Blood Brothers: A Dark BBW Dom Billionaire Stepbrother Menage Serial (Stepbrother Billionaire Games Book 2) (4 page)

My hand wraps around it. I’m a big guy with big hands, but my fingers still can’t quite close around the shaft.

“You watching?” I ask her, stroking up and down, sliding the foreskin over the head.

Of course she’s watching. She’s practically drooling.

Her hips start to rock gently against my thigh, and I don’t think she’s even conscious of the movement. Eliza is just that responsive to the stimulus. She’s moving in time with my hand on my dick, like she’s trying to fuck herself with it without actually coming in contact with the thing.

She grinds the nubbin of her pleasure against my thigh. Her breath quickens.

God, she’s hot.

I catch myself watching the sway of her breasts as she moves in a slow rhythm and force myself to look away. This isn’t about Eliza. This is about Galen. My brother. My revenge

He’s transfixed.

“Rub it,” I tell Eliza.

She doesn’t wait for permission this time. She encircles my dick with her fingers, and her hand’s smaller than mine; she’d need both of her hands if she wanted to engulf the entirety of my rigid hard-on. But her other hand is occupied by steadying herself on the back of the couch behind my head.

With her arm lifted, I can scent the sweat of her underarms, mingling with Galen’s soap. It’s a powerfully feminine, primal odor.

Makes me want to club her over the head and drag her back to my cave for a thorough fucking.

The dressing room will have to do.

She’s stroking tentatively, but she grows firmer, and it shoots heat all the way through my body. Her palm is warm. Her hips are still grinding on my thigh. The rhythm is the same, a staccato beat that must pump in time with her heart.

That rhythm is silent music flowing through all three of us, alone in the changing room. Even Galen’s in on it, the way his chest rises and falls.

He’s pissed.

That just turns me on even more.

A bead of wet precum oozes from the tip of my cock. Eliza’s thumb swipes over it, smearing my juice on her skin.

She sucks it off of her finger. Her eyelids close halfway at the taste.

“Holy shit,” I say.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I’ve been with women who pretend to be porn stars—and more than a few actual porn stars—because they think it’ll turn me on, but there’s no pretense in Eliza. She did that because she wanted to, without waiting for command or permission.

She’s one dirty fucking slut.

“Ride my dick,” I tell her.

Eliza stops humping my leg. She tosses a look over her shoulder, hair falling over her chest, veiling those perfect pendulous tits. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement and her lips are damp with saliva as she looks to Galen for permission.

Now I’m the one getting angry.

I seize her chin, force her to look at me.

“I told you to ride my dick, whore.”

Galen’s on both of us in a heartbeat, ripping Eliza off of my lap, holding her against his chest.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he asks. “No. Don’t answer that. I know what’s wrong with you—
everything
. Same as it’s always been, same as it always will be.”

“I thought you said she didn’t matter to you,” I say. My cock thrusts up toward the air, tumescent, not at all diminished by the absence of the goddess riding my leg.

“I didn’t say you could call her a whore.”

I stand slowly. I’m a little taller than Galen. About half an inch. I’ll never let him forget it, either.

He pushes Eliza behind him again.

“Since when do I need your permission for anything?” I ask. “Give her back to me so I can fuck her.”

“That’s not the game,” Galen says between gritted teeth. “You have nothing to do with the game.”

“I can’t make it too easy for you,” I say.

Eliza’s eyes are flicking between us. She’s confused. Apprehensive.

“I don’t mind,” she says in a tiny voice. Galen whirls on her, and she lowers her eyes to his shoes. “I’ll do anything.”

A storm of anger brews around Galen.

“You’ll do anything? Fine. Fucking
fine
.” He shoves her to the floor at my feet. “Then I’m going to watch my brother screw you.”

***

Galen

Braden pushes her onto the couch, making her sprawl onto her back.

He’s a strong guy. He can move Eliza around like she’s lighter than a feather, as fragile as a doll made of paper. She falls against the couch with her hair spilling behind her and a flush rising on her chest.

She’s beautiful.

Am I really going to stand here and watch while Braden fucks her?

Yes. I am. I have to.

