Sofie
“Sensuous Nude, huh?” Chloe pokes her head in through the bathroom door, sniffing the air with a saucy gleam in her eye. “Sofie, you little slut!”
I shrug and casually give Chloe a resounding middle finger.
“It’s just perfume,” I say with a smug little smile, even though that’s not totally true, and we both know it. The scent of coconut, jasmine, vanilla, and honey clings to my skin, just strong enough to make a man want to lean in closer.
Chloe isn’t buying it, either. She sticks her pink tongue out at me, and I’m suddenly reminded of her nickname on campus: Blowie Chloe. Her own date for the evening, whoever he is, should consider himself a very lucky guy.
“You totally smell like pussy, Sofie, babe. Or are you just that wet already?”
Grinning, Chloe reaches over and pinches one of my nipples through the designer dress I’m borrowing from her for the evening.
“Ow!” I yelp, swatting her away. “Pinch your own nipples, skank!”
“If you insist,” Chloe says, doing exactly that through the thin white fabric of her Columbia t-shirt. She closes her eyes in ecstasy, pushes out her tits and pouts her lips, cooing, “Oooh, Mystery Dates, I’m your sexy prize, Sofie. Please fuck me!”
“Only if you behave yourself.”
Chloe drops the act with a giggle. “God, Sofie, when do you ever do anything but behave?”
“Hey! I misbehave! ...Sometimes.”
“Name once in the last month.”
“Uh…”
“How about the last year?”
I smooth my hands over the deep wine-red fabric of my dress, considering it.
“I wore that white skirt after labor day,” I say triumphantly.
“Ughhhhh. For a sexy nurse Halloween costume,” Chloe groans. “Let’s be real, babe. You’ve had fuck-all in terms of fun since the Greg bullshit. From what I’ve heard, he was about fuck-all in terms of fun, period.”
I shoot Chloe a warning glance. I’m about to go on a date with not one, not two, not three—but four possibly-maybe sexy rich dudes who collectively donated over half a million to the Fostering Angels Charity just to have dinner with me.
Last I checked, Greg was still learning not to microwave Pop Tarts with the foil wrapper still on. Needless to say, my ex is the last person I want to think about right now.
“Look,” Chloe relents. “All I’m saying is that you’re a gorgeous, sexy mamacita who gives way too much and works too hard for stupid BioKing—”
“BioKin,” I correct her.
I stop myself from adding, but it’s not stupid. We’re actually doing important work there, even if I’m only an intern. In a world of evil faceless corporations, BioKin is actually making people’s lives better.
Management makes big bucks, sure, but that’s because charge old rich people out the ass for boner enhancers and anti-aging treatments. Those profits help subsidize research and development for real, life-threatening diseases and disabilities.
“BlingBlong, BongKong,” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Whatever. My point is—which one of them are you sucking and fucking for dessert?”
I roll my eyes right back at her. “It’s just a date, Sluterella. I haven’t promised anyone anything.”
“Puh-lease, Snowblow White. We all saw you up on that stage during the auction. If I was a betting woman—which I am—I’d put a cool hundred on you doing all four of them at once.”
Oh my god. Like, okay. It’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.
Having four men blow that much money on you really makes a girl think about what else they could blow on you, if you catch my drift.
But it’s not like I’m totally planning on taking four hot, salty billionaire loads to the face during a totally innocent dinner out. No matter what fantasies I may or may not have fingered myself to while in the shower earlier. Good Sofie is back, and she’s here to stay. Not even Naughty Sofie can handle four guys at once.
“We don’t even know what they look like,” I remind Chloe. “I might be wining and dining with four dirty old geriatrics with ear horns, picking their chest hairs out of my lobster bisque.”
“Then it’s going to be even more embarrassing when you lose this bet, huh?”
“Not all of us can fuel our gambling addictions with our trust funds.”
“Mmm. True.” Chloe sucks her lower lip into her mouth pensively. “Okay. If you don’t end up having the most epic billionaire five-way of your life or anyone else’s, I’ll put up a hundred dollars—and you can keep that dress.”
