Emmet

She looks back over her shoulder and gives me one last flirty, seductive glance before pushing the door out toward the alley. After swiveling her head left and right to ensure we’re alone, she turns on her heel and sticks her hand out stubbornly.

“Mission accomplished, I think,” she announces officially. “It was nice meeting you. Sorry about the mixup.”

I’m confused.

“Excuse me?” I look down at her hand. She keeps it there, seriously expecting me to shake it.

“Hannah said that you need a girlfriend for publicity purposes. I think we just pulled that off magnificently, don't you? We can just check that one off the list. We'll meet again in a couple of days? Somewhere else public?”

“No… I don’t think so, Bella. We were just getting started here.”

The door opens again, and Dillon comes out, stopping up short and nodding at each of us politely as though he were invited along.

She lets her hand drop and looks back over her shoulder in the other direction.

“I’m pretty sure this alley’s going to let me out close to Water Tower Place. I can just walk. Maybe I’ll go and hang out for little while at Abercrombie and Fitch until the coast is clear. Nobody will find me in there anyway. It’s pitch black.”

“Wait a second, what's going on?” Dillon blurts out. He glares at me accusingly. “What did you do to her, Emmet?”

I shrug and look away. “I didn't do anything to her. This is how I found her. What did you do to her?”

“Neither one of you did anything to me!” she announces angrily. She perches her fists on her hips and glares at each of us. “This may come as a newsflash to you guys, but you don't own everything in the world. Hannah asked me to help you rehabilitate your pervy Playboy reputations. That's it. All I’ve got to do is show up, get my picture taken with you, make with the romantic looks… with Emmet. Not you, Dillon!” she emphasizes, pointing at him. It makes me want to laugh. But I don't.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow at her. “And how was making out with both of us supposed to do that, Sherlock? There were a dozen witnesses in there, watching you making out with us one at a time, and then leaving… with both of us. If rehabilitating our playboy reputations was the goal, we’re more than likely worse off than we were before.”

Her mouth drops open a little bit. “No… but… the blogger got me and Emmet. That's what I came here to do today. My job is done.”

I look at Dillon and raise my hands helplessly. “You're probably right,” I admit, exaggerating maybe just a little. “But did you see the blogger come in? He could've been filming the whole time and gotten both kisses. I can see the headline now. ‘Caught canoodling with the Riordan brothers…’”

Dillon tips his head to the side. I think he is overacting, but she seems to be buying it. “No, I don't know when he came in. He could've been filming from the very start. You’re absolutely right.”

“This is totally unfair!” she sputters.

I watch her assembling a counterargument, strategizing on the fly. She's very quick. She obviously wants to come up with a good plan, but I’m fairly certain Dillon and I can dismantle any argument she's going to put out.

Just at that moment, the door opens again and the blogger stumbles out into the light, grinning happily as though he can't believe the scene he just lucked out to find. Instantly his iPhone goes up again and I hear the camera shutter noises going off like machine-gun fire. You’d think he’d have the courtesy to turn the sound off, at least. Probably makes him feel important.

Instantly, Bella rushes toward me, her arms out as though stumbling. I catch her swiftly out of the air and she leans her forehead briefly against my chest, pouting convincingly.

“I just needed a little air!” she exclaims. “Can we take a walk or something?”

“Sure, baby,” I tell her, smoothing her hair. It smells like vanilla and lavender, with a little musky undertone. Having her in my arms, I’m in no hurry to go on that walk.

“Let's go to The Frame,” I suggest. “It’s just around the corner here.”

“Yes, let's,” she sighs, picking her head up to smile brilliantly at me. If I didn't know any better, I would totally believe this girl was in love with me too.

We turn away, her leaning heavily on me as she picks her way among the damp potholes in the alley. Even in Streeterville, alleys are not especially well-kept. Dillon comes up behind us, blocking the blogger’s way.

“Not you, buddy. Private club,” he explains.

“It’s a free country!” the blogger wheezes. It’s a wonder this guy was able to catch us with the Congresswoman. He can barely shuffle down an alley.

After a few seconds, we’re coming up to the back door and Merle, the bouncer, leaps off his barstool when he sees us.

“Misters Riordan!” he barks, dropping his cell phone on the barstool. Just before it hits the leather, face down, I see a flash of Words With Friends. All our bouncers are pretty smart. Gotta be fifteen of them playing Words With Friends together at the same time on a daily basis.

“Merle, good to see you. Busy day?” I ask him as we come toward the back entrance. He opens the door with a flourish and squints over my shoulder, probably assessing the threat level of the blogger who’s still trotting gracelessly down the alley behind us.

