Blood Brothers: A Dark BBW Dom Billionaire Stepbrother Menage Serial (Stepbrother Billionaire Games Book 2) (2 page)

Yet again, Galen’s face is rigid, as perfect and unemotional as a statue.

He’s moving toward me, the cloth of his jacket stretching around his muscles, the lines of his slacks broken by the way his knees and feet swing forward. I can see the shape of that perfect body underneath the cloth. He might as well be naked. That’s how powerful the impact is on me.

My knees are trembling. My abs clench. I feel moisture pooling between my legs, a sticky heat that tells me I’ll be ready for him to shove that giant cock inside of me as soon as he wants it.

God, I hope he’ll want it.

Galen’s thumb grazes my jaw.

“You’re okay?” he asks me.

I just nod, unable to speak.

“What…?” I swallow hard.

“How did they find us?” Galen fills in. “Good question.”

That’s not what I’d wanted to ask him.

I wanted to ask why the reporter’s question had shaken him like that. I wanted to ask him what’s happened with the French and his brother. But I know that’s not okay to ask. I know there’s something terribly wrong with the question, something that perturbs him deep to his core, and I shouldn’t even think about asking for more information.

But I want to dig into that open wound. I want to find out what has hurt him and why.

I want to know more about Galen.

He continues to speak, and I don’t, because that’s just how this works.

“Someone must have tipped them off,” he says. “I don’t know who, but I will. And they will pay.”

It’s a statement of fact, not a threat.

He guides me deeper into the store with a hand at the small of my back. His palm is hot through the material, as though pressing a skillet against my skin.

It takes a minute for me to realize that his guards haven’t followed us.

We’re truly alone.

Other than the lone sales clerk, who meets us at the escalator.

She’s a lovely older woman who’s obviously had fillers and some work done around the eyebrows. Her skin is a little too tight for her age. But I don’t think it’s vanity that has made her modify her appearance in such a way, or else she wouldn’t have allowed her hair to go such a perfect shade of gray.

“Leanne,” she says by way of introduction. “Such a pleasure to meet you.” She practically bows to me. I am important now, in the company of Galen Blood. I’m someone who matters.

She has no idea where I was last night, before Galen dragged me out of the gutter. She has no idea who I am. She has no idea the awful things that I’ve done.

Leanne doesn’t know I’m trash.

On Galen’s arm, with his hand branding the small of my back, I am a dumpster disguised as a diamond.

The store where we’re shopping is a place of towering glass and spindly metal. The sales floor is sparse. They don’t stock multiple sizes of clothing on the racks like most stores do. Everything is custom. They only display examples of what they can do, and tailors await to make these things fit the bodies of fabulously rich, important women.

Today, I am one of those women.

Or at least, Leanne is allowed to think I’m one of those women.

She must know that I’m a fraud. She has eyes, and she is capable of seeing me, after all. She can tell that the dress wasn’t made for me. It doesn’t fit.

I’m not important. I’m a piece of trash. A disgusting whore. Someone who vomited all over herself in the gutter last night and considered it to be one of the best days I’ve survived in recent history.

But I’m also ridiculously lucky.

Leanne shows us around, explaining how the shop works, telling me how to order things. They sell lingerie here. They sell dresses. They sell shoes. They would probably sell us specimens from endangered species if we asked, though. With enough money, anything can be bought anywhere.

I know I’m staring around the store, jaw hanging open like a fool, but I can’t help it.

Everything is so chic, so beautiful.

Galen isn’t looking at the store. He doesn’t care about any of it. To him, this isn’t impressive. It isn’t anything.

He’s looking at me.

Galen Blood is looking at me, his eyes hot on the shape of my breasts, the way my legs are moving. I’m meat to him. Just a piece of meat he wants to possess and fuck and destroy, and a piece of meat who wants him to do it.

“I want her to try some things on,” Galen says, interrupting Leanne mid-sentence.

He must not have heard a thing she said. Everything is custom made. There’s no reason to “try on” clothing. They can show me styles, and take my measurements, and do tailoring. For that matter, with Galen’s kind of money, I’m sure that this store could even hire the finest Italian designers to create something from scratch, just for me.

