17. Alice
17
ALICE
“You’re lying.”
“I wish we were, darling.” Lifesaver cuts a line of stitching from Match’s wounded arm. “He fucked up, to be honest. Your father saw going to the Bratva as an investment. Something that he could repay as soon as the mayor wages hit his bank. Unfortunately for him, Russians don’t have a lot of patience.”
“Debt,” Brander says, “is what most Bratva customers fall into. Few pay it off, and the rest struggle, falling into bankruptcy. It’s frustrating because your father, on a mayor’s wage, would’ve actually managed to pay off the bastards, but these guys are in organized crime for a reason, and it’s because they enjoy killing.” Pity rings around his eyes. “It sounds to me like the right-hand man got the urge. Those guys get a kick out of it. I suppose to them, killing is more fun than stashing fifty thousand into a safe that’s already full of millions.”
Daddy would never go to the Russians.
He’s always been against it.
Ever since Mom’s…
Death.
I search my mind for evidence, something to prove Brander, Match, and Lifesaver wrong, a time before Mom’s death when he spoke about Russian syndicates, death, danger, and delirious men walking around in suits…
He never did, though. Mom, Daddy, and I used to sit around the dining room table every night discussing normal, boring shit, like if palm trees in Vegas were planted or naturally grown, or if we could transition into an animal for twenty-four hours, which one would we choose. I was only ten years old when Mom died, so my memory there could be unreliable, but Daddy smiled much more back then, and with his whole face too. He performs a sort of two-dimensional smile now, especially on TV. Members of the public might think a teeth flash and curled-up lip is a smile, but I know differently.
It’s only just occurring to me now how rarely he smiles. The last time he did properly was when I got into state college to study nursing, but the smile was very brief and was delivered with the words “All you can do is your best,” hinting that my best didn’t need to be scholarship-level straight As.
Around the dinner table now, long intervals of silence stretch between us. He used to have dinner with Levi and me back when we were together, and he would ask how the computers were holding up, like they were actual people or something. He’d reiterate the importance of always walking together when on an empty street, and question why I was driving to Target at 10:30 PM when the tracker on my phone pinged him an alert. “Craving ice cream” was never a good enough excuse.
It sort of makes sense now.
I always thought he was just a paranoid, overprotective father. We lost Mom, so tracking my location made sense.
But now I’m realizing it’s more than that. He’s paranoid that he still owes Vlad. One death doesn’t quite pay for the two taken in that Uber twelve years ago. Maybe he’s been thinking all these years that one day Vlad and his men will return for more payment. That would explain why, ever since Mom’s death, he’s been spending all day in his office relying on Gatorade and adrenaline to get him through. Maybe he’s wanting to make enough money that if the Russians come knocking on his door again he can hand over the money and shoo them away.
But maybe it’s more than that.
I see how public affirmations make him feel. Every time he interacts with a fan, there’s a stride in his step, like they’ve injected a stimulant into his veins.
He needs the public. Needs people by his side telling him that he’s a good person so he can believe it himself. Maybe it’s nothing to do with money and repayment. He does a good deed—Las Vegas praises him for it.
That would explain why he broadcasted the Bratva elimination campaign. Everyone and their mom want their home to be a safer place, so of course he chose to publish it on live TV as opposed to keeping it secret. He was probably running out of praises and well dones . Needed something to give him a boost.
People telling him that he’s a good person distracts him from the fact that he’s not. It alleviates the guilt. Helps him sleep at night.
I shut my eyes in disbelief. This can’t be happening. I overdosed on sleeping pills one night to get some rest because the heartbreak of losing Mom wounded me. It hurt so fucking much, and it was all because two rival candidates were a better fit for mayor than my dad.
We had been happy. So fucking content, just us three. Mom would make homemade lasagna for us all to enjoy in the evening, and we’d sit eating Hershey Cookies and Cream for desert on the couch, carrying on our stupid debates about animals and palm trees until sleep took over, because I could actually fucking sleep back then.
I recline in the coach. Brander has a comfortable one, but right now I want to be sitting on my old one. The red leather one with the white fluffy cushions that Mom told Daddy to never sit on. He always did anyway because apparently “That’s what cushions are made for.”
He trashed them the day she died.
“Are you okay, Alice?” Match asks.
“It’s just a lot, that’s all.”