“Not too busy,” Merle answers, distracted. “Want me to take care of that?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” Dillon says, coming up from behind. Bella glances at him, rolling her eyes, but he just smiles as though not catching her drift at all. He's a stubborn one, like a puppy trying to hump her leg.

Once we are safely inside, Bella lets go of my elbow. I kind of miss it. I like having her holding onto me as we are walking. She steps cautiously ahead, craning her head to see around the corner to the main ballroom. Dillon and I draw up behind, happy to witness her reaction.

It's a large room, painted black with LED chandeliers in waterfall patterns dripping colored lights onto the stage. The stage is black and mirrored, where three of the most beautiful women you've ever seen dance slowly and suggestively, wearing nothing but eight inch high platform heels.

They’re so lovely and fit, they hardly look like people. Their skin glows in the light. Below them are seven or eight of the city's wealthiest business owners, frozen in admiration as these goddesses dole out minuscule portions of their attention.

“You brought me to a strip club!?” Bella hisses.

“I brought you to our private club,” I correct her. “The most exclusive club in the city. Who's gonna tell? Her?” I gesture at the stage. Bella squints in that direction.

“That can’t be — is that — no,” she scoffs. “That can’t be her. But it looks just like her!”

For a moment we all just watch the nearly six-foot beauty, undulating like an ecstatic cobra. Her wide hips twist and rock subtly, mesmerising the businesspeople who slide hundred dollar bills into neat piles below her heels, not daring to go any further.

“Of course it is her,” I assure Bella. We don't even dare say her name out loud, that's how famous she is. “Why would I have anything but the very best?”

“She's famous!”

“That's why she's the very best,” I shrug.

It's fun to watch Bella's expressions as we slowly cross the room. The music is loud but low pitched, coming at us in concussive waves. Not that idiotic Cherry Pie bullshit they play at every other kind of club. This is real sex magic, the sort of music that vibrates your nethers until you want to explode.

Only the best.

“Let's get a private room,” suggests Dillon.

Bella takes a few steps and turns around, thrusting her palms out at us again. “I'm not sleeping with you guys,” she announces. “I don't know what you're used to, but I'm not. This is a job. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Settle down, Queen Elizabeth,” I tease. “Dillon just wants us to be able to talk and hear each other. Why are you so obsessed with sex anyway? You should calm down.”

I hear her snarled objections behind me as I walk past her toward the quiet hallway with small rooms. The third one has a green light so we can enter. I hold the door open for her politely.

Now, truthfully, we really could all have sex in here. It's a ten by twelve suite with burgundy velvet curtains and a couple of leather armchairs, plus a wide bench and a sling in the corner. Through the opposite door is a private bath with an extra large shower. I could probably get two or three more people in here if I had to. We could almost live here.

But it's also useful for having a private conversation. That part is true.

“So here's the plan,” she announces, turning around and crossing her arms like she's rehearsed all this. “Your merger is in less than three weeks. Emmet, you and I will appear in public two or three times a week. Hannah's assistant will make sure there's a different blogger there every night. Perez Hilton should be here by the end of the three weeks, so we’ll make sure he gets the best view… maybe a wardrobe malfunction, or —”

“Rooftop sex!” Dillon interrupts.

She clenches her jaw. “No.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Well… okay, how about this: Emmet would probably go down on you in the Buckingham Fountain. He's done it before, to excellent reviews. All you have to do is ask.”

“Absolutely not!” she huffs.

“Fine,” he retorts. “Then I will go down on you in the Buckingham Fountain. Geez! Picky.”

She plops into one of the armchairs, crossing her legs and drumming her fingertips together. I see that she's becoming furious, but she's not that easy to crack. Aside from getting her to verbally spar with us, the doesn't seem to be a lot of room to get her really riled up. She's a tough cookie, this Bella Cage.

So, always up for a challenge, of course I am ready to try some more.

“Let's start again,” she suggests, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe you don’t understand what I am doing here? I’m not some twit who’s all star-struck and gaga at your celebrity. None of that means a thing to me, do you understand?”

“Yes, you’re making that pretty clear,” Dillon nods. I can see the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“This is not a relationship. I don’t even want a relationship, of any kind, got it?” she continues.

“All of it,” he responds.

“And stop answering! I’m not even talking to you!” she huffs, scowling seriously.

To his credit, he doesn’t try to get another word in, just raises his hands like he’s surrendering.

“Okay, please continue,” I smile politely. “You were saying? Something about not liking me very much?”