Galen’s meat.

I can tell from the way his eyes have heated on me that Galen heard Leanne. He knows that they don’t have things to “try on.”

He just doesn’t care.

I understand now that this isn’t about buying clothes. Not really. He could have had people sent to his mansion.

This is about having me try on clothes.

For him.

He wants this, so I want it.

There is a changing room in the back, probably to try on clothes once they’ve been created. It is a circular room with a round couch in the middle. Several mirrors surround the room. I can see myself from every angle, my flabby body moving awkwardly within the ill-fitting sheath dress that the maids have clad me in.

Leanne produces dresses. I don’t know where they come from. They look like they probably won’t fit. They’re designed for shorter women and won’t cover enough of my body.

I don’t protest. I don’t say no.

I’ll never say no.

Galen folds his body onto the couch facing the dais in front of the mirrors. There is so much of him to settle against the cushions, all long limbs and effortless grace and dangerous, smoldering eyes.

“Get undressed,” he says.

My hands tremble as I move to take the dress from Leanne and move toward one of the changing rooms.

Galen stops me with his cold voice.

“Get undressed.”

A frisson settles over me as I realize what he’s saying.

Leanne arches an eyebrow at Galen. The cogs turn in her mind. She’s considering what I’ve been ordered to do, and what she hasn’t been ordered to do—which is anything at all. She hasn’t been told to leave.

Her job isn’t unlike my new job. She’s in customer service. Today, the customer she’s intended to service is Galen.

If Galen doesn’t want her to leave, she won’t. She likes his money too much for that.

It’s down to me.

Do I want to get undressed in front of both of these people?

Never say no
.

Swallowing hard, I reach back to search for the zipper. I can’t reach it.

“Help her, Leanne,” Galen says.

Leanne’s knuckles are cool against my back as she exposes my spine inch by inch. She brings the zipper below my shoulder blades. Then I can reach it, and I finish the job myself.

I peel the dress away to expose my breasts. Galen’s looking at them. Leanne is looking at them. Both of them see in the full light of day how big they are, how they aren’t nearly as perky as those of a woman with smaller breasts, the peach color of my nipples.

The worst part is that they can see my areolas puckering. It’s not from the temperature. It’s warm in the store.

No, I’m aroused by their gazes.

It’s humiliating to let the dress puddle around my feet to expose my oversized hips and the rolls around my waist. My thighs are thick, too thick to match with my bony ankles. I’m not wearing underwear. They didn’t have anything for me. And now I’m standing in nothing but shoes that are a size too big like a child playing dress-up.

Leanne is professional. She keeps her eyes above the waist. She doesn’t look down to see that my arousal is dripping down the inside of my thighs, tickling the backs of my knees.

“Step onto the platform,” Galen says, reclining in his chair, resting his chin on his thumb and forefinger. His eyes track me across the carpet as I obey him. My obedience is reflected around me five or six times, allowing me to see the jiggle of my ass as I step up. “Leanne, measure her.”

There’s a smile playing around Leanne’s lips now. She stretches a measuring tape across the back of my shoulders, sending chills spreading down my spine. My nipples tighten further. It lifts my breasts just a half an inch, and I can see the flush on my chest in the mirror.

Her perfect fingernails skim down my ribcage.

“Lift your arms,” she says softly, and I do.

I can see her cold features over my shoulder in the mirror. She checks the distance between my shoulder blades, down my arms.

I’m exposed and vulnerable in front of her.

She is touching me.

Leanne kneels, sliding the tape along my hip. Her breath is warm against my skin.

Unexpectedly, I shiver.

Galen is watching. He can see every tiny reaction that I’m having. He can see the goosebumps, the way my breath is quickening, the hitch in my lungs when she begins to measure my inseam.

The back of her hand brushes against my pussy. She must feel that I’m drenched.

It’s too much. It’s so humiliating.

My eyes squeeze shut.

“Keep looking,” Galen says.

I obey. I’ll always obey.

The mirror transfixes me. All I can do is watch her as her hands linger between my legs. Even though I feel her skin against mine, I’m not connected to what I’m seeing. It’s not really me getting turned on by a stranger’s touch while notorious billionaire Galen Blood looks on, the three of us isolated in a high end dress shop.

