Emmet

A large crowd gathers behind the velvet rope, milling around and craning their necks to see who's got the firepower to be able to rope off Buckingham Fountain for a private event.

I sort of hear their voices, churning like foamy seawater on the rocks as I walk past, presumably to check on the caterer. But as their cameras snap, dozens at a time, I feel like I've checked something off the list. I should be trending in just a few moments.

I turn my back to the crowd, shifting my weight to one hip and thrusting my hands into my pockets so that they can get a good look at my shoulders under my cotton shirt. They love this, the matinee idol idea. Already I have seen different blogs picking up stories about this romance. There have been recaps of our history of bad behavior, quotes from celebrities with opinions about my character or romance in general. Rundowns of our fashion choices and even a few tutorials on how to get Bella’s “look.” She’s usually compared to Brigitte Bardot or Julia Roberts.

It's a fairytale, just like she said. At first, I didn’t buy it. Who has that kind of willpower, to pretend to be in love just for a job? But she certainly does. Her performances are flawless. When she looks at me, I look deep into her eyes and all I see is the glow of passion. Nothing suspicious underneath. And when we’re alone, she’s someone else yet again, keeping up her end of the bargain with Dillon too. She’s hungrier than I would have expected, for us both.

It must be a hell of a job she’s trying to get. I wonder who had the idea first — Hannah or Bella?

Probably, it was Hannah. She can come up with some very cutthroat schemes when her back is to the wall. And if she’s telling the truth about Google looking down its nose at us, I can see why she would be freaked out.

But really, Hannah and I just don’t see eye to eye. She's been dissatisfied with me for a long time. With both of us. Dillon and I don't satisfy her prudish expectations, I suppose. She looks like the sort of girl who has been cheated on. Damaged goods. Bitter, somehow. Or just tainted. Who knows.

So, maybe it was Hannah’s idea, but Bella is the one who really brings the story to life. Her breathless swooning for the cameras is absolutely genius. Completely believable Cinderella tale. When she looks at me, I almost feel like…

But it’s just a fantasy. In fact, it’s a fantasy that's only got about a week and a half left in it. Shouldn’t get too caught up in the act.

Our car rolls up through the six or so security guards, just as I'm leaving the caterer’s station and walking in front of the white privacy tent. Excellent. Action shots. I hear another fifty cameras go off. I could probably jog over there or something, maybe call her name.

No. Too cartoonish.

But as soon as she emerges from the car, she's in my arms. She almost falls into me, hooking her arms underneath mine, pressing up on those long, beautiful toes to be able to reach me. I let my arms drape over her protectively, plunging my fingers into her hair, practically lifting her off her feet so that can I kiss her in full view of everybody.

Snap. Snap. Snap. I wonder what the hashtags will be?

“They’re loving this,” she murmurs as I set her down gently, batting her eyelashes at me vigorously.

“Well, of course they are. I don't know if we could've gotten a much more perfect spots. Romantic, well lit, and about as public as you can get.”

“Oh, yes, you’re brilliant,” she sighs, and something inside me goes all warm and fire colored. I have to admit, I do like it when she says nice things to me.

The tent flap billows to the side and Dillon steps out, grinning widely. Again all the cameras start snapping and I shake my head, subtly gesturing for him to get back in the tent. He pretends he doesn't understand me and just stands there, beaming at her.

“What do you think you're doing?” I growl at him through clenched teeth when we are within earshot. “You're supposed to stay out of sight.”

“Rob is almost here. I figured you would want to know,” he shrugs, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. He is definitely not being even a little bit discreet.

“Oh, thanks for the heads up,” Bella says sweetly. She brushes her fingertips across my chest, gazing up into my eyes even while she's talking to Dillon. More snapping. “Is this where we’re going to be dining? Away from everybody?”

I hold the tent flap aside for her, allowing us one more moment in profile to gaze at each other for everyone to see before ducking through the opening.

Holding my hands out, I let her look around for a second, take it all in. “It’s nice, isn't it? Wolfgang Puck knows how to do take-out.”