Brander inserts a piping hot mug of lemon tea into my hands. “I bet. I can’t even begin to imagine.” He plops down next to me. “Talk to us. It’s always better to get things off your chest.”
I’m sharing a room with three outlaw motorcyclists—not a licensed therapist with a psychological degree and a complex understanding of Freud.
Somehow, though, having them in the room comforts me more than the idea of a shrink. A therapist would have a professionalism that Brander, Lifesaver, and Match lack. Sometimes, smart people scare me, and professionals have a habit of keeping themselves at arm’s length to protect themselves.
These three do not.
They don’t care about protecting themselves.
They care about me.
I scratch my head. A migraine has been developing ever since they dropped the first bomb in the hospital about Daddy.
That was after I realized Lifesaver is my dad’s junior high best friend.
“It’s just a lot, that’s all. It’s one thing that Daddy is on the Bratva’s hit list. Now you’re saying he went to Vlad and got my mom killed?”
“If he knew the cost,” Lifesaver says, “then he would’ve never done it. Not in a million years. Not even if there was a zombie apocalypse and he had to do it to stay human. I know Peter. I’ve known him most of my life. He’s a good guy that made a bad choice.”
“A very bad choice,” Match says.
Lifesaver pulls the next line of stitching extra tight, causing Match to curse.
“You’re welcome.” Lifesaver winks at his patient, then turns back to me. “Anyway. Listen. He was very upset, like, crying.” He demonstrates with his hands, ten wiggling fingers moving down his cheeks. “He also asked me not to say anything to you.”
Standard.
“Right,” I say.
Brander sits next to me, watching, psychoanalyzing my expression.
Maybe there is a shrink in the room.
“What happened with you?” he asks.
I press my lips together.
Jesus Christ.
What did happen?
I straighten in my seat. Glue my eyes to the crushed Pepsi Max drawing on the wall across from me, above the collection of knives. Those things should unnerve me, but they don’t, strangely.
“I was following a red SUV down a diverted street. It disappeared, turned off, but then appeared a couple blocks down to cut me off. The BMW driver behind me was on the phone. They must’ve been communicating. Both cars were in on it.”
Brander tenses his jaw. “Did you get a look at either of them?”
“Nope. Both masked up again.”
Lifesaver tuts. “Typical.”
“And then what?” Brander asks. “They threw you in the trunk and took you…where?”
“I can’t tell you the location. They tied a handkerchief over my eyes and led me inside somewhere. I think it was a hotel.”
All three of them turn white.
This part of the story isn’t something they’re gonna enjoy listening to. I still see their faces. These guys were unmasked, all three of them, and each of them wore the same delighted expression on their faces.
They were happy to see me.
Even more so when my kidnappers pushed me onto the bed and left me alone with them.
“I think I was a sort of…thank you gift for these three men.”
Brander’s fist clenches. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they were all just in there waiting for me.”
Match turns a new shade of red. “Please don’t tell me they?—”
“No. God no.” I screw my eyes shut at the thought alone. “No. Somebody came back in and got me out in time.”
“Who?”
“I dunno. Again, he was masked. He might have been my attacker, actually.” I curl my lip. “It’s strange that he came back to save me. Must have been a change of plan.”
“And then what?” Brander keeps his fist tense.
“I was thrown back into the red SUV. The back seat this time, lucky me.”
All three of them stare blankly at me.
Clearly not the best time to make a joke.
“There were two of them in the front, and they were both talking in Russian. One of them started the car and we took off again, arriving five minutes later outside of Ursula and Hook . They escorted me inside and handed me over to some gorgeous Russian lady with gigantic breasts.” I emphasize with my hands.
The same size breasts as Levi’s hookup.
“Anyway, some more Russian was thrown back and forth. I stood twiddling my thumbs waiting for that to end. When it did, the woman took me backstage, said I had ‘ pretty face and good behind,’ and gave me my costume for the night.”
The men stare at one another.
“I asked what was going on and she said”—I adopt my best Russian accent—“‘Don’t worry. All tips for you to keep.’ I slipped behind a curtain, changed, and found myself on a VIP podium five minutes later with dozens of eyes staring my way.”
Match’s jaw hangs open. “And you just…got on with it?”
“I was scared for my life! I couldn’t afford to refuse the lingerie and tell the woman, ‘No thanks.’ It was either pole dancing, or the hotel room with three sexually-starved-looking men.”
