HUGE 3D: A MFMM MENAGE STEPBROTHER ROMANCE (HUGE SERIES Book 5) Read online

  She could say no. I watch her blink slowly as she takes in what I’ve said. She does this every day for multiple men so it’s nothing shocking or new. I wonder if it feels different to do it for me, away from her working environment where she has house rules and security to keep her safe. The house rules would prevent me from touching her but there are no rules here outside of her own limitations.

  She doesn’t look at me as she slides one of the thin straps of her camisole over the smooth rounded curve of her shoulder. Her eyes fix on the hand that is starting to carry out my request as though she sees it as a traitorous thing. The top of her right breast is bared and I lick my lips because everything about her looks so soft and warm. I could bury my face between her breasts and inhale. I imagine that she smells of vanilla or something soft and floral. Her other hand works on the other strap and then the fabric drops around her waist.

  Her body is beautiful. Not perfect like the photoshopped images they print in men’s magazines and that’s what makes me want to look at her even more. Her breasts are natural and tear-drop shaped with the tiniest dusting of freckles, and her nipples are pink-tipped and rosy. My mouth waters as they harden in the cool air of the room.

  She pushes the camisole down along with the waistband of her pants. Her stomach is gently rounded as I remembered from the club, her hips wide and her thighs strong-looking. She’s not wearing any underwear so I get my first glimpse of the patch of hair between her legs; blonde like her head, and neatly trimmed. I’m completely hard now and I make a show of adjusting myself. Although she’s not looking me in the eye I can tell she sees. Everything drops to the floor and she steps out of the fabric pool. It’s only then that she looks up at me.

  There was nothing about what she did that was showy or sexy like she would do in the club. It’s as though, now she’s away from that environment, she’s become her true self and I like that so much better.

  And her eyes. They are expectant, maybe tinged with a little fear.

  “Turn around,” I say. She does a slow turn, cocking her leg slightly in a way that makes the whole thing so damn sexy. My fingers itch to press into her rounded firmness but that isn’t going to happen tonight.

  “Come closer,” I tell her. She walks, shoulders back until she’s standing just in front of me. I lean forward so that my face is an inch from her stomach. Her skin prickles with goose bumps as my breath gusts across it. I breathe in, inhaling the scent of her skin. I expect fragrance but there is nothing but her own intoxicating smell. Her belly quivers, her feet shifting slightly as though she expects me to touch her.

  I want to. Oh how I want to.

  I could slide my hands up the inside of her thighs and touch that place that I know could bring me so much pleasure. I could kiss her stomach and drop my mouth lower so I could taste her. I could do all of these things because I’ve paid her to be here and she would let me.

  But I don’t.

  “You can go to your room now,” I say.

  Her eyes flash with something that looks like a mixture of relief and hurt. Does she feel rejected? That wasn’t my intention.

  I like to get what I want. I’m used to being able to. But I don’t want this to be easy for either of us.

  She turns and bends to collect her pajamas. Oh, fuck. I get a flash of pink that makes my cock kick between my legs. She must know what she’s showing me and that turns me on even more. This girl. She’s like the best mix of naughty and nice. Innocent with a side of vixen. Is there any better combination?

  “Good night,” she says as she leaves the room. I note that she’d rather risk being seen by the staff than staying to dress in front of me. That little detail interests me a lot.

  “Good night, Jessie. I hope you sleep well.”

  Then she’s gone, and I’m alone once again, but for the first time in a long time I feel alive.

  9

  JESSIE

  Holy hell.

  My heart is thudding so hard as I stand in my room with my back pressed to the door and my clothes in my hands. Did that really just happen?

  The way he looked at me, so cool and calm and totally in control.

  The way his voice sounded…

  I’m wet between my legs just from standing naked in front of him. Just by having his face closed to my naked body.

  That close I could see the fine lines around his eyes that tell me he’s laughed in his life. He’s so serious now I almost can’t imagine it, but it must have been so.

  My hands had shaken from the desire to take his face in my hands and press his lips against my skin. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to order me to do things that I haven’t done in a very long time. I wanted the freedom to do whatever he asked of me without me having a choice. His voice is all I need to hear to give in.

  Oh god. I move to sit on the edge of my bed and rest my face in my hands. The skin of my cheeks feels hotter than the rest of my face, flushed with embarrassment and arousal.

  I begin to put my pajamas back on but every movement makes me conscious of how turned on I am. How swollen.

  I don’t get why he sent me away. Is he into delayed gratification? It would fit with the controlling bossiness. Or maybe there’s something wrong with him. Is he physically incapable of having sex? It’s a possibility. Often after a bout of grief people can find it hard to connect emotionally and physically. I was one of them but for women it’s different. We need to get our head into the right place and mostly our bodies will follow. For men, their bodies need to engage.

  I push some of the pillows onto the floor and slide under the covers. The bed is groan-worthily comfortable. Just soft enough that I sink into it a little but firm enough that it supports my body perfectly. The covers are crisp but warm. There’s a mounted tablet at the side of the bed that controls all the electrics in the room. It’s how I found music to play and now I use it to turn off the lights.