She rolls her eyes at me, throwing a playful glance over her shoulder. “Oh, you're a funny one,” she giggles. “I bet you haven't really had take-out in —”

She stops up short as Wolfgang enters the enclosure, his ruddy cheeks crinkling in mirth.

“Good evening!” he crows in his clipped Germanic accent. He sets the plates down with a flourish on the linen covered tables. “You're expecting one more, ja? Perhaps another lady friend? Or?"

“It’s not what you think,” Dillon huffs as he sits down at the chair at the end. He reaches out to remove the silver cover from the tray and Wolfgang slaps his fingers smartly.

“You must wait!” the chef declares, then plants his feet shoulder width apart and crosses his arms over his barrel chest. He looks like a jolly security guard. Santa on a mission.

Nodding at one of the empty seats, he beckons Bella to sit down. I tug the chair out for her politely and she slides into it, tucking her silk skirt underneath those beautiful round thighs.

“Thank you,” she murmurs politely. She is still gazing up at Wolfgang, obviously a bit starstruck. Part of me is a little jealous that she never looked quite that starstruck over either of us, even though we’re worth at least a hundred times what he is. But still, you can never underestimate the romantic power of a good chef. I’m sure the awe will transfer to us somehow.

I hear the tent enclosure open again behind me and another round of flashes and shutter sounds.

“Well, hi, Rob,” Dillon announces sourly. Bella sneaks a look at me.

“Am I late?” the man huffs, clearly out of breath from his short trip across the compressed gravel in front of the fountain. He waddles over to a chair and stuffs himself into it, probably about two inches too close to the table. With a sweaty smile, he sticks his hand out for Bella to shake.

“Bella Cage,” she nods politely.

“Of course!” he beams. “Rob Meagher, USA Today."

He sticks his hand out for me to shake, then swivels around for Dillon who does it with a slightly sour look on his face. Then he turns towards Chef Wolfgang, but just waves instead.

“Well, this is really an honor!” Rob says breathlessly. “I mean, really an honor. I don't know who I am more pleased to meet!”

“It is an honor to me too as well!” Chef Wolfgang smiles, and he almost sounds like he means it. Then, with a flourish, he removes the tray covers, revealing a baby beet and arugula salad with glistening sauteed scallops.

“Oh, wow,” Bella breathes, inhaling deeply. I see her lick her lower lip in anticipation, and wish we could skip right to dessert. That tongue of hers.

“Wow is right!” Rob repeats.

“I feel like we've had this before,” Dillon sighs.

I shoot him a look, careful not to let Rob see. Dillon is sideways in his chair, rolling a glass of iced bourbon dangerously between his fingers. I didn't see him start drinking it, but it's already almost gone. He's studiously not meeting my eyes and pretending he doesn't know that I know that he's intent on marching up to the line.

“So, I didn't realize we were getting USA Today, today,” I start, hoping to get this interview underway and then over with. “Thanks for stopping by. We just threw this little dinner together, just totally spur the moment…”

“Really?” Bella asks, her eyes wide with corny disbelief. I see Rob nodding with satisfaction. He's loving the Cinderella act.

“Oh, come on, Emmet,” Dillon sneers. “You've pulled this Buckingham Fountain act three or four times already. You should be an expert at it by now.”

Rob pouts. Literally. The corners of his little mouth turn way down, forming parenthetical wrinkles at the bottom like a Disney character.

“Dillon —” I begin, hoping he'll catch my warning tone before I have to actually say something.

“Well I just love it!” Bella interrupts. “It couldn’t be more perfect!” She turns completely toward Rob, letting her knees brush his. I can see that she’s creating a whole new personality, just for him. He flinches back, his eyes going wide. Obviously this guy doesn't get a whole lot of physical contact from the opposite sex.

“You know, I'd always heard the… stories? About the Riordan brothers?” she begins in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I don't know what's happened. I mean, could people just be making this stuff up? Because there is literally nothing like that happening at all.”

