Send Nudes: A MMF Bisexual Romance Page 3

  Piling up everywhere are letters, gift baskets, and all sorts of other shit. They’ve been pouring in since the picture went viral. They’re so many now that you can’t take two steps without stepping on a letter or a card or even a contract.

  I haven’t even opened or read any of them. They keep coming. Today alone, I’ve received ten packages in the mail—and it’s not even noon.

  Don’t even get me started on my emails. I’ve stopped checking those, because every alert I get on my phone now is either an agent asking for a sit-down or a company asking if I had the time to read their last ten emails.

  After a moment’s silence, Sophia begins speaking again. “So, what do you plan to do about all that’s been happening?”

  “What are you going to do about all these mails?” she continues, motioning to the pile of mails all around the small living room.

  “Frankly, I don’t know,” I reply.

  Ever since she cautioned me against jumping at the first opportunity I got, I’ve taken a liking to holding out.

  “This is your big chance, Dee,” Sophia says matter-of-factly. “Lady Luck is on your side. I’d hate for you to miss out on the best deal possible.”

  “I know,” I complain. “But the thing is, what’s the best deal possible?”

  Sophia is about to respond, when I jump in again, “I certainly do not want to represent a SyFy movie about killer dolphins.”

  Sophia looks at me weirdly for a moment before bursting out in laughter. I join her seconds later; we have a good one.

  “Yeah, let’s not do that,” Sophia says finally.

  I laugh again. “Definitely not.”

  At first, when I answered my phone and got a producer on the other side, I wasn’t sure I heard exactly what he was proposing. When I realized he was serious, I told him I’d think about it.

  Of course, I didn’t.

  There’s silence for a moment.

  “You know what?” Sophia says.

  “What?”

  “I’ll represent you!” Sophia says with renewed excitement. “I’ll make sure you get the best deal possible out of all this. Trust me.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me. I trust her. Still, I can’t help but think: oh no, here we go.

  Because things are definitely about to change.

  5

  Kane

  “More whisky!” I yell, my deep, manly voice booming across the nightclub.

  As I stand in the VIP section, holding the empty bottle of a Dalmore 64 Trinitas, I see a knot of scantily clad girls on the dance floor.

  They all wink at me.

  I shrug at them, not because I don’t give a fuck about pussy. But because I’ve been here for only an hour, and about a hundred fucking hot girls keep on fucking throwing themselves at me.

  Yes, I’m the fucking king, the fucking king of pussy.

  “Fucking give us more whisky!” I yell, even though I know the bartender has heard me.

  Then, I fall back into the arms of two sexy as hell girls on the sofa. Don’t ask me their names; I couldn’t tell you even if my life depended on it.

  As you might’ve realized by now, I’ve no interest in names. I don’t give a fucking shit what these girls feel about me. The only thing I care about is demolishing their pussies with my monster of a cock.

  Even if they’re pissed about me not knowing their name, I bet that’ll vanish once they get a hold of my dick. I would say that’s a fair trade.

  The girls on both my sides are vying for my undivided attention, but I don’t give it to them. Why limit myself to two, when I can have the entire bar?

  The entire bar? You say.

  Fucking yes, the entire bar. Half the girls here are looking at me lustfully. All I have to do is say the word or look at them in a certain way, and I can have a fucking foursome right here, right now.

  Come to think of it, maybe I should have a foursome. There’s enough space in the limo parked out back, enough whisky to keep us afloat. And as you already know, there are enough inches on my cock to go around.

  I smile at the thought as a waitress brings me another tray of whisky. She’s as sexy and as beautiful as the last one. My gaze meets hers, and I feel a fucking spark.

  “Why don’t you join us?” I ask her over the music.

  It’s so spontaneous that the waitress doesn’t react at first. Her jaw hangs open—as if a god had just spoken to her—and she walks around the table. She sets the tray down, and then bends over to whisper into my ear.

  “I didn’t quite hear you,” she whispers, leaning some more so that her tits are just one inch away from my face.

  “I said,” I start, placing one hand on her hip, “why don’t you join us?”

  “I’m working, sir,” she whispers lustfully, but her eyes tell me a different tale.

  She presses her breasts against my chest before standing up, and then runs her tongue between her lips.

  She’s fucking aroused.

  I can see it in the way she looks at me, at my powerful arms exposed because of my rolled up sleeves. I can see it in the way she holds her lips, like she’s ready to go down on her knees and suck my dick.

  Hmmm…this one seems feisty, I think tantalizingly to myself.

  There’s just something about seeing a woman’s inhibition shatter under pressure. It’s the most potent, sex-enhancing drug a superior male like me ever needs.

  The waitress makes to leave, but then stops at the edge of the VIP section. She turns and says, “But I get off my shift in thirty minutes …if you’re still interested.”

  “It’s hard to resist when you’ve come this close to tasting real power, huh?” I say back at her.

  And by tasting, I am referring to her mouth on my cock—now that’s real power, after all.

  It’s an outrageous thing to say to another person, you might think. And you wouldn’t be wrong because I’m the fucking king of outrageous.