  The house is more silent that I’m expecting. There must be many staff buzzing around, getting things ready for the next day, but up here on the third floor things are really quiet. My ears strain to hear Ryan moving around in his suite but there is nothing. I suppose the house could be soundproofed, but there is a part of me that thinks that he’s still sitting in that chair.

  What am I doing here?

  The stretch of the next month feels so long in front of me. I’m not good in situations where I’m uncertain. When Jackson died I was plunged into a situation where everything had to change. Now I find I’m back in a world of change and although it’s for a good reason — money — that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  There is one thing I’m pretty certain of. Ryan isn’t a man who is a danger to me. Although his intentions are pretty unclear right now, I’m not worried he’s going to hurt me. He seems so lonely. He wants a companion. That word implies he wants company, a friend as well as more. He’s a man with more money than he needs but is missing that thing that all human beings need. A person to share it with.

  Life is nothing without people.

  Money doesn’t buy happiness. It’s a hygiene factor, a thing we can’t really do without because we need physical sustenance and shelter, but without connection we are lost.

  I need to check in with Holly. My sister has a tendency to worry if she doesn’t hear from me at least once a week. I love her to bits but I always find our conversations hard because there is so much about my life that she doesn’t know and I can’t bring myself to tell her. I don’t want to be a burden to her. She has enough on her plate with Daniel and his health problems, so I tell her silly things. Stories about someone in the supermarket or a neighbor, things I’ve seen on Facebook from people in our hometown. I ask her lots about her life and because she has so much going on, she can fill our calls no problem. I wonder if she notices that she knows nothing real about me.

  I think I’m going to struggle to get to sleep but it must happen fast because the next thing I know there’s a knock at my door and light is pressing throu
gh the drapes. With my eyes barely open I scramble to get out of bed and head straight to the door. The same woman from last night is outside, holding a breakfast tray.

  “I was asked to bring you this. He instructed that you be ready at ten am. Smart-casual attire. Please help yourself to anything in the closet.”

  She glances over my shoulder at the doors in the corner that I hadn’t even thought to look in the night before. Now I’m intrigued. I take the tray and she smiles before she leaves.

  There is so much food here it could feed five people. A selection of small pastries, fresh fruit salad, toast with little pots of jam, granola and yogurt. There are even pancakes and bacon served as they were last night. I actually feel daunted. What the hell am I going to do with all this? I hate wasting food. When you’ve had periods where money is so tight that you have to skip a meal, the prospect of all this ending up in the trash makes my stomach sink. I’m going to have to tell Ryan just to send me one thing each day.

  The pancakes are hot and the smell of them fills the room. I rest the tray on a small table and take a seat, pouring hot coffee into a beautiful bone china cup. When I sip the drink it’s the best I’ve ever tasted, but I shouldn’t really be expecting anything different. Money buys the best after all.

  I opt to have a little bit of everything. While it’s here I might as well enjoy sampling all that Ryan has provided. Then, when I’m feeling more full than I usually am after breakfast, I make my way to the closet. I’m almost scared to open it. If Ryan has provided me with so many breakfast options, what the hell am I going to find in here.

  I tug at the door tentatively and when it opens I gasp. It’s not a closet, it’s a dressing room. In the middle there is a sumptuous velvet covered seat flanked by racks of clothes and shelves of shoes. I walk along, touching the soft fabric of a floral dress, gorgeous jeans, a silk top. There are probably more clothes in here than I’ve ever owned in my life. I look at the size and everything seems perfect for me. The shoes are more intriguing. There are seem to be three pairs of everything and closer I notice that they are all different sizes. I guess it was harder for him to size up my feet than it was to size up my body. That makes me smile.

  It takes me ten minutes to pick out something to wear. I spend longer in the amazing shower enjoying the luxury products and trying to relax. It’s hard when I have no idea what today is going to involve.

  When I’m dressed and made-up I stand in front of the mirror taking in the changes. I look younger and lighter almost in the clothes. Well, all I can say is expensive clothes really do make a difference, especially when they’ve been chosen by someone who has amazing taste. The soft silk top drapes perfectly and the jeans hug my curves like a second skin. Paired with tan sandals and I feel like a million dollars. There is even a selection of coordinating purses so I select a large slouchy tan one and transfer over my wallet, keys and little make-up bag. Everything I’ve brought with me looks tatty and old next to the things he’s provided. I wonder what will happen to it all when I leave. Maybe the clothes will be washed and pressed for the next ‘companion’. The thought gives me a sinking feeling.

  When I’m ready I head down the hall, stopping outside Ryan’s suite but then deciding to meet him downstairs. I want to spend a little time looking around if I can but as I descend the stairs I find him standing by the door. God, he’s good looking. Not model perfect but really masculine. It’s everything. The way he stands. The way he moves. The way he’s watchful and reserved.

  He doesn’t smile at me but his eyes seem to take everything in.

  “Morning,” I say, trying to sound breezy. It’s all so awkward.

  “You look amazing,” he says and inexplicably my heart soars. I must be so starved of appreciation that when I hear a compliment from someone whose opinion I seem to actually care about it feels momentous.

  I smile nervously and the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. “What are we doing today?”