“Fair enough,” Brander says. “Did anybody touch you?”
“No, so there was no need to go snapping noses.”
“He was staring at you like a fucking starved dog. I had to do something.”
A silence stretches between us.
Déjà vu.
It’s late. I’m sitting on Brander’s couch again, this time in even less clothing than before. My experience at the strip club was…interesting. Definitely made me second-guess my career path.
I wasn’t even naked and I earned more in an hour than I would a shift at the hospital.
Not like I’m planning a premature quarter-life crisis career change.
But just saying…
I see the way they look at me. They try to hide it to focus on what’s important here—my feelings. Quite frankly, I’m tired of emotion. The feelings that press into my chest too hard and make me rethink my entire life. I’ve been doing that ever since I arrived at Brander’s, and could do with a certain injection to ease the pain…
“Can I shower?”
“Of course, darling,” Brander says. “You know where the towels are.”
I stand and move slowly to the doorway so they all have time to check out my ass. Reaching the doorway, I spin around. Press a hand into the wood to give my body some dimension. Men go weak in the knees for angles, according to Cosmopolitan Magazine.
“Is anybody coming with me?”
My husbands all look at one another.
They want to. I see it in their eyes.
Brander swallows a lump in his throat, and Lifesaver readjusts his position on the couch. Match glances at my breasts.
This lingerie really is tiny. Thankfully, nothing slipped in the strip club, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late for a wardrobe malfunction.
I slip one single strap from one breast and pop it out.
Match grunts.
Smoothing a hand over myself turns me on more than I initially thought it would, especially with the boys watching. I continue massaging the breast, sliding the hand further up to pinch my nipple. Sensitivity ripples through my body, something sweet budding between my thighs. A moan escapes my lips.
This is fun. Much more than I intended it to be.
“Alice, sweetness,” Match says. “Get in the shower.”
“Not without all of you.”
I free the other breast and grab both, running my fingertips over each nipple. Sensitivity increases even more. So much that my knees buckle.
I can’t keep standing like this. Teasing my pussy like this.
So, performatively, I slide a hand down the length of my torso, pausing it at the G-string to take in their expressions.
A blush explodes on all three sets of cheeks. Lifesaver readjusts his length, wide blue eyes stapled to my mound, anticipating the moment I drop the thong. Match’s jaw still hangs open like he’s imagining my breast in his mouth, and Brander fights to put the stoic expression back onto his face. He can’t. Dilated pupils have already consumed all of his eyes.
I drop the G-string and crawl two fingers in between my legs.
Brander grunts. Grabs his cock through his pants.
“You should feel how wet I am.” I locate my clit and begin to swirl, but my fingers aren’t as good as Brander’s. He works magic between my legs. He is a wizard, I’m still convinced.
“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to stop,” Lifesaver says.
I pout. “Why?”
“Because if you continue,” Match says, “we won’t be able to restrain ourselves.”
“I don’t want you to restrain yourselves.”
“We’ll fuck you,” Brander says. “Hard.”
“You’ve already fucked me ha?—”
“The thing is”—Brander readjusts himself again—“as much as we enjoy watching you get fucked, it pains us having to wait for our turn.”
I quit circling my clit for a moment to wrap my head around what he’s saying. “I don’t understand.”
Brander, after receiving an encouraging nod from the other two, rises from his seat to approach me. My whole body rests at his fingertips, but he chooses to entwine his hands with mine. Gently, he strokes his thumb in my palm. “Have you ever tried anything…different in the bedroom?”
“Anything different? What do you mean?”
“The other hole, darling. Have you ever had anything inside of it before?”
My heart skips a beat but in the best fucking possible way.
Anal?
Of course these guys don’t play vanilla.
Now I’m the one blushing.
“Um. No.” My voice is tiny.
Lifesaver takes off from the couch to join us. “Do you…want to?”
“You don’t have to decide now,” Match says, the last to complete the deformed circle we seemed to have created. “It’s completely up to you. One-hundred-percent your choice.”
Why has my pussy grown a heartbeat?
I stare at each one of them. They’re drop-dead gorgeous. All of them. All my hands crave is a brush through Lifesaver’s hair. The silver curls are perfect to grab on to during sex, and the moans that exit his mouth sound heavenly. It’s like a choir when they all moan in unison. Lifesaver and Match are the two tenors. Brander the bass.