  “We’ll see,” I say again, taking a deep sigh and feeling proud of myself.

  The waitress says no more, smiles, and leaves.

  I remain standing. I look over the dance floor.

  Life can’t get any better than it is right now. This is absolutely the best time of my day. After a hard day’s work, I get to come to the club, unwind, drink, and get some pussy.

  Not that I don’t get any while at work. Heck, I get pussy all the time.

  It’s just that it’s here I feel most alive. Maybe it’s because of the loud music and the screaming voices. It’s all loud and rowdy, and that’s just how I fucking love it.

  Or maybe it’s because there are so many tits to choose from. Black, Latino, Caucasian, Asian, you name it. Plus, I’ve a reputation for being a complete savage in bed.

  I know it, and women know it. It’s hard for them to ignore me, so I get a vast array of ladies to choose from.

  If you call me the man, you wouldn’t be wrong. Why? Because I’m the fucking man.

  Plus, I’ve decided the world of women owes me a great deal. Giving me tits and pussy is the least they can do, seeing that I make them all look pretty with my company’s line of female products.

  Fair, don’t you think?

  So, coming to the nightclub is by far the best time of my day. And there’s no better nightclub than Goldberg Bar.

  Goldberg Bar is one of the classiest clubs in town. It’s where the richest, the crème de la crème, come to unwind. It’s where the sexiest and hottest ladies—the socialites, the ones always making the fucking news on the Internet come to rub shoulders—or should I say tits?

  Getting in is fucking difficult, let alone getting into the VIP lounge. As for me, I don’t just get in, I get to stay in the VIP section. But tonight, I just fucking closed the VIP, paying thousands and thousands of dollars in doing so.

  Why?

  Because I fucking can.

  A string of three ladies break off from the dance floor and begin to make their way toward me. They look determined.

 
I smile.

  “This has got to be interesting,” I whisper to myself, my excitement brewing.

  They’re all brunettes, I notice. They’re probably a group of friends. They’re all tightly dressed in leather shorts and figure-hugging blouses.

  Everything about their body screams sexiness and hotness.

  I stand up straight.

  “How you doing?” I start.

  “Fine,” answers one.

  “We’re about to make your night fucking hot,” another says.

  “All you have to do is come with us,” the third says, “and your night will get a lot more interesting.”

  She winks at me.

  Talk about making a pitch. I should totally employ these girls— right after I fuck them.

  “If the universe wants me to have a foursome tonight, who the fuck am I to say no?” I say with a wide smile.

  I’m about to ask them to come in for a drink when my cellphone rings.

  I immediately know it’s important, since my staff wouldn’t dare call me by this time. They all know nightclub time is me time and am probably balls deep in some fucking wet pussy.

  I’m tempted to ignore the phone as I gaze at the seductive looks the girls are giving me.

  I decide against it and pull out my phone.

  “This better be good,” I growl as I pick up the phone.

  “It is,” a disembodied voice replies, “if you want to keep your company afloat.”

  I look at the caller ID again. It’s one of the guys I put on the street to sniff out information on the competition and get back to me when they have valuable intel.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, turning away from the girls.

  “Word is, Derek is aiming to sign a deal with Diana, the viral girl,” the voice says.

  I frown.

  Diana. Diana.

  Isn’t Diana the queen that got whacked or some shit?

  “Who the fuck is Diana?” I reply.

  “Who the fuck is Diana?” the man replies, incredulous. “Dude, have you been living under a rock? She’s the girl that’s going to make or break your company.”

  I cut the call instantly and google Diana.

  It’s then that I see it. I see her.

  She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve probably ever seen—the perfect description of raw sexiness. Her soaking wet body, her perfect curves and face—she’s hot as fuck, no doubt about that. She’s a fucking masterpiece.

  No wonder Derek wants to sign her. If he manages to do that, Lush will be in big trouble.

  Without another look at the girls, I leave the nightclub. They call after me, but I ignore them. Right now, I got more important shit to handle.

  Back at my limo, I place a call to someone I trust in my company, Murphy Joe.

  “Sup, boss?”

  “Find out all you can about Diana,” I say.

  “The viral girl?” he asks.

  “You fucking know about her?” I ask. “Un-fucking-believable. Yes, the fucking viral girl. Find out everything, including her contact information. I fucking need that girl.”

  “You got it, boss,” he replies. “I’ll have something for you, soon.”

  I cut the call.

  So Derek wants to make a play and sign her, huh?

  Well, shit. I’m the king of outrageous, right?

  Maybe I can do something different to grab her attention.

  6

  Derek

  The treadmill is probably going at a hundred miles an hour, but I don’t mind. With a really calm, paced breathing, I keep up.

  I’m only wearing a tank top and shorts. So naturally, every woman that passes by in the large gym stops to gawk at my perfect body.

  I pay most of them no heed, focusing on just working hard. I don’t get to have rippling biceps or massive abs by faltering at the gym.

  Over in the corner, I see the gym manager arguing with a client. I allow myself to be distracted from the treadmill and try to focus on the argument. It seems to be about the client defaulting in paying up for using this gym.

