Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (34 page)

I leaned forward slightly and he rested a tentative hand on my shoulder. It was a tight fit… actually it was perfect. Jackson’s crotch was practically jammed in my face and Declan’s dick was right behind me. All I had to do was yank those boxers down.

So I did. His dick sprang free, thick and velvety. I ran my fingers along it while inhaling his rich, woodsy scent like it was food. The vein pulsed as his heavy meat got harder in my hand.

It was almost too big, but I had to have it. Declan grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands and began pumping me hard onto his cock. The sound of my ass slapping against his naked hips echoed across the water. Holding onto Jackson’s dick at the base with both hands, I licked the pre-cum from just the tip. He sucked in his breath and flinched as I flicked my tongue across his sensitive slit, sucking the cum from his dick head.

Instantly his hands went into my hair, dragging me forward. His dick pushed over my tongue to the back of my throat cutting off my breath. When he withdrew slightly, I took a deep breath, knowing his cock was too huge.

Holding my head in his hands, Jackson started fucking my mouth while Declan rammed me noisily from behind. I relaxed every part of me, relishing the feeling of being taken, filled, owned, and pounded in my mouth and pussy simultaneously.

“Oh my god!” Jackson moaned, pulling my hair and filling my mouth and throat so deeply I couldn’t breathe. My eyes watered as his huge dick stretched my throat, and I tried to relax to take it all.

“Oh my god!” Declan groaned simultaneously, the desperation plain in his voice. His hands gripped me as he thrust relentlessly, faster and faster.

Finally I couldn’t wait any more. I jammed my hand into my crotch and found my hard, swollen clit and started rubbing it in fast circles. Another flood of juices erupted from my pussy as I started to come. The white light of my orgasm built like mushroom cloud in me and I moaned around the cock that Jackson has stuffed down my throat.

The sound seemed to make him crazy, and Jackson started fucking my face as fast as Declan was fucking my pussy. I was helplessly pinned between them and loving every moment of it, working my poor clit in frenzied circles until the explosion went off.

I think I screamed, but the sound couldn’t escape around Jackson’s ramming dick in my throat. Declan grunted and arched his back, slamming into me hard and staying there. I felt his dick throbbing as his cum shot into me. It oozed out in a hot gout, sliding between our thighs.

Jackson began to moan at the same time, and pulled my head forward. I was suffocated on his huge dick and he came like a flood, shooting his cum right down my throat.

Eagerly I accepted all that steaming, vigorous spunk. I had wanted it so urgently, and it was everything I asked for and more.

Jackson fell forward, panting, and released my hair. His dick went semi-flaccid and slipped from between my lips, landing heavily against his thigh. I was sad to see it go.

Declan rubbed my ass cheeks affectionately as his dick slipped out, unfurling with a wet sound against his leg.

Taking a deep breath, Jackson pulled his boxers and jeans back up and then turned gracefully to fall in the seat next to me. He was still panting, moaning and sort of half-laughing under his breath. Suddenly he leaned toward me and planted a sweet, lingering kiss on my cheek.

“Wow…” he whispered. “Wow.” His hand groped for my arm in the darkness, then slid down and rested against my hand. He locked his fingers in mine and squeezed our palms together.

I slid off Declan’s lap and turned, kissing Jackson tenderly on the lips. He could taste his own cum on my breath, I was sure, and I hoped he liked it as much as I did. Then I turned and kissed Declan as well, nuzzling the excellent coarse stubble on his jaw.

As I pulled my damp and stretched out panties back up, bliss washed over me like the fog from the machine had. That poorly concealed hidden hunger had finally been satisfied.

The boat lurched and the hum of a motor started up. Water slapped against the sides of the boat as we started moving again.

I realized my heart was hammering mercilessly in my chest. Some part of me knew I should feel guilty about it, but the thrill of being completely ravaged by these two virile, mysterious men overwhelmed any doubts I might have had.

As we emerged from the other side of the tunnel to a railing and staircase leading out to the carnival lot, all three of us straightened our hair and clothes like nothing had ever happened. Another faux-carnie in diva drag held out his hand to help me out of the boat.

“I am sorry for the delay,” he said, his voice dripping with the oily tones of some foreign accent. “You must have been so terrified.”

“What? Terrified?”

“Ah,” he continued. “I see you have two beeg strapping mens to keep you safe. Good… is good. Come again!”

He led me down the metal stairs, winking lasciviously or so I thought. The realization of what we had just done began to flood my mind but I stubbornly pushed it back. Now was not the time to crumble, or turn into some kind of shrinking violet. If I turned to dust in front of them, what would they think of me now?

