Room One Hundred and Eleven (Bred By Billionaires)

5. Poppy

CHAPTER 5

Poppy

H oly crap!

I rest my shoulders against the door for a solid ten precious seconds.

It takes that long to catch my breath.

My room isn’t so different from theirs, done in the same cream and gold accents with warm wood of some variety that doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen at my neighborhood home-improvement store.

As I look around, I realize my room isn’t even a room.

It’s a suite.

Maybe not as large as what I’ve seen of the guys’, but it’s easily twice the size of my apartment. The air conditioning probably even works, unlike mine.

A comfy living room with a sunken sitting area. A tidy bar and kitchenette off to one side.

The door on the opposite end leads to a bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows that carry through to the bathroom.

Inside, all I see is the freestanding tub. Gleaming white. Oval. It’s sleek and unmarred by hardware. I poke a button with a stream of water pictured on it near the edge, and water pours from a gold circle in the ceiling in a perfect laminar flow.

Wow.

Look, I’m from Vegas. I’ve heard of this stuff, seen some of it at Gunner’s club.

My boss promised I’d be spoiled if I did this. I’m starting to think I’ve underestimated exactly what that means in billionaire-speak.

For sure, I know it includes spreading my legs for the trio of men I just met. That doesn’t scare me. In fact, I’m excited about that part.

Being near them, between them, caused my heart to race faster than the oncoming luggage cart. Sharing my first time with them will be a dream come true.

But what else are they expecting?

The plum leather crossbody Melody insisted I buy on my billionaires’ card is soft. I stroke the strap before plunging my hand inside. It’s easy to fish the invitation from its depths. I’ve looked at it a hundred times in the past week. Enough to dull the sharp corners of the thick envelope.

This time I actually remove the contract tucked behind the vellum and fancy script.

I turn it over in my hands.

Why haven’t I read it?

Is it because I’ve been too busy? Sure, I had exams this week, plus night shifts, and even squeezed in a few hours of drooling over wedding dresses with Riley and Melody. Then, the spa day and shopping spree they took me on to get ready for tonight.

Or is it because I’m as impulsive as Gunner accused?

If I’m being honest, I haven’t looked because I didn’t want anything to deter me from taking the damn break I desperately need. A luxurious weekend of being babied, plus having someone finally rid me of my pesky V-card.

Three someones.

Who know what they’re doing.

Who wouldn’t have signed up for that?

So what have I gotten myself into?

I unfold the document, sliding onto a chaise lounge piled with pillows. I imagine this is what it feels like to sit on a cloud.

The paper starts to wave in my hands, which tremble harder the more I read. Most of it is a blur of legalese, but some phrases stand out:

Willingly submit to all forms of sexual contact with each of the three men.

Right, check.

In room 111 of Club Sin, reserved for breeding fantasies.

What does that even mean exactly? Keep reading…

Without condoms or barriers of any kind.

Um, that sounds dangerous.

Requisite health screening attached.

A scan-through shows their lab work is in order and notarized. Okay, never mind.

Will exchange bodily fluids.

Same as above.

Undersigned relinquishes all rights to any child resulting from the weekend to the offering parties with assurance that all prenatal and gestational needs will be fully provided for if conception occurs.

Good grief, there’s the doozy.

What. The?—

Are they looking for a virgin to triple-team or a surrogate?

Their stipulations would freak me out. Except there’s a loophole.

I’m on birth control.

No condoms or barriers required to keep me safe from becoming a billionaire’s broodmare.

My IUD hasn’t been in for very long, but I’m covered.

What kind of nurse would I be if I didn’t take my own sexual health seriously? The moment I realized working at Gunner’s was making me curious, I had that taken care of. Just in case.

See, not so impulsive now, am I?

Besides, the whole getting knocked-up thing is definitely described as an IF . Probably required by the club’s lawyers in the event there’s an oopsie situation. Otherwise, what woman would agree to be used like this?

All of this is moot.

Oh, thank heavens.

Maybe if the rest of the weekend goes to plan, they won’t tell Gunner that I almost screwed everything up. I won’t have to worry about forfeiting this weekend away, the experience they can give me, or the sweet gig at Gunner’s club that pays my tuition and bills.

My head falls back onto the armrest of the chaise as my entire body goes limp and relaxes.

There’s a tap at the door. Knox calls softly, “Your luggage, beauty.”

I rise and jog in that direction. There isn’t much time remaining if I’m going to pull this off. My hand shoots out and collects it without giving him even a glimpse of my expression.

Let them suffer. Wonder, like I did, if all of this was for nothing.

I’m glad to be the virgin they’re hunting.

So what if they get off on filling me up and making a mess of me?

It sounds like fun, and no one’s going to get hurt—at least not me—because I’m not going to be the woman to provide an heir for their empire. The contract said no barriers. Condoms. That’s what they’re talking about. With the certified test results they provided, I have no issue with that.

A grin breaks out across my face as the memory of their attention and their hands on me rushes in to replace my concern.

Now that I’ve met them, I have something to look forward to.

I’m so glad Riley and Melody talked me into the wicked black dress and matching fancy satin and lace underwear to go with it. The outfit cost more than a month of my rent. Even if Carter, Knox, and Aiden shred it to get at me, I suspect they’ll still think it was worth it.

My gut didn’t steer me wrong when I took the job at Gunner’s, and it’s still on its winning streak.

Who’s afraid of a big scary breeding contract schmontract?

Not this girl.

Whatever they think they’re getting out of this weekend, I’m going to take more.

This is for me.