  I wonder how that’s possible. You can’t even use this gym if you don’t have a high enough net worth. So, for the man to even be a client, it presupposes that he has money.

  But then, why would he default on his payment?

  As I ponder on this, I pay more attention so I can hear the man’s reasons. But before the man speaks, I’ve sized him up.

  He’s wearing a leather jacket and a pair of jeans. He wears an expensive watch and—is that a Lamborghini key fob I see him holding in his hands?

  “You charge too damn much, Brian!” the man’s saying. “And yet you refuse to change your damn toiletries! You got to give value for money, man.”

  Oh, so that’s what that’s about, I wonder.

  Brian stares back at the client, confused. He looks around, seeing that other pairs of eyes, aside from mine, are focused on him.

  The truth is—yeah, Brian charges too much for using his gym. Of course, that’s not a problem. If you can’t afford his gym, you might as well fuck off.

  But then, given that he’s charging so much, he might as well provide excellent service. And excellent service includes new toiletries every other hour.

  Thing is, Brian is sort of a greedy guy. I don’t know him personally, but watching him from a distance tells me all I need to know. I’m very perceptive, and greedy assholes are the easiest to spot.

  In the corner of my eye, I see two burly men walk into the gym. They’re the bouncers that keep this gym free of gatecrashers and lower-rung cops. Brian must’ve spotted them because he seems to gain his footing again.

  He begins to argue with the client. He’s angry—foolish.

  He’s saying things he shouldn’t say. Even going as far as to insult the Lamborghini guy.

  And for what? A five-thousand-dollar paycheck for the client’s last month’s gym use?

  The client is offended by Brian’s response. Right there and then, he signs a check for five thousand dollars. He then spits on the ground and bounces off.

  Never to return again, I suppose.

  Brian may have gained five thousand dollars, but he probably lost dozens of thousands more.

  The math is simple. The client—Rick, that’s what Brian called him—is a rich dude. He’s probably got many friends that are equally rich.

  Say he invites his friends to become members at the gym, Brian would be making a lot of money from their yearly payments.

  Even if Rick doesn’t invite his friends, being a member of this gym guaranteed Brian sixty thousand in a year. And that’s from a single client. Not much by my standards, but let’s face it: my standards are fucking lofty—sky-high lofty.

  In trying to get Rick to pay for the last month, Brian lost Rick’s membership. That’s the direct consequence of his action. There are probably lots of indirect consequences that we don’t get to see immediately.

  I won’t be surprised, even, if other clients that watched the drama unfold decide they don’t like the way Brian treats his customers and up and leave. I know I’m revolted by Brian’s foolishness and would probably leave myself. We’ll just have to wait and see.

  And so I realize, once again, the folly of letting your emotions get the better of you. I know I would’ve done better in his shoes. There are a thousand and one ways for Brian to have solved the problem of an upset client.

  I’ve had my fair share of those kind of clients. I’m talking about clients that, if they took their business elsewhere, would make me lose millions of dollars. Yet, I handle them in such a way that they became even more loyal in the end.

  If only it were that easy to figure out how to deal with Diana.

  It’s been almost a week, and I’ve been unable to figure out a way to sign her up for Sinful.

  Yes, a week. I could’ve driven down to her apartment and made myself look like a fool.

  Sounds like something Kane would do. He always had a flair for the dramatic.


  Me, on the other hand, I prefer to think things through.

  I prefer to shoot once and hit it once—not to shoot many times and hope at least one hits. It’s how I succeed. It takes a lot of focus and determination, but it pays off in the end.

  It’s why my company’s loss profile is incredibly low.

  I take my time to observe, formulate a plan—a plan that I’m sure when executed will be flawless.

  But with Diana, it’s fucking hard.

  The reason is that she’s pulling a lot of media attention now. I could wait for the media attention to die down before making my move, but I wave away that idea.

  If I wait for media attention to fade, she won’t be as valuable to me then as she is now, when all the spotlights are on her.

  More importantly, a competitor might beat me to the punch and sign her up first.

  And I know they’d give her an iron-clad agreement, maybe even one with an exclusivity clause. So, no switching companies midway. I know it because it’s what I’d do.

  The question that has been nagging at me all week is: how do I get her attention? How do I stand out from the many firms that are vying for her to look their way?

  How do I get her to say yes to Sinful, say yes to me?

  Even though Sinful has a huge reputable attention, I know that my company’s profile isn’t going to cut it with this girl.

  I have to be special.

  I turn off the treadmill, which takes time to taper off from its high speed.

  I’m already soaked wet with sweat, my abs forming prominent ridges on my tank top. Panting, I wobble over to my zip-up bag and pull out a water bottle.

  I ignore the few ladies staring at me and take a long swig of water. When my breathing has returned to normal, I take a towel and clean up my body.

  I don’t mean to, but the action comes off as being too sexual. I see the way the ladies gawk at me.

  Yup, the humidity in here is definitely rising.

  Without meaning to, my eyes linger at the cleavage of the one directly opposite me.

  She’s a brunette beauty of medium height. She’s very attractive. I would’ve walked up and chatted with her, if I wasn’t so damn distracted in figuring out how to approach Diana.