It’s not like she matters to me. I wasn’t lying when I told him that.

I wasn’t.

If Braden suspected that I was quickly growing to care about her, he would win a different kind of game. Not the one that we established when he picked her out of the Las Vegas gutter, but the one where he finally, truly proves that he’s better than me.

I’m not going to let him have that.

So, yeah, I’m just standing back to watch as he rips his shirt open, exposing muscle that he’s had professionally waxed smooth. He leaves it hanging open around him. Exposed like that, he looks like a monster descending on Eliza—innocent, trashy, slutty Eliza, who thinks she deserves all of this.

“You’re already prepared, aren’t you?” Braden asks.

He proves it by shoving his fingers inside her, and not gently. He goes all the way to the knuckle on his first finger.

Eliza cries out with pleasure, climbing the arm of the couch, eyes squeezing shut.

Braden pulls his finger out to the tip, then pushes it in again, stroking her tight inner walls. He grins while he does it. He’s the only person I’ve seen who fucks with a smile on his face, like he relishes everything he does. Like he’s the devil in the flesh of a man.

The hair falling over his forehead is styled almost identical to mine. We have different stylists and hadn’t seen each other for weeks when we got our last cuts; we just always manage to request the exact same look at the exact same time. And over time, our faces have started to look more alike too, even though we’re not related.

So it’s like watching myself thrust two fingers deep into Eliza, pulling a groan out of her throat.

My stepbrother is another of the many reflections surrounding us. Just another image of me. Galen Blood.

I’m a beast fingering the beauty.

“So fucking wet,” he says.

He could be talking about her, or he could be talking about himself. There’s a bead of moisture on the tip of his cock swelling so big that it drips onto her thigh. It stretches between them, long and sticky.

I can’t believe I’m watching this.

I shouldn’t let him do this to her.

No, that’s not right. That’s not the problem I have with this. Eliza’s enjoying every moment of the me-that-is-not-me driving a third finger deep in her cunt, stretching out her pussy, preparing her for the girth of his dick. If I want to pull them apart, it’s not for Eliza’s sake.

It’s for mine.

I can’t let him do this to me
.

Yet I do. And worse than that, I’m hard as hell. I’m enjoying watching my stepbrother dip his head down to lick her clit, sucking it into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth even as his fingers move relentlessly.

Eliza’s eyes are barely open a slit. She’s breathing hard, like she’s running. Her fingernails dig trenches into the couch.

“Yes please,” she whispers. “Please, please,
please
…”

It takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me.

Through those slitted eyes, she’s not looking at Braden. She’s looking at me in one of the mirrors. She’s imagining that it’s me who’s finger-fucking her.

She trusts me. For whatever reason, this woman trusts that I’m not going to let Braden do anything to hurt her, just as I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. There’s nothing in her contract that protects her from him but she still trusts me to take care of her.

I’m a piece of shit. She shouldn’t trust me.

But the way she’s looking at me, it drives me wild. It sucks away all semblance of control. My hand’s cupping my cock outside my slacks and I don’t know how long I’ve been doing that.

“Please,” Eliza says again, still looking at me.

I unzip.

The sound attracts Braden’s attention. He shoots me a smirk over her thigh as he slings her knee over one shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks me. “You like watching your big brother fuck your girl? You’re sick, Galen Blood.”

I am sick. He’s sick, too.

It’s also not the first time we’ve had sex in the same room. We’re always swapping girls, sharing them, enjoying hookers and debutantes and politicians at the same time. Just another of the games we’re notorious for.

But this feels different this time. It’s never been one girl with both of us.

It’s never been Eliza.

I’m releasing my cock from the confines of my slacks even as Braden guides himself to the entrance of Eliza’s soaking wet pussy, bumping the head of his cock against her.

“Yes,” she says.

At this point, I have no idea who she’s talking to.

Braden pushes himself inside of Eliza.

Simultaneously, my hand slides over my dick in one long stroke, like I’m the one sheathing myself inside of her.

Her moan is because of me.

