Table of Contents
Epilogue
Also By Crimson Vixens
Description
Table of Contents Instructions
Sofia
Marco
Franco
Antonio
Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad
Caught on Tape
Double Feature
Baby Bargain
Hard Luck
Hard & Fast
Hard Bargain
Author’s Note
Triple Threat
A MFMM Romance
Daphne Dawn
Liz K. Lorde
Crimson Vixens
Contents
Also By Crimson Vixens
Description
Table of Contents Instructions
1. Sofia
2. Marco
3. Franco
4. Antonio
5. Sofia
6. Sofia
7. Marco
8. Franco
9. Sofia
10. Antonio
11. Franco
12. Marco
13. Sofia
14. Marco
15. Sofia
16. Franco
17. Sofia
18. Antonio
19. Sofia
20. Antonio
21. Sofia
22. Antonio
23. Sofia
24. Marco
25. Sofia
26. Marco
27. Sofia
28. Franco
29. Sofia
30. Franco
31. Sofia
32. Sofia
33. Franco
34. Sofia
35. Antonio
36. Sofia
37. Antonio
38. Sofia
39. Sofia
40. Marco
41. Sofia
42. Franco
43. Sofia
44. Sofia
45. Marco
46. Sofia
47. Sofia
48. Marco
49. Sofia
50. Antonio
51. Sofia
52. Franco
53. Sofia
54. Antonio
55. Sofia
56. Antonio
57. Franco
58. Antonio
59. Marco
60. Franco
Epilogue
Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad
Caught on Tape
Double Feature
Baby Bargain
Hard Luck
Hard & Fast
Hard Bargain
Author’s Note
Triple Threat
A MFMM Romance
By Daphne Dawn & Liz K. Lorde
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Also By Crimson Vixens
Vivien Vale
Mountain Man Baby Daddy
Hard Pressed
Hard Bargain
Hard & Fast
Hard Luck
Big Package
The Good Twin’s Baby
Daphne Dawn
3 Men Of The House
Baby Bargain
Double Dealing
Double Feature
Double Stuffed
Triple Pleasure
Second Chance Baby Daddy
Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad
Triple Taught
Double Stuffed
Natalie Knight
Taste
Painting Her
Caught On Tape
4 Men of the House
The Other Brother
Description
Sofia.
She's everything we've ever wanted.
Smart. Sexy. Submissive.
We'll make her our pet.
Show her how good it can be
To give up her control.
Make her beg for more.
But she has secrets.
Ones we're determined to discover.
Because not only is she our pet.
She might be a threat.
Our empire is at stake.
We won't give it up.
Not even for her.
But it's not as easy as it seems.
She's found our only weakness
Which brings us to our knees.
Her love…
Table of Contents Instructions
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Dark Angel
1
Sofia
“Do you want me to get down on my knees, Sofia? I am begging you, my myshka, begging you.”
Vlad Odessa stands uneasily in the middle of his gigantic living room, and I’m witnessing complete breakdown.
Even for someone like me, who’s seen a lot of unbelievable shit in their time, this whole scene boggles the imagination.
A penthouse fortress, way above Manhattan, with its oversized rooms gilded in crystal, gold, imported leather and priceless art, in the center of which stands this sniveling little rat.
It’s just too easy sometimes.
“You don’t look like you’re begging, Vlad...”
A shudder runs through Vlad’s sad, worried body as he drops down onto the carpet with force. His knees slamming against the floor makes an awful sound, like his desperation is echoing off the picture windows.
“Isn’t this begging, Sofia? Can’t you see that a man, a man as tough and strong as I am, is on his knees?”
He just calls himself tough and strong. Does that shit really fly anywhere?
“I’d like to ask you, dear Vlad, why this is my problem. Yet I won’t, because I don’t believe you.”
Vlad’s head swivels up to the ceiling. Frustration crumples his face as he lets out a mournful whine.
My face remains in a rigid, lifeless scowl as Vlad loses more and more control over himself. For the time being, I stay glued to my perch on the Italian leather sofa.