Fuck, Brander’s actions today have been turning me on too. Breaking some rich guy’s nose with one single punch screams danger, but to my pussy, it’s the opposite. His overprotective nature throbs a desire inside of me that, right now, is becoming impossible to contain.
And Match is just as irresistible. His wince when Lifesaver was doing his stitching shouldn’t have flicked a switch on inside of me, but it did. The white flash of teeth. The creased, iron-gray brow.
Gosh, these men will be the death of me.
And now they’re proposing the idea of two of them being inside me…all at once?
Three could be, if one inserts himself into my mouth.
All three penetrating me all at once.
Holy fuck.
I’d be joined with all of them.
All at once.
I never understood the hype around anal. In college when Tammy proudly announced that she was an Anal Angel (her words not mine), my brain spent the next few days trying to understand why on earth somebody would spread their cheeks and invite a dick inside of… there.
But now I finally get it.
When you’re crazy for multiple men, you want them inside of you all at the same time. A degree of separation comes to me from them having to wait their turn.
Why have them separately when I can have them all at the same time?
“Let’s do it.”
“Darling.” Brander squeezes my hand again and stares into my eyes. His are soft. Staring into them flips my soul. “Are you sure? Because there’s no pressure.”
“Zero pressure,” adds Lifesaver.
“I know,” I say, “but I want to.” I turn around and begin to climb the stairs, because as much as I want them all to fuck me simultaneously, the shower is also calling my name.
Reaching the bathroom, I discard what’s left of the lingerie and crank the faucet. Boiling hot water falls down from a square shower head. It’s a large space. More than big enough to accommodate four people.
“Are you coming?” I call.
Several pairs of footsteps bang up the stairs.
Then three black-leather figures slip in. Start removing their clothes.
Panels of sculpted torso emerge. All three of them sport impressive six-packs.
Compared to them, Levi is nothing.
And Rachel was wrong. A week has passed and I’m not bedridden in my pajamas, snotting into tissues, binge-watching Friends. Showering with three bikers is quite the opposite. Levi has seldom frequented my mind since they entered my life, and when he does , I’m not dwelling on the good times. I’m thanking God and all his angels above for sending me that message the night of the Bachelorette. It set me free.
If I was married to Levi, the female orgasm would continue being a fantasy—I wouldn’t know any different. I’d be bulk-buying E.L. James’ books from Amazon and reading them in secret to live vicariously through very lucky female protagonists.
If Levi and I were still together, I’d still be in denial about the G-spot’s existence.
Still think that it’s normal for a guy not to go down on you.
To not worship the ground on which you walk.
All of their dicks spring out of their pants. Hard. I step further into the shower and run my hands through my hair, accentuating the body I know all three of them are desperate to touch.
One moan is all it takes before they’re hopping in after me and their hands are roaming everywhere. One could call it invasive having three men showering with you, because three is a crowd—Rachel would think so, probably—but to me it’s the biggest treat. The least I deserve for being captured by Russians for most of the day.
“All things considered,” Lifesaver says, “you were fucking sexy up there today.”
“You were, darling.” Brander slips a finger between my folds and massages. “I didn’t know you could move like that.”
“Neither did I.” I start to snort but the sudden clit-press turns it into a moan.
Slapping my hand against the cool tiled wall, I relax into all three of their touches and shut my eyes. Monogamy’s biggest downside is that a person only has two hands. Fingers can only be in so many places at once.
Three bodies means triple the pleasure.
That’s six hands.
Match squeezes my breasts, flicking my nipples to turn them even harder, and Brander squats down between my legs to observe my pussy from below deck. One hand wraps around my thigh. The other strokes my clit. Lifesaver, pressing me harder against the tiles, inserts two of his fingers inside. He uses his spare hand to slap my ass at any given opportunity, avoiding the tattoo that’s still healing.
“How are you feeling, princess?” Match asks.
“Like I want…all of you inside of me at once.”
“Here? In the shower?” Lifesaver says.
“Uh-huh.”
Damn. Who knew cold tiled walls could be such a turn-on?
Lifesaver presses me harder against the wall, and warm sensations tingle down my spine. The two practiced fingers pumping in and out of me get faster. Already, I feel my walls start to contort. My grip on the boys’ shoulders starts to weaken.
It’s too much. Their three, hot, writhing bodies. The wet skin-on-skin. Lifesaver’s hooked fingers thrusting deep inside. The clit-nipple stimulation from Brander and Match.
