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into the super villain’s lair itself.
    I’m impressed. It’s huge… larger than my grandfather’s main office, that’s for sure.
    “What does Tarraget do?” I ask.
    “Conglomerate,” Hawthorne says quickly.
    “Like I can’t look it up when I get home,” I say as I twist my arm to reach the tab of my zipper.
    To my surprise, Hawthorne steps gracefully behind me, gathers up my hair, and slowly unzips my blouse.
    I wish I could see his face. Is he looking at my skin? Is he thinking about everything that’s still covered, about unhooking my bra?
    He lets my hair fall, then spins me to look at him. The harsh look in his eyes isn’t what I was expecting. “We need to talk logistics.”
    “We?”
    “I’ve already told you that you fuck all of us.” There’s a grudging respect as he adds, “Your blow job intrigued me.”
    I touch the corner of my mouth as if wiping away a drop of liquid, and I realize that I was so far gone, I barely got to enjoy my victory. “Intrigued? Is that what it’s called?”
    Hawthorne yanks the unzipped blouse down to my waist, and it rips loudly.
    “That’s company property,” I say because I can’t help myself.
    His gaze cuts to mine, and irritation flashes across his handsome features, but then his attention dips to my bra, which is smooth black satin, designed to be seductively sophisticated. It’s also underwire and padded, but by the time men figure those sorts of things out, they’re not usually in a position to complain.
    “I’ll see you get a new one.” He yanks the ripped blouse and my skirt the rest of the way off me, and I slowly step out of the puddle of fabric and kick the clothing aside.
    Right now, three sets of eyes are taking me in. I won’t lie. It’s nice. Even though the men are nothing alike, they’re well-matched. They’re all roughly the same height and have perfect bodies. Still, there are differences. Romeo is a bit more massive, Hawthorne a bit more defined, I’d guess, and while I haven’t much touched Slade’s body, I know he’s got wide shoulders and a muscular ass, built like a triathlete.
    “Take off your panties,” Slade says.
    I give him a saucy look as I roll the fabric down to my knees and shimmy out of it.
    “Legs apart.” Romeo squats in front of me and points on the floor where he wants my feet to go. It’s a good thirty-six inches—not easy to accomplish in killer heels on a slippery carpet. He taps my ankle. “Wider,” he says.
    He’s not satisfied until my legs are as far apart as they can go. I feel unbalanced and more than a little exposed. My legs are far enough apart that cool air touches my wet flesh, making me shiver.
    Romeo runs his hands up the backs of my legs as he stands, and I feel like a horse being evaluated at auction, especially when he palms my buttocks, hefts each one.
    One of his fingers tugs at the cup of my bra, pulling it down. My freed nipple stiffens. When Romeo steps back, the bra snaps partially back into place so that my nipple is caught on the curved lip and pulled up like it’s trying to peek over the top.
    It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not comfortable, either, and I raise a hand to fix it.
    Slade steps forward, and I catch his woodsy scent. “No,” he says. He crosses a muscular arm over my chest, bracing me. Confused, I try to twist in his strange embrace, but then Hawthorne slaps my ass so hard that I lose my balance. Slade is the only reason I’m not sprawled on the floor.
    I’m so surprised that I don’t say anything.
    “I don’t like this bra,” Romeo says. “It’s too fake. If the four of us decide to play together again, you’ll wear lace bras.”
    Hawthorne crosses his arms, taps his chin thoughtfully. “She’s quite vain about her lingerie,” he says. “She thinks it helps her with sales.”
    “That so?” Romeo frowns as he considers what Hawthorne said. “Pity,” he says finally. “But that doesn’t change my mind. Are we in agreement?”
    “We are,”