The Game by L.P. Lovell
4
The next morning, I follow the scent of coffee to the kitchen. Preston and Tobias stand at the cabinets, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. My gaze trails their bare chests, noting the way the shadows settle in the ridges and valleys of their stomachs. They look perfect, like something Michelangelo would have carved, and I wonder for the hundredth time why the hell they have to pay a woman to fuck them.
“Good morning, Ella,” Tobias says, his gaze directed away from me as though he can simply sense my presence.
“Good morning,” I say, thinking those two words shouldn’t be so difficult to manage.
“Would you care for coffee?” Preston takes a mug from the cabinet before glancing over his shoulder at me.
I nod as I step into the room and take a seat at the breakfast bar, trying not to look at either of them, though I can feel the weight of their eyes on me. It’s bad enough with one of them, but with both, I want to shrink under their attention. I hear a drawer open. The tinker of a spoon in a cup, and then a steaming mug is placed in front of me.
“You're pretty when you blush,” Tobias says. When I look up, his hand is sliding over Preston’s abs as he rounds him. Maybe I should find the sight of these two men touching so intimately strange, but I don’t. Instead, it has me feeling things—wanting things that I've never even thought about before.
Tobias casts a fleeting glance in my direction. “A dress has been laid out for you. After coffee, get ready. We’re leaving.” Both men head down the hall, then a single bedroom door closes. Are they in there together? Are they together?
I go to my room and find a black dress on the bed. I change into it, then slip my feet into a pair of Prada heels. While the closet has been stuffed to the brim in elegant, designer clothes, there isn’t a stitch of underwear to be found. And that tells me all I need to know. As far as they are concerned, underwear isn't needed.
* * *
An hour later,Preston and I arrive, without Tobias, at Raul’s, one of the city's finest restaurants. The hostess ushers us to a table set for four. A restaurant that has a waitlist month's long, even for lunch. How long have they had this planned or are they above such ridiculous things as waitlists? It would make sense that anyone would bend to their whims and desires. I sure as hell had…
We’ve barely taken our seats before Preston orders three glasses of wine. Then we sit in silence. Me staring out the window, him staring at me—I think, I feel it. I nearly jump out of my skin when the waitress returns with the wine. Then we return to silence. I shift in my seat, trying to calm my nerves, but it’s impossible. I keep asking myself what the hell I’ve done, wondering if I should just get up and leave, say to hell with the contract—but the money…
I down my wine in a heavy gulp just as Tobias walks in with another man.
The stranger sits across from me while Tobias takes the empty seat to my left, introducing me to Michael. He’s older than Preston and Tobias. Yet, despite being older, he holds none of the unfailing confidence of Preston, or the raw power of Tobias.
After our orders are placed, I’m ignored. I wonder why they bothered to bring me along. Maybe so I listen to them discuss portfolios and ridiculous sums of money…
Halfway through lunch, Tobias's fingers brush my thigh. When Preston's hand lands on my other thigh, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I glance at Tobias just in time to catch a warning flicker across his eyes as his fingers creep further up my thigh. And, just like that, Preston removes his hand. I attempt to cross my legs, but Tobias cuts his gaze over at me. Complete submission.
Inhaling, I open my thighs, and his fingers find their way right between them. He circles my clit before slowly dipping inside me. And damn, it feels good. He goes deeper. Harder. My palm flattens on the tablecloth as I stare straight ahead, focusing on the hum of conversation, the clattering of dishes, the full restaurant buzzing around me. Shit. Why is this so hot?
Michael glances at me, all smiles. “So, Ella, what do you do?”
I open my mouth to answer just as another of Tobias’s thick fingers sinks inside, deep and fast.
“I’m in marketing.” My voice catches when he presses into me so hard, I have to fight to not lift out of my seat.
“Yes, we've just hired her,” Tobias says, pulling out and plunging back in, his thumb now massaging my clit.
“Oh, really?” Michael glances between us. “Phenomenal.”
Phenomenal indeed. I go to bring my wine to my lips, but thanks to the pressure inside of me, the hard then soft circles over my clit, I nearly knock the glass over. Preston catches it, smiling as he passes it to me. “No need to be nervous, Ella. Michael doesn't bite.”
Right now, I wouldn’t care if he did. I’m right on that edge. On the very brink, fighting to keep my uneven breaths steady because if I come in here...
“So, what do the figures look like?” Tobias asks. “Growing, I assume?”
“Exponentially.”
“Good. Very,” — his fingers curl against me— “good.”
He’s acting as though I’m not gripping him right now, as though I’m not ever so slightly rocking my hips beneath the table against my will.
“You feeling well, Ella?” Preston asks. “You look rather flushed.”
“Fine.” I swallow. “Fi—” A slow breath breaks my speech— “ine.”
I shift forward, gripping the edge of the table as I tighten around Tobias’s fingers, in one of New York's busiest, most upscale restaurants. The entirety of Fifth Avenue strolls past the window as I deny myself the moan my body wants to release. My eyes close and I focus on the weightless heat, the moment of not giving a single fuck about anything else.
When I open my eyes, Michael’s concerned gaze is on me. “Is she alright?”
“Just a bit on edge, right, Ella?” Tobias removes his fingers, trailing the wet mess over my thigh.
“Yes…” I manage.
Smirking, he sweeps his wet index finger along his bottom lip, tasting me. Heat rises in my cheeks. That shouldn’t turn me on. It shouldn't, but it does. And then he leans into my side. “Go and clean yourself up, Ella,” he whispers. “You’ve let me make a mess.”