My reflection has sunk deep inside of her, pushing himself past the tightness to bottom out, pelvis against pelvis. He digs the toes of his left shoe into the carpet for traction and pushes so hard that he’s gotta be bumping her cervix and he pushes her up the couch an inch. Eliza’s hair falls over the arm of the couch.

She’s still watching me over his shoulder.

My fist is tight around the base of my dick, as tight as I imagine she must feel.

“Yes,” Eliza says again, and the sound is more animal than actual language at this point, ripped from her in a guttural moan.

“Fuck, you’re tiny,” Braden says. “You like that?”

She nods silently without ever looking away from me. She’s beyond words.

Braden slides out slowly, and I mimic the gesture with my fist, corkscrewing over the shaft.

Slowly, slowly.

It drags another groan out of her chest. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, breaking contact with me for the first time.

That seems to be Braden’s cue.

He slams deep into her again. And again. His back muscles work underneath the open button-down shirt as he works himself in and out of Eliza, and I’m matching their pace perfectly with my dick in my hand. The sensation pales in comparison to the reality of what Braden is feeling, I know. The sounds he make are as inhuman as Eliza’s.

He’s talking endless nonsense in a low growl. Stuff like, “Yes, baby girl,” and, “You like that, don’t you?” and, “Fuck, that’s good. Fuck. Yes.” Every time he slams himself into her again it makes his voice break.

Braden’s lost himself in her.

I’ve lost myself watching them, multiplied a dozen times by the changing room mirrors. Eliza’s tangled up in the too-tiny dress with her legs over her head and her nails buried in the couch and her eyes rolled back with ecstasy.

The rhythm’s growing ragged. Braden’s getting close.

So am I.

He hasn’t made her come yet.

That’s the thought that draws me forward, makes me bend over her. Eliza’s eyes open wide. She drinks in the sight of me standing over my stepbrother as he fucks her, and it’s my name lingering on her lips.

I keep jacking myself off as I reach between them to flick at her clit. The bead is hard against my fingertips. My brother’s hips bump against my hand, forcing me into a faster rhythm.

Now she’s getting close, too.

“Oh God,” Eliza says. “Galen.”

Braden fists his hands in her hair. Yanks her head back to expose her throat. “Braden,” he says, as if correcting her, and then sinks his teeth into her throat.

I’m about to come. We all are.

Her mouth opens wide, and I know what she’s asking me to do.

Braden orgasms with a shout against her neck, and I mirror him. My body pulses. My blood throbs. My spine stiffens, arching, and my fist clenches tight around my dick as I erupt.

Thick ropes of cum shoot over her lips and into her mouth, gaping wide as she orgasms.

My brother and I, we fill her at the same time—mouth and pussy.

She’s perfect.

Eliza. My Eliza.

***

Eliza

Don’t ask me how I got onto their private jet.

I don’t even know.

One minute I’m getting fucked in the changing room of a high-end dress store, and the next, I’m being buckled into my chair by a stewardess wearing a low-cut uniform and wondering if I’m going to be ordered to pleasure her next.

I feel stunned, outside of my body. I’ve gone far beyond whatever I might have experienced that time my asshole of an ex slipped me a roofie. I had thought that must have been the most surreal experience humanly possible. Having such a huge gap in my memory with only fleeting glimpses of what I experienced had been strange, disorienting, upsetting.

But now I have entered a permanent dream state. I am drifting through a surreal landscape of a private jet with platinum fixtures and men wearing custom suits created by exclusive Italian designers.

Someone is slipping a diamond tennis bracelet around my wrist. The seat belt buckles. I don’t even know if I’m clothed.

Yes. I am clothed.

The dress fits perfectly, and I am numb to look down at myself and find that it hugs my curves excellently. It’s not like the tiny things that Leanne had me trying on at the store. It looks like it was made for me.

“I had your measurements taken while you slept last night,” Galen says. It’s only then that I become aware he’s sitting beside me. There are no window or aisle seats on the private jet; every seat is cushioned and spacious. He is only just near enough that we could hold hands if we wanted to.

“You got my measurements and had dresses tailored for me in…what, ten hours?” I ask. It’s a small miracle that the words come out of me coherently. I can still taste both Galen and Leanne on my tongue and feel Braden’s body moving inside of mine.