Rob purses his lips thoughtfully. “Really? But there are pictures… Surely you've seen…”

“Sure, but you know what people can do with PhotoShop these days. It’s amazing. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was all it amounted to.” She blinds him with a dazzling smile.

“Really,” he says, not sounding at all convinced. I’m sure he’s seen the pictures before editing. I wonder if he’s wondering how bright she is, at this moment.

“Honest!” she insists. “They’re practically boy scouts. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever even seen Dillon with a woman!”

Dillon starts to stand, but I race him out of his chair and go stand right behind him, putting a firm hand on his shoulder and shove him back into the wooden chair, so hard I hear the gravel crunching underneath the legs.

We have sparred before. I usually can actually kick his ass. I just don't want to. He knows it. After about twenty seconds, I feel him relax just slightly.

In the meantime, Bella has just continued batting her eyelashes at Rob, who seems to be enjoying the show. Slowly he turns back toward her, eventually resting his elbow on the table and then his cheek against his fist. He looks like a schoolboy in love. She blushes charmingly.

“Anyway… like I was saying…” she continues, grinning brilliantly again. “It's just been amazing. Everything. It's like something out of a fairytale! Did you try the smoked salmon? Unf, it’s so good.”

And with that brilliant little segue, Rob starts eating. Bella keeps asking me and Dillon well-placed questions while Rob stuffs his face. She's conducting the interview, and the poor guy is so overwhelmed he doesn't even know it. But the upshot is that she is curating the whole experience, while he loads up. Clever.

After about ten minutes, Rob has a whole story: how we met, how we immediately fell for each other, and how uncharacteristically selfless and supportive Dillon has been throughout the whole thing.

As if on cue, Wolfgang arrives again, this time with two servers bearing plates of pan roasted chicken with extra golden mashed potatoes, just like I like from his Miami restaurant.

“Are you ready for the second course?” Wolfgang asks, clapping his hands together eagerly as the servers display their plates with pride.

“Yes, please!” Rob answers immediately, blotting his face with his napkin.

His enthusiasm is actually infectious. Now that Bella has concluded her narrative portion of the evening, we can finally just relax and enjoy the meal. The Montrachet chardonnay is velvety on my tongue, reminding me of all the other velvety pleasures I'd like to experience tonight.

For a while, we all just bask in the visceral delight of Wolfgang’s expert cooking. The chicken is perfect, even if it’s a little humble for a magical dinner. But it’s too warm for duck anyway.

I watch Bella as she eats, the way she holds her fork so delicately, but takes substantial bites. She has a deep, throbbing hunger in her, I can tell. I saw it in her eyes when she demanded to see my cock. All remaining traces of shyness and doubt had left her as she totally gave into her passions.

I cannot wait to see that part of her again. It’s precious.

When the chef arrives again, I hold up a hand. Then I turn to Bella and stroke her cheek slowly.

“Chef, if you wouldn't mind… I think we need to be retiring early. Is that all right with you?”

Bella smiles, biting her lip delicately. Though I know it’s for Rob’s benefit, she means it, deep down.

“Certainly!” the Chef barks amiably. “It was a grand pleasure to meet you. All of you! Auf wiedersehen!”

I kiss Bella slowly, tasting the wine, the spices, and a rising desire in her breath. She sighs, then nods eagerly, like she can’t wait to be alone too.

“Oh, brother,” Dillon says.

But to his credit, he stands, taking Rob gently by the elbow. He thanks him politely for coming and ushers him back out of the tent.

When they’re safely out of earshot, Bella slumps slightly in her chair, pantomiming exhaustion.

“Oh my God, what was that?” she murmurs urgently, keeping her voice low enough that no one could hear us outside the tent.

“That was your best performance yet,” I quip. “I was totally impressed. You had him eating out of your hand!”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, yeah, Rob… he just needed some guidance.”

“No, I’m serious,” I insist. “You should get an Oscar for that level of acting.”

“Yeah, that’s funny. At least I got some chicken!”

“Oh, Wolfgang can't possibly be in love with you too,” I joke, quaffing the rest of my wine.

