HUGE 3D: A MFMM MENAGE STEPBROTHER ROMANCE (HUGE SERIES Book 5) Page 14

  My cheeks go scarlet even though Falon is my best friend and knows me better than anyone. “Falon!”

  “I guess it’ll be another long night of not getting any sleep…” she continues in a sing-song voice, all three of the guys chuckling now.

  “We can’t help it that we like to…take care of our girl,” Dylan replies, throwing an arm around me for good measure as he waggles his eyebrows. I slap my hand to my forehead, already giving up.

  “We were planning on getting food delivered and watching a movie, Falon.”

  She arches a brow at me. “Ah, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  I roll my eyes at her and head back to my room, the guys in tow as she calls out a quick “Make sure to wrap it up!”

  I know it’s all a joke to Falon, but I honestly don’t care. She knows the story behind us and even if she didn’t I wouldn’t let her remarks, funny or not, get to me. Not when I have the triplets to tell me otherwise.

  I flop on the bed, glad to finally be in from the cold and ready to curl up with my three men.

  Drew locks the door behind us, that same mischievous look in his gorgeous eyes.

  “I mean we were coming back here to watch a movie, but why not give Falon a little show anyway?” he says, shrugging as he steps in front of me.

  Dane gets behind me, pushing my hair away from my neck, his tongue finding my earlobe. “I like that idea.”

  Dylan turns on the flat screen with a wink, before finding a radio station to listen to. “A little mood music never hurt anyone.”

  And it begins again.

  Drew unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down to my feet.

  Dane pulling my shirt up and over my head, kissing my shoulders from behind.

  Dylan helping peel my panties away from my already wet pussy, his tongue slipping between my folds as I moan loudly, no longer caring if anyone hears.

  They each take their turn with me, as they always do, giving me pleasure and taking theirs. There is a harmony about us together, as though it was meant to be.

  One day, there will come a time when I’m ready to be open with the world, but until that day comes, I’m going to relish the love that my stepbrothers give me. I’m going to relax into this relationship, finally understanding that it’s possible to love without betrayal.

  My stepbrothers have shown me that there doesn’t have to be any fear in love and I’m going to do my best to show them the uniting love that they deserve.

  Keep reading for

  Billion Dollar Daddy – A Billionaire Romance

  and for more information about books by Stephanie Brother.

  BILLION

  DOLLAR

  DADDY

  A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

  BY

  STEPHANIE BROTHER

  © 2017 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Art – www.vivianmonirdesign.com

  Trigger warning – this book contains themes that some readers may find distressing.

  For George

  For kisses and cakes, and for holding my hand.

  DESCRIPTION

  A stranger wants to buy me for a month.

  Ryan has money. Not just real life rich but fairy tale money that can change my life. He offers me $50,000 to be his companion. I don’t know exactly what’s going to be involved but I’m a stripper so I think I have a pretty good idea.

  When I get to his home, nothing is as I expect. He doesn’t touch me. Not straight away. He treats me like I’m his girlfriend. Coastal drives in his supercar, meals at restaurants that cost what I’d earn in a month.

  He tells me his story and little by little I fall for the gorgeous man beneath the reserved shell.

  I know I shouldn’t. I fight the feelings in my heart because this is all a fantasy. A dream that’s going to end when thirty days have passed.

  And it does.

  Walking away is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.

  Until I realize I’m late.

  He’s going to think I’ve fallen pregnant on purpose so I decide not to tell him. Then I get a call that changes everything.

  Ryan’s been hiding something from me and suddenly I find that I need to fight for more than just his love. I need to fight for his life.

  1

  RYAN

  The Kitty Cat Club.

  Pink neon sign. Black shiny doors. Everything is tacky and nasty but I’m thinking about going inside anyway.

  I shouldn’t be in this part of town, especially without my security detail, but I need to get away. There’s something so necessary about sitting behind the wheel of a car that’s expensive but not too showy and just driving. I like having a chauffeur most days, but today I need my foot on the accelerator and the wind in my face.

  I decide to just go where my journey takes me, to travel to parts of town that I haven’t visited before. I eat a burger in a small run-down looking family restaurant and it’s the best burger I’ve had in a long time. I drink a beer in an Irish pub and it’s delicious. Now it seems my night will be rounded off with some low-class strippers.

  I say that and it makes me sound like a judgmental prick. I’m not one. I came from a place like this. I know these people and they are mostly good. Shitty circumstances are just that. Some people rise and some people fall and it’s mostly fate that decides who goes where. I just mean that this isn’t the kind of place I’d normally frequent. Five years ago I’d have booked someone to come to me. A dancer from an exclusive service.

  Tonight, though, this seems like a good idea.

  The bouncer eyes me carefully. I’m not wearing flashy clothes or accessories but I think he can tell I’m not the standard clientele. He lets me in, never taking his eyes off me as if he wants to let me know that he’ll fuck me up if I step out of line. I don’t have any intention to cause trouble. The last thing I need is to draw any attention to myself while I’m here. It could have some very serious repercussions. In business, reputation is everything.

