That made us laugh, but not because it was a joke. We have a secret that not many know about. It’s not hard drugs. It’s not alcoholism or gambling. It’s not a crime even.
Instead, our secret is women. We love thick, gorgeous ladies just like Kate.
Even more, we like to fuck them together, three-on-one style. Why not? Guys that fuck together stick together. Hard Fought has been touring for years now, and foursomes work for us.
Sharing.
Syncopating.
Teaming up on chicks.
It works well once you get into a roll. Trust me.
At first, the ladies can be a little nervous. When they realize what’s going to happen, there are some gasping squeals and half-hearted shrieks of fear. Three massive fuck rods and one pussy? It’s thirty inches in the sweetest spot. They’re sore afterwards, but I don’t think a single one of them ever regretted it.
Once they warm up, they can’t get enough of it. The screams of fear become screams of ecstasy.
Ten inches. Twenty inches. Thirty. And presto! We’ve got a slut on our hands.
My dick stiffened as I basked in the memories.
There’s nothing like sharing a beautiful girl, one with all of her holes plugged simultaneously.
Mmm, Kate. Kitty-Kat. Come here, kitten. Daddy has a story for you.
For the first time all night, energy coursed through my veins. Not the fake energy from the bright lights and the screaming fans. Not the thumping pulse of our music, or even the eerie wail of the guitar. Rather, it was the vibe of something new.
She was beautiful, fresh and ripe.
Kate had piqued our interest in a matter of minutes. Someone who was clean and natural, not at all like the tramps we dealt with every day.
Kate.
Kitty-Kat.
Like I said, Daddy’s got a tale to tell. Make that three daddies. You’ll fly far with us, Kate. I promise you that.
2
Kate
I can’t believe that I just met Hard Fought.
My knees wobbled so badly walking out of the guys’ dressing room. Standing was almost impossible. Stumbling past the crowd of chattering, half-naked girls that were still desperate to talk to the band, it was easy to see that they were sluts—all of them. They all looked at me like I was nothing then went back to texting or talking to each other. They were probably right to look at me that way.
Honestly, after meeting Hard Fought, I didn’t feel like much of anything. They were surrounded by beautiful women all the time. Stick-thin in high heels with their head full of flowing, blonde extensions. Looking nothing like the gorgeous women surrounding me, I had to be a bit of a letdown for the band.
Because all three of the guys were like sex on a stick. They showed off their hard bodies in tight jeans, boots, and nothing else. I’d only ever seen chiseled chests and abs like that on TV, on the cover of romance novels, or in porn. They were like something out of my naughtiest wet dreams.
But these men were real—and I was lucky enough to be working for them!
Brody, Gunner and Hudson were so breathtaking that my mind buzzed from the memories, even if it was a unprofessional. But they couldn’t read my thoughts, right? There was no harm in thinking.
Sexy and huge.
At least six feet.
All dominant.
A trio of alphas just like the name of the band said.
After all, they were some of the most handsome men I’d ever seen with their piercing blue eyes and black hair. My heart beat so quickly while I was looking at them that I could barely control myself. It was like an animal had taken over my insides. The Kate part of me wanted to run and hide from their penetrating stares, but the animal half wanted so desperately to keep staring at them forever. And do more than that.
Stop it, Kate! That’s so unprofessional! You have a job to do.
I turned down an empty hallway and fell back against the wall, relieved to finally have something holding me up. Walking had become almost impossible. Thinking about the band and what I dreamed they would do to me was enough to drive any girl crazy. My knees still shook but at least I didn’t fall on my face, thanks to the cold, block wall holding me up.
Falling down in front of Hard Fought would have been beyond embarrassing. My face got hot just thinking about it—and I got hot thinking about them.
Although everyone knew that the guys weren’t related, they looked enough alike to be brothers.
Bright cobalt eyes.
Midnight black hair.
Smirking, gorgeous lips.
Muscled like MMA fighters.
Brody and Hudson were covered in abstract tattoos up both arms and on their chests, but Gunner’s tanned skin was completely ink-free. A buzz of arousal started in my stomach and spread everywhere. Tattooed guys have always been a downfall of mine, even though I was what most would call “a good girl.”
What was wrong with me?
Why was this happening?
Which of them was more gorgeous? I didn’t even know. Deciding would be impossible, even if someone put a gun to my head. Hopefully, that was a situation that would never occur.
Get it together! You’re not here to stare at them like a groupie. There’s work to be done!
But a girl could always work and stare, right?
I giggled, on the edge of hysterics. Someone could walk down the hallway at any given moment, and the fit of giggles would be hard to explain. I needed to calm down as quickly as possible, but it was like all of that gorgeousness had gotten me drunk somehow. Still leaning against the wall in the thankfully empty hallway, I slapped a hand over my mouth. Another giggle slipped out though.
Obsession flowed through my entire being when it came to the trio of sexy rock stars.
Did that make me a groupie?
Maybe it did.
Because after getting the job with Hard Fought, I went online to look them up. Apparently, they were extraordinarily famous. Friends and younger cousins had shared plenty of their pictures and music videos on social media, but I had never given it a second thought before becoming their personal assistant. After all, the internet was oozing Hard Fought. There were fan-pages, people doing covers of their songs, and dozens of news stories. Headlines included things like “Sex Symbol Rock Stars Rule the Stage Yet Again!” and “Is Hard Fought the New AC/DC?” I had heard of AC/DC. My mother listened to them and swore that they were the sexiest men on the face of the Earth.
Based on the pictures on her vinyl, we would have to agree to disagree. The members of Hard Fought were sexier.
The photos told me that Brody, the lead singer, would be the one I’d fixate on like all the magazines did. But the magazines didn’t know anything, and neither did all of the fan-pages dedicated only to him. All three of them were equally beautiful men.
Heart-stopping.
Panty-wetting.
I was a virgin, but virgins aren’t blind.
I looked around the hallway again. It was still empty.
Pressing my cold hands to my hot face, I slumped against the wall. My clit tingled and pulsed, while a familiar dampness trickled down my pussy lips.
I was wet for each and every one of them.
Embarrassment scorched my cheeks. Then, a sense of alarm seized my heart. What if somebody came down the hallway? Libidinousness had only fazed me in the quiet privacy of my bedroom. Without those protective walls and that sense of isolation, being horny was a little nerve-racking.
After a quick look both ways to make sure nobody saw me, I squeezed my thighs together and just barely stopped myself from moaning out loud. I had to get it together. Professionalism was important. Six-figure jobs were far from ordinary, so screwing it up simply was not an option—especially over something as silly as my libido.