I really do want to get out here, right now. My body is roasting, hungrier than it was ten minutes ago. Every time she moves, I can hear her skin softly rustling against itself. I need to open her up, get her into a bed. To lay her down properly nude and have a good look at her. Drink her in.

“But, Dillon! Was he trying to sabotage the whole meeting? What is he thinking?”

“He's thinking he wants a piece of you too. Can you blame him?” I murmur, drawing her close. She melts in my arms.

Now that we're alone, the sounds of the fountain splashing fill the tent and I'm aware of the dense humidity and the blue and purple lights. It really is quite romantic. I wish we'd started out this way, alone and comfortable.

“Hey, don't start without me,” Dillon says, entering quickly and snapping the canvas closed behind him. At least he's discreet enough to do that. In a moment he's on her other side, drawing up close as well, his hands slipping around her middle. She raises her arms, allowing us both to palm her taut, round flesh strategically. His hand slips between her knees and starts to pull them open. In moments his fingers slide behind her neck and tip his face toward hers so he can kiss her long and slow, his cheeks caved in, his eyes tightly closed. For a moment, I do feel sort of bad. He has waited quite a while, while I’ve been able to enjoy my desire for her out in the open.

“All right, let's get out of here,” I announce.

“Excuse me, out of here?” she asks when Dillon releases her lips, blinking in confusion.

“You're coming with us, Bella. I am done talking.”

She pauses, looking at each of us. I see the muscle working at the back of her jaw as she contemplates.

But I don't even have to remind her of the other night. Silently, she stands, adjusting her skirt back over her hips.

“I presume you have a car?” she asks, just before she strides out of the tent.

When we reach our building, we hurry through the granite and glass lobby to our private elevator. Bella turns to me immediately, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me, nearly falling against me. I can still taste the wine on her tongue and kiss her hungrily, eager to absorb everything of her.

“I want to taste you,” I growl, suddenly realizing how desperately I need to have her on my tongue.

“Lean on me,” Dillon instructs her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and dipping his head to mouth the soft line between her neck and shoulder.

Her fingers plunge into my hair as I kneel in front of her, shoving her skirt to the side, burying my face between her thighs. I inhale deeply, drinking in perfume… Chanel, I believe, and a deeper perfume. She smells salty, sweet. Like that vanilla and spice that's always on her lips, but more intense. More focused.

My tongue finds her seam; I’m hungry and impatient. I rip the panties away to expose her, feasting my eyes on that beautiful pink curl, the unfurling petals of her sex. I see a glistening drop of wetness, trembling on the outer edge of her lips, inviting me deeper.

I'm starving for her. I have to keep myself from coming right now as I open my lips to cover her whole sex at once, drinking her in, my tongue lapping insatiably. I want all of her.

“Fuck!” Dillon grunts as the elevator door slides open. The three of us tumble inside, eager and blind, confused but determined. Somehow we all make it to the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind us.

Bella breaks away, whirling around to face us both, her hands up as though forming an invisible barrier. Her chest heaves as she stands there, nipples pebbling fast, her body trembling with unmasked desire.

Dillon I glance at each other then wait, standing before her, wanting her and ready, hard as rocks.

“I want it,” she whispers, looking at both of us. “I really do.”

“I know,” I nod, stepping toward her cautiously. I can see that she does want us, but there is that hesitation again. It has to be up to her, completely. I will never force a woman.

“Just relax,” Dillon murmurs. He draws closer to her until his stiff cock brushes against her thighs and she shudders, arching her back and staring up at him longingly. “You will love this.”

He takes her in his arms, kissing her mouth and neck as he crawls from the bottom of the bed. They’re lying in the middle.

The bedsheets frame their bodies. I slip in beside them, pulling gently at the fabric that covers Bella's shoulder, kissing and tonguing the sensitive skin there, as she hitches and shudders in pleasure. I watch the skin gather at my touch, as I trail my fingers down the sides of her body.

I can't get enough of Bella. The intoxicating fragrance of her, the look of her, the wholesome, naughty contradiction that she is. I need to take her. She turns to look at me, and something in her eyes makes me feel as if she knows what I'm thinking, that we are connected more than just physically.