“Exactly!” she announces, focusing her attention on me. I like it. It feels like a blast of warm air. “Hannah asked me to help you guys out. I'll help. You and I will appear… alone… several times and make everybody think we’re in love. Regular people love, not extreme porn, banging in fountains, double your pleasure. No sex tapes. No threesomes on balconies. We’ll let Perez Hilton scoop... a proposal. Okay? It’ll be like a real-life Bachelor where you get all rehabilitated by the power of love.”

She raises her eyebrows at me, waiting, like this is a staring contest. Or a dare.

“A proposal, eh? Like down on one knee and everything?” I ask, squinting. She swallows hard, almost faltering. But her strength is holding up.

“Yes. Can you think of anything better? Nobody will doubt your true blue intentions if they get to watch the whole thing unfold in front of their eyes. Nice big rock. Something that can be seen from space will do the trick. And I’ll give back the ring as soon as your merger is done, so don’t forget to keep the receipt.”

She waves her hand the air as though, ta-dah, she has just revealed a magic trick.

“No deal,” Dillon shrugs.

I turn to him, surprised.

“No deal?” I repeat. “Actually, it sounds pretty good to me. Looks like she has thought of everything. Let's just go with it.”

He rubs his jaw with the palm of his hand, a shrewd look in his eyes. “I get to be there for everything,” he counters.

“No way,” she replies. “That's the problem. It’s exactly what got you in this mess. You guys need to show a little daylight between yourselves. Stop people from thinking about your latest scandal. Or your last one, for that matter. Or the one before that.”

“Yeah, sure, Dillon,” I agree, ignoring her frustrated huff. “Sounds good to me. We’ll make it work.”

“No!” she exclaims. “Do you two have a hearing problem? You're supposed to look normal. As in one-guy-one-girl normal. Just for a few weeks. Can you even do that?”

I drop to one knee in front of her, plucking her hand out of the air and holding it between mine. It's warm, like I'm holding a live baby seal between my palms. I feel it tremble, just slightly, but not because she's frightened. She's excited, and I know it. She’s a natural negotiator, able to keep her wits about her while swimming straight through a swarming shark pit.

Yet there is something in her eyes that holds her back. And just like a little baby seal, it inspires me to chase her. I absolutely have to find out what that tastes like.

“Listen, Bella,” I begin reasonably, “we’re willing to participate in your plan, but there are limits. Dillon and I, we're not like other men. Certainly not normal, everyday, regular men. So you can concoct whatever fantasy you want for Hannah, and Google, and Perez fucking Hilton. But Dillon and I do things our way. And that means... both of us.”

She swallows. I watch her throat clench, immediately picturing her lips wrapped around the base of my cock. That's going to happen. I'm sure of it.

“But you haven’t been straight with us. What are you getting out of this anyway?” I ask her in a whisper. “Certainly you are not doing it because you need a few more points to get into heaven?”

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. It looks like she's going to answer a few times, then abandons the effort, then finally figures it out.

“All I want is a job,” she finally says. “All I want is to do my thing, my way. That's all.”

I sigh for a long time. Middle-class people have no imagination.

“Okay, Bella,” I answer her reasonably. “We’ll be asking that question again in a few weeks to see if you can come up with a better answer.”

“Fine,” she spits, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “I want a book.”

“What?” Dillon asks, alarmed. “About us?”

“Hold on, hold on,” I say to him, lifting a hand like, wait. I search her face. Her lips are firmly pressed together, her eyes shiny with desire. “What kind of book?”

“I want to write about this… all of this,” the words tumble out in a rush. “This is my story, okay? Every moment, every detail.”

“Every detail?” I repeat, watching her courage increase with each passing second. So the baby seal has turned into quite the shark, herself.

She nods, avid but determined. “Everything — total autonomy. Complete creative control.”

I nod, understanding. My fingers stroke the back of her knee, and I can see the skin gathering there as she gets tiny goosebumps.

“You better make it a good story,” I suggest. “Beauty and the Beasts? Snow White and the two...um...?”

“I was thinking Cinderella,” she whispers. Her eyes track the path of my fingers, fascinated. She’s considering it, but she will take more convincing, I can tell.

“And what do we get?” Dillon asks, dropping to the floor next to me. His hand slides up the arm of the leather chair, closing in. “If we help you with complete creative control?”

Lowering her chin, she looks at each of us slowly, in turn, sizing us up. I can tell she knows exactly what we want.

“Are you sure this room is totally private?” she asks hoarsely. Her pulse flutters at the pit of her throat.

“Completely,” I assure her, glancing at Dillon. He shoots me a look, connecting with me at that primal, twin level. I can read his mind like I’m reading a book. A book with a lot of pictures.

