Page 10 of Three Suave Billionaires and a Fake Chauffeur

It's no use getting ahead of myself. I need to deal with the problem I'm facing right now, which is me back in their study while the billionaires' gazes slide down my body with slow, excruciating thoroughness, as if they want to see right through me.

"Well, that was fun," I say. "Thank you for a lovely evening, but I guess I should be heading home. Umm... I'll have to reimburse you for the clothes and the underwear and the undergarment. I'm good for it, so don't worry." Yes, I'm going to have to sell everything in my closet to make at least a small payment, just to show good faith.

That makes me want to cry. What am I going to do? Not having a meltdown right now is what I'm going to do. I'll wait until I'm in my car.

"So if you would please hand over the keys to the locks for the... the thing, I'll be out of your hair," I say and hold out my right hand, praying they'd forgotten they were going to get to the bottom of me once they got home. Maybe they're over me now. I'm over me now, so it makes sense. Or maybe they're just bored of me now. That would make even more sense.

That thing about love at first sight—could it be true? Oh god, Lucy, get a grip. You did not instantly fall in love with three men all at the same time after one madcap evening with them. But why does the thought of never seeing them again shatter my heart? Because I'm stupid, I end the silly monologue in my head.

"Do you want to tell us the truth, Lucy Amber Applegate, before it's too late for you?" Peter asks.

"I did tell you the truth," I say a little too quickly, tripping over the fact that they know my full name. My mouth dries as they removed their tuxedo jackets, their bowties, before they roll up the sleeves of their shirts. They shouldn’t distract me like this. I need to be stronger.

"Try again."

"I was so happy for my brother; I hugged him so hard, he fell over and knocked his head and—"

Oh no. It's happening again.

Max comes in behind me. I gasp as he pulls the zipper down on the dress, then helps it slip from my body to pool at my feet, leaving me in nothing but those sinful, torturous panties.

"Oh my god," I squeak, one arm slammed against my naked breast to conceal them while I bend to pick up the dress again.

I fail.

Warren grabs me and carries me over to the desk. He places me against the cool marble and then forces me to lean over. My nipples pebble even harder as they brush against the cold stone.

"Okay, just wait a minute," I begin, trying to escape, but Max places a hand on the small of my back, while Warren binds my wrists to the legs of the desk with silk-covered rope. I'm too stunned to remember what I was going to say. Then I do. This is worse than bad. I need to get out of here. Now. I yank at the restraints, ready to lift the whole desk with me if I have to, but all I do is run out of air.

"Do you know who we are, Lucy?" Peter asks, his voice cutting through my hysteria, low and dangerous. He inserts the tiny keys into the heart-shaped lock on the panties and opens them.

Holding my body as rigid as I can, I try desperately to also hold onto the panties. I don't want them to see how I soaked the toy, how just having it pressing against my clit kept me on edge only because of the way they touched me to put the panties on me. It was their hands on my body. That was all I needed.

The panties fall off me. I'm completely naked now and bound so securely to their desk I'm forced to stand on the tips of my toes.

This has gotten too far. I want to go home and curl up in my bed under my blanket and forget everything.

"Do you know who we are, Lucy?" Peter asks again, slower this time.

"Yes, you're egotistical, arrogant, and mean, and I want to go home," I cry.

"Wrong answer," he says. They're all standing behind me now while I'm trapped in a position so vulnerable I'm on complete display for them. I shut my eyes and press my thighs together, desperately hoping my skin will absorb the wetness between my legs and then they won't see it.

"Open your legs, Lucy," Peter commands.

I drop my head to the cool marble desk. I can't. I just can't.

The first strike of Peter's palm against my backside is so startlingly sound and firm, all my senses cower and hide, unsure how to react to this. I'm not given a moment to process anything before it's Max who takes a turn on my backside. Then Warren. Then Peter again.

"Open your legs for us, Lucy," Peter says, and this time I shamefully obey. But the stinging burn, the rattling of my control, and the total annihilation of my thoughts leave me so far out in the open I can do nothing but cry.

"Who are you working for, Lucy?" Warren asks.

"No one," I blurt out through clenched teeth.

"Try again."

They take turns to spank, reddening my ass until I'm sure I'll have their hands imprinted on me forever and all I want to do is beg them to touch me. Between my legs. I want to... beg them to touch me.