  I make my way to the bar and order a beer. The barman looks bored and I wonder for a second what it must be like to work in a place like this. He’s facing the stage; tits, and ass on display for his whole shift. Maybe he’s become desensitized because he doesn’t even glance at the action. Three girls are on the main stage, gyrating in just their tiny panties.

  I sip my beer and make my way to one of the high tables, taking a seat on a tall stool and inhaling deeply. My cock twitches in my pants when the girl in the middle bends over and runs her hands over her pussy. She’s got great legs and an ass as round as a peach, but her fake tits are really off-putting. I like my women natural. Big or small doesn’t really matter so long as what they’ve got going on is all their own. The beer tastes a little like the glass still has dishwasher fluid on it but I sip it anyway.

  Then I see her.

  She’s walking through the bar looking hot as hell but like she doesn’t want to be here. It’s not that she looks bored, more like her thoughts are somewhere else more interesting than this seedy strip joint. I’ve always had a thing about red underwear, especially on a blonde. Something about it says dangerous, and I like my women with sharp edges. Makes for a more interesting ride, whatever journey you might be taking. She has a soft sway to her hips. Nothing exaggerated. The spiky heels she’s wearing have her calves contracting and fuck me if that doesn’t make me hard. Way harder than the obvious sexual displays of the women on the stage
. This girl is something else.

  She takes a seat at the bar and talks to the barman. He brings her what looks like an orange juice. Maybe it’s a screwdriver or maybe she doesn’t drink while she’s working. I find that I don’t care either way. I’d just like to lick that citrus taste from her lips or maybe let some of its sweetness drip onto her nipples.

  Jeez.

  It’s been a long time since I felt this kind of attraction. Corina was a bombshell to look at but not in the bedroom. I thought it didn’t matter. I told myself you don’t fuck the woman you’re intending to marry. You make love to her. You treat her like a princess and hope that all that devotion is going to make for a good union. It was good but it wasn’t great. I’d have lived with it, though, for the rest of my life. I’d have stifled all my baser urges to keep her next to me, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

  So here I am, thinking dark and dirty thoughts about a strange woman. I can estimate her cup size but I don’t know her name. I can see that she used to wear a belly button ring but I don’t know her age. She’s physically revealed to me, yet a total mystery.

  I like mystery as much as the next man. Mystery is sexy. Mystery has your mind whirring and your body humming, but all of that can only go so far.

  It’s been long enough.

  I tell myself that but I don’t know if my mind truly agrees.

  Maybe that’s what this trip has been about; finding a way to move on. Finding a way to find myself again despite all the grief that clings to my heart.

  I loved Corina but she’s gone.

  And for all the money I have, there was no saving her, and there’s no bringing her back.

  This woman is a stranger.

  I intend to change that.

  2

  JESSIE AKA CINDY

  “Cindy, you’ve got a private dance in room six,” Adrian shouts over the bar.

  I’ve finished my stage dances for the night, but I I’m still on the clock for another couple of hours. It doesn’t look like my plan for a break is going to pan out.

  “Okay,” I say sounding completely unenthusiastic. I slip off my bar stool, feet already groaning in my ridiculous red stilettos. It isn’t busy for a Friday night but that doesn’t seem to be resulting in any peace for me.

  I stroll through the bar feeling greedy eyes watching me. Even after all these months I still haven’t found a way to ignore the way it makes my skin crawl. There are steps at the edge of the dance floor that lead toward towards the back area where the changing rooms and private rooms are concealed behind a large mirrored wall. As I round the corner I adjust the underwire of my bra and look down to make sure my panties and stockings are all in place. I hate red but it’s a firm favorite among the clientele and I always make better tips when I wear it. I’m here for the money so red it is.

  I pause outside the room as I always do, wondering who will be inside and hoping that everything will be okay. There are strict rules about what happens in the private rooms but that doesn’t mean that every drunken idiot obeys them.

  The handle creaks as I lower it. The room is darker inside than in the corridor and a dark haired man sits on the sofa, waiting for the dance he’s paid for.

  “Hi, I’m Cindy and I’ll be your dancer this evening.” I walk forward, putting my hands under my hair and tossing it seductively. He looks up and meets my eyes, but his expression isn’t leering and he doesn’t look me over like the clients usually do, eating up what they see, hands twitching to touch. Instead, he seems serious and slightly uncomfortable. It happens sometimes. Maybe he has a wife and kids at home and feels guilty for needing to spend his money on something so selfish and disloyal. I glance quickly at his left hand but he isn’t wearing a ring.

  I sway over to the music system and press ‘play’. The management has a limited selection, all tacky, sexy bump n’ grind tunes that make me cringe when I hear them in the outside world. I turn the volume up and swivel around, going to the place in my head that I use to block out the room; the deserted beach at dusk, sand between my toes, somewhere I can dance without anyone watching.