I look down at the dress in question. It’s pushing my big, perky tits up like total magic, even without a bra, all while clinging to the curve of my waist like a second skin.
“And on the off chance that I do put out for four dudes at once?” I ask.
I’m not going to. No matter how hard it makes my nipples or how bad it makes me want to lick my lips just thinking about it. But I figure it’s probably good to know what the stakes are before I go agreeing to anything, right?
“Then you invite me next time and we make it a six-way, duh.”
Involuntarily, my clit throbs. A mental image of me and Chloe each riding two identical twelve- inch billionaire cocks, caught in the throes of orgasm, flashes through my brain.
“Deal,” I say, with maybe a little too much gusto.
Okay. So maybe Naughty Sofie hasn’t been put back in the closet entirely.
Chloe smacks my ass in lieu of a handshake, pushing me out of the bathroom.
“Cool,” she says. “Go get ‘em, tiger—I gotta wax.”
I run a hand up Chloe’s smooth, tan, hairless thigh and raise an eyebrow.
“Different kind of wax,” Chloe says with a wink. “You might be playing coy with your dates, but I’m definitely screwing mine.”
I withdraw my hand just in time to stop Chloe from humping it as I slip out into the hall.
As muffled noises of hair removal pain follow me out, I do a final appearance check in the golden-framed full-length mirror in the living room.
Hair? Curled, brushed for shine and pinned back into a tousled Brigitte Bardot half-updo.
Lips? Red. Very red. Perfect for cock-sucking, if you ask me. Not that I’m actually going to tonight or anything…
Eyes? Mascara-ed to flouncy, thick-lashed voluptuousness.
Dress? I trace the low-cut neckline and bite my lip. The dress might be a little too slutty, admittedly. Especially paired with my stiletto heels.
The dress is expensive-looking and obviously cut from an amazing fabric, but my curves beneath that fabric look like they’re begging to be ripped right out of it. The heels only serve to push my ass up and my tits out, emphasizing the effect.
But just when I’m about to slink back to Chloe’s walk-in closet to choose something else in defeat, my phone buzzes.
Oh, shit.
My ride is here.
I grab my purse as I trot out the door, taking the stairs down to the lobby. The thought of waiting for the elevator doesn’t even enter my mind until I’m sitting in the back seat of a sleek black town car, gently out of breath.
I’m nervous, I realize. I don’t know who these men are. Beyond dinner, I don’t know what they’ll expect from of me.
All of Chloe’s teasing has me a little on edge. Even I have to admit that wealthy men don’t stay that way by shelling out that much money for a few drinks, a nice meal, and an overpriced dessert.
Unless, I guess, they really like charity.
Or, unless I am the dessert.
I watch the trees and houses pass by in a blur out the window while the evening turns into night. But as the car drives me to the restaurant, it’s not trees and houses I’m seeing.
I’m seeing four men wearing platinum Rolexes letting their hands roam up and down my curves with reckless abandon as the waiter seats me at our table.
I’m seeing four hungry mouths kissing and licking at my neck while the sommelier recommends expensive wines.
I’m imagining two of them wearing out the knees of their designer suits while they spread my legs and kiss up my thighs.
I’m imagining the other two sucking on my perky, aching nipples while the chef recommends the steak.
The car pulls up to an intimate-looking Italian place before I know it.
Fuck. I’ve fantasized the entire ride away. As the driver opens the door and helps me out of the back seat, my knees part slightly and I can fucking smell myself.
I’m wet! Soaking, dripping wet, and worse…
Oh god. I’m an idiot. I was so busy daydreaming and dealing with Chloe’s teasing, I forgot to put on panties. I probably left a puddle of my honey right there on the leather seat.
At this point, though, there’s literally no denying it. My pussy is wet, my clit is throbbing, and I’m about to have an expensive dinner with four men who think I’m worth a cold $150k just to take a meal with.
I must have left my nervousness somewhere on the road to the restaurant, because now? I’m just excited. Wet, horny, and dangerously excited.
I’m dying to know who these guys are, and as I walk through the restaurant’s candle-lit entryway, I know I’m about to find out.