Leanne’s thumb lifts. The nail skims between the cleft of my glistening, soaking pussy lips, swiping away the beads.

And then she’s stepping away, standing up, and I don’t know if she really meant to touch me like that or if it was an accident.

She takes note of my measurements. Leanne is unhurried as she writes, leaving me vulnerable and exposed on the platform in front of the mirrors. I am breathless. I want someone, anyone, to touch me and relieve some of the intense frustration that I’m feeling.

Galen’s eyes burn through me.

Is that his cock tenting his pants? Is he as aroused by watching me as I am by watching myself?

“Should I try on one of the dresses now?” I ask in a tiny voice.

“No,” he says. The sound of the forbidden word makes me twitch. But he goes on to say, “I want you to pleasure her. Pleasure Leanne.”

I can’t tell him no.

Well, I could. I can get out any time I want to.

The thing that’s keeping me from telling him “no” isn’t the feeling that I can’t escape. It’s the fact I don’t want to.

I’ve never been with a woman before, and I’ve never been all that interested in it, either. But now I can’t think of anything else I want to do more. Galen has told me to do it, and now it’s my purpose in life: pleasuring Leanne, a stranger, the store clerk, a woman.

Sinking to my knees, I am brought face to face with Leanne’s fitted skirt. It is snug down her thighs. It’s obviously cut just for her. The shoes, however, are from last season. She wears the appearance of being rich without actually having money.

It might be my imagination, but I think that I can already smell the perfume of her body. She’s aroused, too.

She looks annoyed by my presence, though. Like I’m an irritating little dog sniffing around her feet.

“Pathetic,” she says, giving voice to the thoughts I have for myself. “You don’t even hesitate? You’re disgusting.” There’s taunting in her voice, a tease, yet there’s also a quiver of excitement.

This is a role she’s playing as the dominant woman, enjoying the heady rush of the small power that Galen has offered to her.

I’m supposed to pleasure her.

How do I pleasure a woman?

I can’t do it without touching her, that’s for certain. My hands go to the hem of her skirt, and I lift it tentatively, inching it higher up on her thighs.

Leanne scoffs.

“Pathetic,” she says again.

Her hand fists in my hair, dragging my head toward the gap between her legs. She’s in great shape for a woman of her age. She is muscular and lean. Her thighs barely brush at the top. She makes me feel ungainly and huge, and now she’s forcing my mouth to her white silk panties, holding me tightly as I lip the hem awkwardly.

The heat of my breath makes moisture spread over her underwear. I inhale her scent.

She smells womanly. She smells powerful.

This woman works for a store, a person who services rich people, and Galen has made it clear I am firmly beneath her in the hierarchy. I am less than the woman who arranges for clothing for him.

I reach for her underwear.

“No hands,” Galen says.

I bite my bottom lip as I consider the instructions. How can I please her—how can I please Galen?—if I can’t get my hands involved in the activity?

Locking my fingers together behind my naked back, I gently grab the hem of her underwear with my teeth.

The panties slide down easily, exposing hair that is going gray. She’s a natural brunette. She trims in a landing strip, I’m surprised to see—a narrow stripe of hair leading from her swollen clit toward her navel, only a couple of inches long, like an arrow pointing toward the juicy secret of her cunt.

Leanne isn’t the uptight older woman she appears to be. She’s filthy, maybe just as filthy as I am, grooming herself to be fucked.

I pull the underwear to her knees.

My tongue darts out. Before I can think better of it, I lap the pink bud peeking out from between her labia.

Her hand tightens painfully on my hair.

“Yes,” she hisses.

It hurts. I deserve this.

Shifting my weight to the side, I make sure that I can see Galen in the mirror as I lick again. There’s no approval in his eyes, but he’s watching me like he can’t look anywhere else. He can’t tear himself away from the sight. Even if he looks angry, that must mean he’s pleased.

The arousal bulging at the front of his slacks suggests the same thing.

God, I want that inside of me. I want him to come up here and fuck me while I lick Leanne.