PROLOGUE – DIRTY DREAMS
Marnie
The moonlight sliced through a gap in my curtains, painting a silver stripe across my rumpled duvet. It was quiet. Too quiet. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city outside and the frantic, shallow rhythm of my own breathing.
Because in my head, it wasn't quiet at all.
You take us so well, Marnie. James's voice, a low, dark purr, vibrated through my dream-scape. He was behind me, a solid wall of heat, one big hand splayed across my lower back, holding me in place. His other hand gripped my hip, his fingers digging in, branding me.
So tight, so perfect,Brent growled from the front, his own hands tangling in my hair, tilting my head back. He was all heavy, hard chest and a clean, masculine scent, his blue eyes burning intomine with an intensity that made my toes curl.Look at me when I'm inside you, baby girl.
My dream-self obeyed, my breath hitching as they moved in a devastating, synchronized rhythm. The fullness was overwhelming, a deep, stretching ache that bordered on pain but was pure, exquisite pleasure. Every nerve ending was alight, firing on all cylinders, a circuit completed by the two powerful men who had somehow taken over my entire existence.
In the real world, my body followed the fantasy. My hands moved with a practiced, desperate urgency. One gripped the sleek, curved glass of my favorite dildo, easing it into my slick heat. The other, fumbling slightly in the dark, found the smaller, smoother plug, its cool surface a shock against my heated skin. I pressed it against my tightest entrance, breathing through the initial resistance, the sensation a perfect mimicry of James's dominant entry in my dream.
Please, I whimpered, the sound half-lost in my pillow. The plea was for them, for Brent and James, even as my own hands drove me higher.
Please what, sweetheart?Brent's lips brushed my temple.Tell us what you need.
More. I need more.
And they gave it to me. The dream-pace quickened, a brutal, beautiful dance. My hands mirrored their urgency, the dual friction of two cocks in my body building a coil of tension so deep inside me I thought I might shatter. The sounds were wet, obscene, and the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. I could feel it building, the crest of the wave, the peak of the rollercoaster just before the drop.
Come for us, Marnie. Now. James's command was absolute, a trigger pulled directly on my soul.
My back arched off the bed, a silent scream catching in my throat before it tore free.
"James! Brent! Oh god, mmmmm!"
The names were ripped from my body, sharp and clear in the quiet bedroom. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, so intense it was almost violent. My pussy clenched, my asshole dissolving into powerful spasms as I imagined the two cocks creaming deep inside, filling me with virile, salty spunk.
“Ooooh,” I moaned again, insensate, my curvy body tossing against the sheets. My hands still moved instinctively to draw out every last shock of sensation, the two dildos stretching and fucking my holes slowly, gently, as the ripples subsided.
And then, silence.
The only thing left was the frantic thumping of my own heart and the slick, cooling evidence of my fantasy on my skin and the sheets. The moonlight seemed colder now, harsher. The silver stripe on my duvet looked less like magic and more like a spotlight, exposing me.
I lay there, boneless and panting, the echoes of their names slowly fading in the air. The afterglow, usually so warm and comforting, was rapidly evaporating, replaced by a familiar, creeping dread.
What in God's name was I doing?
My breathing hitched for a whole new reason. Brent and James. My bosses. The two men who held my father's good name, and by extension my own, in their firm, tanned hands. They weretwenty-five years my senior, and the name partners at the law firm where I worked. What was I doing, tangling with them?
Because I’ve always thought of myself as a good girl. A girl who does her homework, and who gets straight A’s. But now, I was having dirty, raunchy, filthy sex with my two bosses in conference rooms, in their offices, and even in the shared kitchen once. We were going to be caught, and I’d be ruined. There’d be no way for my dad’s name to ever be cleared.
But even as my breathing retuned to normal, a desperate ache reawakened in my pussy because that’s what Brent Gibson and James Grant do to me. I may be nothing but a sexy little paralegal to the older men, to be used, fingered and fucked to their hearts’ content. But at the same time, I could sense that our relationship was becoming more, pulling all three of us deeper, deeper, deeper … until we’d be lost to the depravity of our actions.
1
CHAPTER ONE – THE NEW GIRL
Marnie
Ican see my reflection in the glass doors—two versions of myself, side by side. One: Marnie Williams, recent college grad, hand-picked for a paralegal position at the prestigious Gibson Grant law firm. The other: daughter of the infamous Stanley Williams, whose execution five years ago still sparks headlines and awkward dinner conversations. If you look closely, you can see the family resemblance. Me and my late dad have the same blue eyes, fair hair, and the same talent for getting into trouble. I flatten my palm over my ribcage and tell my heart to slow because it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
Beneath me, the sidewalk is so clean it feels sacrilegious to step on it with my five-year-old flats. The offices of Gibson Grant rise twenty-three stories above, each window polished until the entire thing looks like a stack of platinum credit cards. The kind of place that would chew up a girl like me and spit out the bones.
I shove the doors open, half-expecting resistance, but they glide for me like I belong. The lobby is all hush and sparkle—marble floors so white I’m instantly terrified of trailing in street grime, black-leather benches that look more like sculpture than seating, a wall-to-wall aquarium throbbing with neon tropicals behind a reception desk the length of a bowling alley. I clock the receptionist: platinum hair, glossy and severe, eyes up at me with a practiced smile.