And we are. We are part of each other's game, for certain. We have agreed to help each other — but there's more than that. I know there's something inside her that is allowing us far more than what we initially agreed to. Something in me answers. I kiss her lips softly, questioningly almost, and her mouth becomes both soft and fierce at the same time.

She moans softly, from the base of her throat. I touch it like one would touch a kitten, to feel if she is purring.

Dillon is making soft sounds too, as he pinches and plays with her nipples. She writhes between us. Finding her ass cheeks with my hand, I squeeze them together and pull gently apart, the rhythm of her body's response showing me what she wants. Slipping down her back I lick the dimples at the base of her spine as I thrust one finger inside her furrow, and feel her squeeze my finger, holding it inside her.

I want to taste her everywhere, and so I do, my lips moving from cheek to cheek and finally between them, circling her puckered hole with my eager tongue. One of us, Dillon or I, earns a squeal from Bella. I like to think it's a squeal for me, but we are all together. One.

She smells and tastes divine, better than anything from Wolfgang Puck's dinner offering tonight. Her skin is soft, responsive. Her moans heighten. I look up to see Dillon kissing her breasts. Then he's moving down her body as well, ready to offer his tongue to her.

We begin to lick her from either side, as she tangles one hand in my hair and the other in Dillon's, and when he goes further, burying his tongue inside her channel, I plunge in as well. Our bodies are fused, the three of us together, playing her like a Stradivarius as her moans pitch higher and higher until we are rewarded with a gush and the undulations of her orgasm.

Her legs open and I catch Dillon's eye, and he motions to continue, so we don't let up. Torturing her with the most exquisite of pleasures.

She's trying to form words but she can’t, so she cries out in elated syllables. Dillon and I love trying to outdo each other like this. We can go all day, keep bringing her over the edge, until she’s just a quivering mass.

But after three orgasms, she pulls us up, catches both of us in her gaze and says, "Now take me. Come inside. Don't make me wait any longer!"

My engorged cock leaps at the idea of stuffing her to the hilt, each of us feeling that exquisite sensation of merely a wall of muscle and flesh between us. Knowing that none of us could be any closer, Dillon and I pass a look between us before positioning our hips to her entrances.

My nose is buried in her mahogany hair now, the scent of lilac fills my nostrils as I kiss the back of her neck hungrily. Dillon's kissing her lips which have fallen open in pleasure, as she whimpers sweetly between us.

"Dillon...Emmet," she says softly, barely audibly.

"Yes, Bella," Dillon answers.

"This is amazing," she groans. "I've never felt so close to anyone before."

"Me neither," he murmurs, reaching between his legs to position himself for entry.

My hands trail along her smooth, flexing legs. She drapes her knee over his hip, opening herself for him.

“That's it, that's perfect,” I whisper against her neck, licking the mist of sweat from her hairline, reaching around to tease her pert, hard nipples between my fingers.

My hands drift down so I'm holding the back of her thigh, angling her hip for him. He glances at me, connecting with me again so that we are all together all at once.

Just as he reaches her sweet, tight pussy, I begin nudging at her back entrance, wetting the tip of my cock liberally with saliva so that it slides easily between her full, ripe cheeks.

She moans deeply, shuddering, stiff for just a moment and then relaxing. Dillon enters her gingerly, just testing her, just breaching her and teasing himself too. He likes to savor the moment, to wait for her to want him more, to push herself onto him.

And she does. Her hip swivel as she moans, and she begins pulsing, grasping at him with her sex, drawing him deeper. I feel her grasping at me too, opening up, allowing me to enter her from behind.

Her hand drifts over my hip as she pulls me, silently begging me to plunge deeper into her, but I go slow as I can, waiting until I feel her muscles relax. She’s so tight I know I'm the first one to ever explore her, that we're the only ones to ever open her up this way.

She was made for this. We were all made for this. We rock together, each finding our own pleasure, each using the others to leverage our desires until we all climax, clenching and grunting, wringing every drop from each other, then falling in a heap.