrils flaring like he’s trying to smell me from where he stands.

“That’s a good quality in a woman,” he says. “So, do you think I can get your name this time?”

“It’s Bunny,” Brock sighs, half asleep in his club chair with his cock hanging out. “Her name is Bunny and I really like her. We should hire her.”

I turn back toward Trey—the real one. He smirks amiably.

“Well, looks like you’re winning us all over, Bunny. Now we have just got to convince Spencer to give you the papers, and we’re good to go.”

“Really?” I choke out. The room is starting to swim and I think I’d like to take a nap on that pool table, more than just about anything.

“Really,” he confirms. “So, you want a room? Maybe a nap? I’d love to show off the hotel a bit.”

“You read my mind,” I confess.

“Seems like I’m pretty good at that,” he answers.