Free Unleashing the Receptionist: ...the Receptionist, Book 3 by Juniper Bell

incandescent light. The bright shockwaves were still streaking through me when a hard cock buried itself in my depths. It rutted into me as if it owned me, as if I was there for its pleasure, and I reveled in it. When that cock withdrew, another took its place. And even though I panted from sheer blissed-out exhaustion, I came again, helpless ripples cascading through my system.
    I don’t remember the details of what happened next, except that they unwound the cord from around me, untied my wrists, stretched me out on the bed, face up, and slowly massaged my circulation back to normal. Simon, most likely, rubbed a warm washcloth over my still-tender intimate area, until I felt immaculate and pristine, like a treasured possession. Finally, when I was limp and boneless, they untied the blindfold and cuddled me between them, three warm, trembling spoons, with my face nestled against Simon’s muscular back.
    “Go to sleep now,” Ethan whispered in my ear, his rumbling voice more a vibration than a sound.
    “Why?” I mumbled.
    “Why what?”
    “Why…” I struggled to form the thought before sleep took over. “Can’t ever get enough of you. Why?”
    Two male voices chuckled on either side of me. My eyes drifted shut.
    “We’ve been asking ourselves the same thing, haven’t we, Simon?”
    “I think we’ve decided not to worry about it. We’re all here together. That’s what matters.”

Chapter Eight
    Was Ethan right? I knew the fact that we’d found each other was a miracle. But I couldn’t stop thinking about their secrets. They moved so well together. They meshed so smoothly—with or without me. Did they really need me at all? Of course I knew they wanted me. I wasn’t foolish enough to doubt that. As a threesome, we were sensational. But I kept thinking about all the things they’d experienced together before they even know I existed.
    In a way, it felt like I was barging in on a married couple.
    More than anything, I wanted to prove myself to them. Prove that I could hold my own, that I could be a full partner in every sense of the word. I wanted them to know they could confide in me, count on me, that I could save them just as they had saved me.
    Of course, in the process I was sneaking behind their backs and hiding important bits of information. So maybe I had things a little backward. No surprise there.
    I got to work early the next day and booted up the spy program. No more going easy on Standish, liar and weasel. Mission: Nail the Accountant. Just call me 007, emphasis on the double O—that stands for orgasm. Time to get some dirt on this dude who’d lied his way into our cozy little firm. I dressed for the occasion in a peekaboo bra and a thong, covered by a plaid skirt and a white cotton blouse whose buttons just happened to be hanging by a thread.
    Standish arrived with a smile like morning sunshine. How dare he? I hid my sense of betrayal behind an equally lying smile.
    “Good morning,” I sang, like Snow White talking to the birdies in the forest.
    He blinked and adjusted his glasses. Oops, had I overdone it? “Good morning to you.” Looking rather dazzled, he meandered toward his office. I waited until he’d fussed with his tea, pulled up his chair, opened his laptop.
    Then I got to work. I knew exactly what the hidden video camera showed. The desk, the chair, me. I stood up and yawned, stretching my arms until the top button of my blouse popped off.
    “Oops!” I faced the camera and looked down at my button. In the process, with an ingenious sleight of hand, I managed to get rid of the next button as well. My blouse hung open, my white peekaboo bra showing through in all its obscene glory, showing off my dark nipples in between little patches of lace. “Oh, no,” I said, pulling a distressed face. “I wonder if I have any safety pins.”
    I pretended to bend over to look in my desk drawers. But really I was trying to catch a glimpse of the computer screen. There was Peter Standish,