Vlad is almost beyond speaking; it’s quite a sight to behold.
The mere mention of Vlad the Fearsome is enough to strike terror into countless hardened criminal hearts the world over—from the lowliest racketeers to organized crime bosses holding seats of political power.
If only they could all see the helpless, pleading creature in front of me now.
Especially with his tiny cock dangling in the cool air of the penthouse.
Poor little Vlad the Fearsome is breathing fast. He may start to hyperventilate—especially if I continue to sit here, stone-faced, as his hopelessness grows.
My face stays expressionless, my eyes show no emotion, and I wait for Vlad to speak again.
“How can you not believe me, Sofia?” There’s fresh panic in his voice—time for the next phase.
“If I were to believe...what, that you’re begging?”
“Yes! Can’t you see it? Can’t you see that I’m...”
Vlad’s eyes are fixated on mine. He doesn
’t even notice my hand starting to run softly up and down the sofa next to where I’m sitting.
“That you’re what?” I ask robotically.
“That I’m in pain?”
“Why’s that, Vladimir?” My voice is softening, becoming sweeter yet colder.
It’s driving him fucking crazy.
“I’m in love with you, Sofia! How can I make things clearer?”
“Oh, I didn’t know you felt so strongly, Vlad.”
Vlad finally notices my hand, moving sensually across the leather cushion, but he doesn’t yet see my other hand traveling into the oversized purse positioned next to me.
“Please, believe how strong my heart is for you!”
I wonder if he practiced bleating that out in front of the mirror earlier, trying to sound passionate and poetic.
“I see. Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me.”
“Oh, you have no idea, lapochka. I only think of you all of the time!”
Vlad’s English is devolving as he quivers with emotion.
“That sounds bad.”
“I cannot help such things!”
“You can’t help being bad?”
Vlad’s eyes dart to my purse as I pull out a pair of fuzzy, zebra-striped handcuffs.
“Maybe I can help with that.”
Vlad was suddenly very still, and quiet. This doesn’t change even after I retrieve the rolled-up bullwhip from my purse next.
As I let the whip slowly unravel from my left hand, Vlad’s gaze is focused like a laser on the cuffs dangling from my right. Beginning to rise to my feet, my poker-face scowl deepens into a hostile glower.
“Say you’ve been bad.” My voice is loud and clear as I approach Vlad’s immobile, naked body.
His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. He looks paralyzed.
I stop where I am.
“I’ve been bad.” Vlad’s speaking in a low and quick voice, struggling to get the words out through his shock and excitement. “Very bad.”
“Very bad, you say. Turn around.”
Vlad just stares at me. Snapping the whip gives me the opportunity to glance at my wristwatch.
It’s 11:57—I don’t have much more time for this shit.
“Turn around!”
With a start, Vlad jumps to his feet and spins around, shaking. A few quick steps bring me close enough to grab Vlad’s wrists and fasten the cuffs tightly.
“Oh, how I’ve dreamed of...”
“Shut your goddamn mouth. Now, march!”
Vlad the Fearsome flinches at the sound of the whip cracking on the floor behind him. He obeys my orders, traipsing slowly forward.
“Oh, Sofia, this is better than I could...”
“Outside, you piece of shit.”
Silently, Vlad turns towards the door to the veranda. Checking my wristwatch covertly, I see that it was only two full minutes until midnight.
That’s probably enough time.
“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll make sure the bad boy has a real good time tonight.”
Vlad exhales hideously. He’s going to have some kind of time tonight, alright.
Midnight is just under a minute away as I step through the glass door to the veranda. Vlad stays, facing forward, as he walks towards the railing, looking at the view below.
“Stay facing forward and don’t you dare look at any other direction or no good time for the bad boy. Understand?”
“Yes,” Vlad breathes.
He means it, too. Like I said, it’s just too easy sometimes.
As midnight comes, I’m out of the front door of Vlad Odessa’s condo just in time. His voice, shouting all the way from the veranda, follows me out the door.