  There’s a pole in front of him and I grasp it high, hooking my leg around to start a spin, putting my body into the positions I’ve been trained to form, the ones that are supposed to be the most alluring. I try not to look directly at the man because eye contact feels very personal and this has to be all about business. The ocean sound in my mind holds strong as I rest against the pole, back arched, hands above my head, sliding down with my legs spread to give him the view he has paid for.

  His silence is disconcerting. Not unusual, but I cut him a glance as I finish the pole dance and move towards him to get to the up close and personal bit. My client is good-looking but not in a model-perfect way. There is something about him, an intensity, that makes me fearful of looking directly into his eyes. The hands that rest on his knees look big, strong and capable. There’s at least a day’s scruff on his chin, and his lips, which are set in a grim line, look full and pink. In another place, at another time, maybe he would have given me butterflies, but I never find my clients appealing. Knowing they need to frequent a place like ‘The Kitty Cat Club’ turns me off of even the most stunning of men.

  It’s his eyes, though, that bring me back into the room with a bump. They look glassy in the dim light of the room, and sad. I face away, wanting to get back to the seashore, putting my hands under my long blonde hair and bringing my arms up so it cascades down. My ass is level with his face, and the thong I’m wearing leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Barely enough to remain on the right side of the law. I widen my stance, long legs even longer in my four inch heels, and bend over to give him a really good look.

  I’ll admit that it’s hard to strip without getting a bit turned on. Lacy lingerie lets in a lot of cool air. Add to that the thrusting, the brushing of your own hand over your skin, the knowledge that what you are doing is most likely making your client hard; it’s a heady combination. It’s probably partly why so many girls end up giving extras. That and the money.

  That’s not for me though. No matter how wet I get I keep my body to myself. Eyes are one thing, hands are another.

  The next part of the dance is the slow removal of my bra, first slipping straps off shoulders with a wiggle, then tugging so at least one nipple pops out and finally reaching behind and unhooking, allowing it to drop to the floor before pushing breasts together and leaning close to the client.

  I turn to start the routine, looking at my spot on the wall. In this room it’s an unidentifiable yellow stain just above the sofa. When I hook a finger under my bra strap, ready to pull, he distracts me with a noise that sounds pained and I looked down.

  “Stop,” he says gruffly, as though he’s speaking past a lump in his throat. “Don’t take it off.”

  “Is everything okay?” I straighten my bra, moving to stand taller and less seductively.

  He looks like he has no idea what to say. “I just…I can’t,” he stutters, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes and pushing his fingers roughly through his thick, dark hair.

  “You didn’t like it?” I ask warily, not wanting to get shouted at by the management over a complaint.

  “It’s not that. I just…I thought I could do this but...”

  “Okay,” I say, taking a step back. “Do you want me to go?”

  He sinks right back in the sofa, rubbing his face with both hands looking almost distressed. In the real world, outside of this place, I would sit down next to him, maybe rest my hand on his forearm and ask if he wanted to talk about it, but this is fantasy land and I’m almost naked. I have a feeling that attempting to get closer to him would only make him more uncomfortable. I take a step back.

  “No,” he blurts, realizing I’m retreating and he hasn’t answered my question. Then he looks me right in the eyes, the gray of his pupils swimming like quicksilver. “Yes,” he says, reluctantly. “Maybe that would be best.”

  As I’m about to pull
the door closed I hear a soft ‘sorry’ follow me out.

  3

  JESSIE AKA CINDY

  My shift ends at 3am and I’m beat. Working four nights a week, I make enough to get by and pay something towards the debts. Just enough to keep the creditors off my back. I spend the rest of my time trawling the internet for a proper job, but each one I apply for seems to have a thousand applicants and at least a few requirements that I have no experience in. None of them pay as well as the Kitty Cat Club.

  I wave to Adrian as I make my way to the staff exit, and then brace for the chill of the night to hit. I’m dressed practically but it’s always so warm inside the club. I think about my beach again and the warm sun that shines there. I have a framed picture in my room that I picked up in a thrift store. It’s of a woman facing the ocean, arms stretched above her head, her sarong blowing as she holds it aloft. From behind she looks a lot like me and that’s maybe why I keep picturing it, like a borrowed memory.

  The street isn’t deserted; a few people from the clubs further up the road stand around chatting or waiting for a cab. I pull my purse higher on my shoulder and walk in the direction of home. There’s a poster peeling away from the bus stop for a circus show that had been in a local theater several months ago. I’d wanted to go. The newspapers had raved about the aerial silk act, but it’s the kind of thing you do on a date, and I hadn’t had one of those since...

  My thoughts are interrupted by a voice calling “excuse me,” and I initially think it’s someone asking directions or maybe the time, but then the voice says, “Cindy,” and I realize it’s the man I danced for.