I squeeze my eyes shut. It feels like I’m fighting the fucking laws of physics. “I don’t want to come yet.”
“What do you want then, darling?” Brander asks.
Lifesaver’s fingers exit my pussy. All hands disappear.
Boiling hot water showers down and steams the entire room, but I go cold.
I need them back on me.
Embarrassment should wedge a lump in my throat and prohibit me from saying this, but I’m too horny to not. “I want all three of you inside of me at once. Someone in my pussy, someone in my mouth, and the third can go?—”
“Not yet, darling,” Brander says. “We need to prepare you for that first.”
“What do you mean?”
He steps out of the shower and messes around in some drawers. My eyes can’t help but look at his dick. The sheer size of it. If Lifesaver’s and Match’s are bigger than average, Brander’s is superhuman. Like a fucking horse dick.
He hops back into the shower holding a pink object.
“A butt plug,” Lifesaver says, clearly registering my confused expression. “To sort of…get you ready for us, darling.”
Match runs his hands up my torso. “Have you ever worn one before, sweetness?”
I shake my head.
“You can wear it as much as you like.” Brander hands it to me. It’s lighter than I expected. “You might be wondering why I have one in my bathroom drawer.” He sniffs a laugh.
“Yeah, kinda.” I search Lifesaver’s and Match’s eyes for an explanation, but the two of them continue staring intently at their friend.
“It’s been my fantasy since…forever to give this to a woman,” Brander admits.
“He bought it years ago at an adult store, eh, Brandy?” Match says.
“That’s right, I did.” He takes the contraption from me. Holds it in his hands like a medal or something. “You see, there was never once a time when I was in doubt.”
“About what?”
“About finding the love of my life.”
I’m sorry… what?!
My heart misses beat after beat.
Love?
“I knew she was out there somewhere. Fate is a myth, and I’ve never believed in the phenomenon, but our paths crossed for a reason. This”—he holds it up—“was something I bought years ago when I was feeling low. It’s weird, I know, and the fantasy is something I can’t quite explain, but it would fill me with joy seeing you wear this.”
Some men buy their future wives rings when they see a nice one…
Others write letters…
Brander buys a butt plug.
I come out from under the stream of water. Rest my back against the tiled wall. Is it water oozing from my pussy, dripping down my thighs, or desire? The thought of inserting something inside of me to gratify Brander turns me on. Hella more than I’d feel comfortable admitting to Tammy and Rachel during our next debrief.
It’s best to keep the boys out of their ears for now.
They’re still raging about the tattoo and the four-carat diamond not being up for sale on eBay yet.
But this…holy shit.
“Darling, if you feel uncomfortable, just say,” Brander tells me.
“Of course.” Match plays with a strand of my hair. “But if you’d like all three of us at once, wearing the butt plug will help.”
I turn around so I’m facing the wall. Press my cheek to the tiles.
Then I’m sticking out my ass. Arching my back.
I receive a spank from two of them. I can’t tell which, but the force induces another wave of desire. It’s definitely arousal dripping down from the apex of my thighs.
“Good girl,” moans Lifesaver. “Brander is gonna put it in you, okay?”
I nod.
Match spreads my cheeks as Brander gets ready to insert.
I watch the eye candy unfold behind me—Brander’s concentration, Match’s flustered face, and Lifesaver’s hands stroking up and down his dick as he watches.
One of them reaches forward to grab my mound.
“Good girl, Alice,” Lifesaver says. Lust swirls around both of his eyes.
The plug feels foreign when it first enters, but it doesn’t hurt.
“You’re doing amazing, darling. Just a little bit more and then we’re done,” Brander says.
I feel myself slowly start to stretch around it.
“Perfect,” says Match, helping me back up. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” I say. “But I think I’d prefer one of your dicks in there more.”
“Patience, darling.” Brander bends me over, my face pressed to the tiled wall again, then kneels and kisses my pussy like it’s a second pair of lips.
I moan.
Feel myself slipping.
Lifesaver and Match catch me.
“Who do you want first, darling?” Lifesaver asks.
Time doesn’t exist to me. The Bratva. Daddy.
I used to think the meaning of life was to work hard and do well. But now I know otherwise. The real meaning is happiness, enjoyment, and world-shattering orgasms that warp your perception of reality.