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“I’ll be good, sir.”
    “That’s right.” Cunningham’s growl was almost a roar. His grip under her ass turned vise-like, pulling at her, forcing her wider for him. Jonathan moved aside just as Cunningham slammed himself deep, his shoulders flexing back as his thrusting slowed. Several long shudders gripped his body, and he dug his fingers into her flanks.  
    He gently settled her on the bed, his warm palm tracing soothing paths along her thighs while the puffs of his breath cooled her damp skin.
    Finally, he withdrew. Her knees folded together, already missing him. Her limbs were exhausted from the struggle of staying stretched wide to accommodate the large men.  
    Cunningham positioned her, legs bent, soles of her feet flat on the bed. “Don’t move.”
    “Ok,” she whispered. She wondered if he expected her to really stay like that all night. It was a lot to ask.  
    The men were getting dressed, fixing their rumpled tuxedoes, running large hands through sweat-dampened hair. She sighed as she watched.
    Cunningham pulled a sheet out and covered her, his movements careful and tender.  

    Two hours later, still on her back, she couldn’t stop her mind from replaying all the things that had happened since she’d applied for the job. She now had enough money in the bank that if she wanted to take a year off, she could. She had the nicest clothes and jewelry that money could buy. She had an expensive car. And she loved her job.
    She loved her life.
    She pulled the sheet higher, sighing as she detected the mingled scents of her lovers’ aftershave, and carefully rolled onto her side. The wetness between her legs had been slowly dripping out since the men left her. She slipped a finger along her slit and shuddered. There wasn’t any rule against masturbating, but she knew it wouldn’t be as satisfying as when they were there. Still… she gathered slippery wetness and glided her fingertip around her clit. The come of all three men inside her. There was something darkly forbidding about it.
    Light from the street filtered in around the edges of the blinds in her bedroom window. Light pollution, Nolan had derisively labeled it after one especially restless night at her place.
    He hadn’t been impressed with her modest digs, but then he’d grown up in the lap of luxury, surrounded by quality and perfection. Nolan’s life was something that most people couldn’t imagine. People didn’t even fantasize about being that rich. It was simply inconceivable. And they were all wealthy, her dominant bosses. Obscenely wealthy. Even Jonathan, who she’d finally learned was the poor man of the three, was worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
    Considering the bubble Nolan had grown up in, it was a wonder he wasn’t more spoiled. Private schools, private jets, private islands. It was beyond fantasy. Even if he weren’t exceptionally attractive, he could have had any partner he wanted. That kind of money could turn even the most principled woman’s mind toward reflexive, animal greed.  
    Frowning, Elle grabbed her phone from the bedside table and sent Nolan a text.
    What’s this about you dating supermodels?
    Her phone rang. She smiled, not surprised but thrilled nonetheless. Cunningham rarely bothered to answer his texts, and Jonathan would respond when he had time, but only Nolan would call her immediately. With the access that his money bought, people knew not to keep him waiting, and so he’d never learned—or couldn’t be bothered—to play hard to get.
    “Why are you calling me so late at night?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her voice.
    “Checking that you’re on your back like a good little brood mare,” he said.  
    Elle’s pussy quivered. “You know I am,” she whispered.
    “Are you getting cramped and stiff?”
    “It’s less fun by the minute,” she admitted, “but I’m being good.” And mostly, she was.
    “Yes, I’m sure you are. You would never disobey one of Cunningham’s