“Then you get a temporary partner in crime, boys,” she purrs, her voice suddenly turning sultry. She slides her beautiful ass forward on the leather seat, letting her knees fall open slightly. I get a whiff of cologne and wonder if she is one of those women who perfumes her panties. “But I’m in control,” she says. Her voice trembles. We’ll see about that.

I glance at Dillon again, sensing his needs. He smells the intoxicating scent of her perfume too. I decide he can have her, and she's going to let me watch.

“I'm going to let Dillon eat your pussy,” I tell her, rising to stand next to her. She stares up at me, startled, her mouth open in alarm.

“What?” she chokes.

Just there, now, staring up at me, my cock throbs in my pants, and she notices it too. It’s right at her eye level, impossible to hide. Her eyes dart to the front of my trousers, which bulge urgently in her direction.

“Pull up your dress,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together tightly. Her eyes search mine as she breathes deeply, her fingers lightly and quickly tapping out an urgent morse code on the arms of the chair.

“We have a deal, Cinderella,” I remind her. “This is your fairytale. Live a little, why don't you?”

And almost on cue, she changes in front of my eyes. Her shoulders relax, her arms straighten. She slides further down the seat while her eyes remain locked on mine the whole time, like she’s daring me to look away. She’s strong Bella again. Whatever was stopping her, is no longer important. She is in control.

It's such a startling change, I'm nearly overwhelmed with desire for her. I feel my cock releasing the first spurt of pre-cum, probably staining the front of my trousers right now.

“Yes, Bella,” Dillon murmurs. I force myself to watch him, to focus on his fingers pushing her skirt up over her hips. Her pale blue panties shine in the dim light of the room, dark and damp at the top of her thighs.

They slide down her legs silently, revealing a neat, trimmed triangular patch of downy pubic hair, as soft as a spring rabbit’s pelt. From this angle, I can just barely see the fuchsia glistening of her lips. The perfume gets stronger, richer. My mouth waters.

Dillon hooks his thumb under one knee and drapes it over his shoulder, smiling in anticipation as he edges ever closer to her. Her belly trembles as her breath accelerates.

She moans and shudders when his tongue first flicks against her sweet, glistening seam. The sound is squeezed off the end, and I can tell she is still holding back.

“It's good, isn't it, Bella?” I murmur, holding her hair against my palm. If she would just turn her head a bit this way…

“Oh,” she moans again as he plunges deeper, burying his lips against hers, half closing his eyes in pleasure. I'm hungry, so hungry.

She gazes up at me, her lips open, cheeks flushed, her breath urgent and rough. Her hand drifts up, grazing the front of my trousers, brushing the length of my hard-on.

“Show me,” she moans, flexing her leg to draw Dillon even closer. I watch her hips begin to swivel as she grinds against his eager mouth.

I drop my trousers, letting my cock spring forward, just millimeters from her beautiful face. She eyes it hungrily, drinking in the details, sliding her gaze up and down the shaft so avidly I can practically feel it. Then she opens her mouth, letting her tongue slide over her bottom lip. Her teeth flicker over her lip and she looks up at me.

“Let me taste you,” she moans, her voice thick with longing. It’s true, she wants it. Nobody acts that convincingly.

I accept her invitation, guiding myself against her kitten soft tongue, watching the pre-come swirl to the back of her mouth. Her eyes seem to roll up in her head as she closes her lips around me, moaning and sighing. Her fingers grip the back of my hip and she draws me closer, closer.

In moments I'm thrusting, I can't help it. She's so willing, so undone before us, so a part of us. I can't stop myself... I have to feel more of her. I have to feel her warmth enveloping me as I’m slipping against her tongue, choking the moan from her willing throat.

When I come, she comes, and Dillon cries out as well, bringing us all together. We explode like a firework, a bright machine of passion. It's like we were made for this, it’s so easy. It’s meant to be.

I slump over her, panting, wrung out. Her breath washes over me in waves as she whimpers and shudders, riding the last waves of her climax. The music washes over us, as we slowly regain control of ourselves.

We lay there for a long time, slumped where we fell until our muscles start to cramp.

“That was wonderful,” I groan, gathering myself back together.

She opens her eyes, slowly waking back up from her dreamy state.

“It was, actually,” she admits.

“You seem surprised,” Dillon smiles.

She shrugs. “I suppose I am, a little.” She pauses. “A lot.”

“Yeah, well,” he groans, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck like a swimmer, “we’re just getting started. There’s lots more to come. And it only gets better.”