“I can’t help it, Sofia! I love you! I cannot wait!”
Fucking liar.
This is a job, and hearing that shit means nothing.
But outside of work, in my experience, it still means nothing.
Vlad’s the goddamn same as the rest of these bastards, and nothing makes me happier than bringing them down one by one.
Vlad’s still fucking oblivious, and his brain is still swimming in horniness, so when the rest of the team comes in, he won’t know what hit him. Those fuzzy handcuffs are also military issue, which should make things easier.
Riding the service elevator down, I make sure my bullwhip is coiled safely back in its place.
“This one’s for you, Mom.”
I say that after every job, just usually not out loud.
I’m not ashamed, though. It is for her.
As far as I’m concerned, every single one of these fuckers is part of the world that made her life a living hell.
And they all need to be held accountable.
2
Marco
“Do you know how to handle a machine like this?”
Whoever this crew guy was, he sure was very serious about the question—and the car.
In their identical candy apple red jumpsuits with matching helmets, the rest of the pit crew might as well be anonymous robots. This guy, lifting the dark visor from his helmet, is standing out from the crowd with his look of concern.
“This baby?” Trying not to steal a glance—or even gaze—at one of Carmine Bocci’s prized F1 Ferraris had been a trial, but now I finally give it a full-on look. “Hey, I’ve been around the block, er, the racetrack a few times. I’m sure I can handle whatever this baby throws at me.”
The crew guy nods his head, far from satisfied with that response.
“A few times isn’t enough...”
“It’s just a saying.”
“Look, this is only one of Mr. Bocci’s spare racers, but it’s still a powerful machine. If you get too excited, you’re gonna blow it—and that’ll make today bad for everyone involved.”
“I know better than to get too excited too fast.”
“That’s what you think, but you’d be surprised what can happen when you get behind the wheel of something like this.”
The crew guy stands protectively in front of the driver’s side entrance, and I make the decision to stay silent and nod until he’s done.
You’d think that fronting a loan large enough to buy this entire fucking track would be enough to get me a few minutes in the F1 with no strings attached. But this guy’s not going to stop until he’s done with his safety lecture, so it’s time to gather every last ounce of patience.
“Smooth—that’s what you’ll want to be from start to finish. Don’t hit that accelerator until you’re in the right position, then work your way up to where you want to be. Then, when the time comes, don’t be afraid to hit the brakes and ease off so you can work your way back up to where it feels right.”
“Smooth,” I repeat.
That seems to be his word, the one that’ll get me in the F1 some-fucking-time today I hope.
The crew guy nods.
“As long as you start out calm and stay smooth, it’ll feel nice and natural, and you can let yourself get excited and accelerate when the time comes.”
Flipping his visor back down, the crew guy removes himself from my path, allowing me to climb into the F1 driver’s seat.
I put on my helmet and run my gloved fingers over the galaxy of controls on the steering wheel; the focus of my entire universe narrows toward the straight stretch of track in front of me.
The muffled sound of the engine through my helmet was nothing compared to the even, steady tremors of the racer coming to life as I shift into gear.
Smooth.
The first straightaway from the start line is a fucking blur; I didn’t even see it go by. Leaning into the brakes at full force, the racer decelerates just enough for me to finesse my way around the first hairpin turn onto the next straightaway.
Nice start—but time to see what this fucking thing can do.
Upshifting just as the straightaway h
its, I push the accelerator with eager passion as it revs with ferocity—like a tigress on the prowl.
A deeply powerful force pins me to the seat as I leave the usual limits of the world behind.
I’m fucking flying.
There was barely time to brake at all as the next hairpin turn approached. The racer shrieked around the bend, a little unsteadily, and it felt like I was being pushed and pulled into a half-dozen different directions until I was back on the straight track and everything righted itself.
Adrenaline gushes liberally through every fucking fiber of my being as I zip past the start line for my second lap.
Fucking A—Carmine Bocci can keep the fucking money as far as I’m concerned. This shit is what life’s all about.