  “We’re going for a drive and then I’m going to take you for lunch.”

  I blink because it sounds like Ryan is taking me on a date. It isn’t even the weekend. Doesn’t he have to work? “That sounds good,” I say.

  He opens the door and outside is sitting the most amazing looking sports car I’ve ever seen. Low and sleek, it looks like it could fly. And it’s a convertible.

  “Your carriage awaits,” he says in a jokey voice. I hope he knows how to drive this thing.

  We descend the front steps and he opens the passenger door for me. Getting into it is hard because it’s so low to the ground and once inside I feel as though I’m in some kind of spaceship. It comes to life with a roar.

  “What kind of car is this?” I ask, mainly because I want to make some conversation.

  “A Porsche 918 Spyder,” he says, as we start to pull away from the house. “You like cars?”

  “I guess. I like to look at them anyway. It’s been a while since I had my own car.”

  “What did you used to drive?” he asks and I flush a little with embarrassment.

  “An old Corolla. I loved that car.”

  I catch a smile at the edge of his lips. “I used to drive a Toyota too. Great cars.”

  I make a noise I hope sounds disbelieving. “Yeah… not as great as a Porsche, though.”

  He shrugs. “This is fun to drive,” he says. “But I don’t get a lot of time to drive it and I don’t like the fact it’s just sitting in my garage.”

  “Yeah, you seem to have a lot of cars.”

  He looks a little embarrassed. “My one weakness.”

  “I guess if you can afford it.” I don’t mean the comment to sound snarky but as soon as it’s out of my mouth I realize that it does.

  He’s quiet as we drive towards the coast with just the music for company. I’m angry with myself because I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous or judgmental but I just came across as both. I don’t know Ryan’s story. I have no idea who he is or where he’s come from. Do I think that spending a fortune on cars when there are people in the world who are starving is the right thing to do? Not really. But he could be a huge philanthropist as well. And anyway, he’s paying for my time so I should be making an effort to fluff his ego and make him feel good. I should be being polite at the very least.

  “There was a time when I couldn’t afford the bus,” he says out of the blue.

  I’m not expecting a confession and I feel as though I’ve forced him to say something he might have not wanted to share.

  “I’m sorry if what I said sounded bad,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “There was a time when my ma would go hungry so that I could eat.” It’s as though he hasn’t heard me at all.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “There was a time when I didn’t tell my ma that my shoes were too small because I knew that the only way I could get new sneakers would be for her to make choices that no person should be forced to make.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” I say.

  “I know.” He sounds a little angry as I though I’ve said something that’s pissed him off. This is so not going right. “I don’t do anything that I don’t want, Jessie. Everything I do is because it is exactly what I have chosen.”

  There’s the bossiness again. “Okay.”

  “I’ve earned every penny I have through blood, sweat and tears.”

  “I get it, Ryan.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. I bleed and sweat and cry too.”

  That seems to shut him up and I’m glad because fifty grand won’t seem like enough money if we’re gonna spend the next twenty-nine days arguing.

  The coast is winding and the view is spectacular. The Pacific Ocean roars beneath us as we follow its edge for what seems like miles. Ryan is driving too fast. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. I hold onto the edge of my seat and breathe slowly and evenly to try and stay calm. Eventually we come to a look-out area and h
e pulls in. There are two other cars parked; a few people are milling around and everyone turns to stare at the car. Ryan seems oblivious and throws open his door, slamming it shut and stamping around to my side.

  Even when he’s mad he’s still a gentleman.

  He offers me his hand and hauls me out of the car. I teeter on my heels and he holds me steady by the elbows. We end up close and I feel his breath gust over my face.

  “I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I don’t want to fight with you, Jessie. Can we start over?”

  “Yes,” I say softly, stunned at his apology.

  “Good.” He reaches down and takes hold of my hand, then leads me along the cliff top to a seat that is empty.

  It’s so beautiful to sit and just watch the sea. Birds swoop over the water, their cries ringing out against the background of the crashing waves.

  “I don’t know what it is about the sea,” Ryan says, stretching his legs out in front of him. His boots are black and completely unworn, his jeans a dark blue. Everything pristine.

  “I like to watch it too,” I say. “It’s the sound. It’s so soothing.”

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that.” I turn to him, waiting for him to embellish. “It’s the infiniteness of it. The fact that your eye sees an end to it, the horizon, but in reality it just goes on and on.”

  “A bit like life,” I say.

  He smiles. “Exactly. There is but one certainty and that is that we are all going to die.”

  I nod. This fact is probably more on my mind than it is for most people. Probably closer to Ryan too because of what we’ve both been through. “It’s not the death that we need to think about, though.” I say. “The more you think about it the less you’re capable of truly living.”

  Ryan nods. “So we need to keep the fact of death over the horizon,” he says.

  “Yes. And if it’s not, we have to push it over,” I say.

  Children laugh near the cars and I turn to watch a family piling into their minivan. The mom and dad look tired in that way that all parents of young kids seem to look. There was a time when I wanted children but it wasn’t to be. Now I’m not so sure. I just can’t imagine ever loving anyone enough to go there. Life seems so fragile.