Declan and Jackson walked up behind me. I wanted to be breezy but my heart was hammering in my chest like a caged bird. Taking the high road, I said, “That was fun!”

Jackson blinked his eyes in what may have been surprise. The sudden deluge of neon and reverse calliope music seemed to have overwhelmed him. Declan just smiled broadly and sincerely. He ducked and kissed me sweetly on the cheek.

“Well!” I sighed, looking from Declan’s to Jackson’s faces. They stared at me expectantly as though waiting for my command. The thought of that was more than a little thrilling. My hand fluttered up to the pendant at my throat, fingering the small, rough charm.

“You know, I really should check on Bridget. We’ve probably been gone a while?” I added sheepishly.

“Oh, go… Go,” Declan said grandly. “Just not too far. Your dates are not patient men.”

“Oh, ha ha. OK,” I chuckled uncertainly.

“Go,” Jackson agreed, planting a lingering kiss near my ear and sighing sweetly. He pulled back and stared at me. Those eyes… I could fall into them. “Declan’s just teasing. We’ll be here,” he reassured me.

As I walked away I could feel their eyes tracing over my back, my dress, and my body moving underneath. I felt them almost as clearly as if they were there running their hands over me. Though the onlookers also watched me closely, I felt insulated and protected by the Burkes’ sincere and thorough attention.

I could see Bridget in the same spot, still rooted by her drastic choice of outfits for the evening. As I passed the breezeway I tried to shield my eyes from my installation, but a tiny pinprick of blood red caught my eye and I found myself veering that way.

The small card was tucked up close under the bottom of the painting’s frame, but there it was. The red dot. It had sold. I backed away, stifling a victorious arm-pump and glanced at the painting next to it, and then the next.

I couldn’t believe it and stood there for long moments, my jaw going slack, my eyes wandering from card to card while I seared the image into my memory.

Each had sold.
All
 had sold. All nine paintings.

Scanning the front gallery, I caught Bridget’s eye. She seemed to have been waiting for me and gave me a huge, glorious grin. Fanning myself deliriously, I made my way through the crowd toward her waiting, open arms.

“I don’t know what you said to them,” she muttered as she smoothed back my hair. I stifled what felt like sobs in my chest and tried to just focus on her words. “But you did it, girl. You really did it.”

I pulled back and smiled up at her. With the gallery lights behind her and her extreme heels, she looked gorgeous yet slightly terrifying, like a mythical creature of some kind.

“I’m as amazed as you are.”

“For sure,” she agreed with a sassy quirk of her painted eyebrow. “But, uh--”

I backed up and stared at her, instantly wary. “But what?”

She wrung her hands in front of her chest and pulled a face. “The buyer wants to see them in place before she commits.”

“No, Bridge!” I shook my head fiercely as all my excitement drained out of me.

“Yes! You’ll take them on Saturday, and it will all be fine!”

“Tomorrow, are you kidding me?”

“Well…” she shrugged helplessly.

“So you marked them all sold.
All
 sold… and they are
not
 sold?”

“I’m sure you’ll sell them,” she said quickly.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the crowd of people milling in the breezeway, gazing at paintings they thought they couldn’t buy.

“You just locked me out of sales I could be making right now, Bridge! Look over there! None of those people think my paintings are available. I could be selling to actual buyers!”

“Well… I mean, you could be… Or not.”

“Fuck you.”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “The Burkes set it up and I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

The Burkes. Nice. More men who just as happy to drive you bankruptcy,
 I thought bitterly.
You have got to stop listening to your stupid sex drive.

“You’ll do it, right, Mar?”

“What fucking choice do I have?” I hissed and whirled toward the front door, stalking across the floor as fast as my heels would let me go. Somehow, that brief moment of success and safety left a hole when it left, even bigger than the one that had already been there.

My purse jangled, and I rummaged through it as I walked out the front doors, finally finding my phone at the bottom.

I miss u -Kevin,
 came the text.

I stared at it for long minutes as I stood on the corner in downtown LA under the changing streetlight. Green, yellow, red. Green, yellow, red. Finally I just slipped the phone back into my bag and started into the crosswalk, aiming for home.

###

Billionaire Brothers - Book 2

Meg Watson

SATURDAY MORNING, I rolled over into a trapezoid of bright yellow sunlight on the sheets and was immediately sizzling. The summer felt as unrelenting as a prison sentence.

The far side of the bed was empty as usual. I ran my hand along the sheets and traced the outline of Kevin’s absence again and again until my palm went numb from the friction and the gesture became an abstract sworl.

As I rolled over, a bright reflection caught my eye. The tiny diamond M pendant that Declan and Jackson had given me the night before brought back all the memories of the gallery in a rush. At first I grinned shamelessly and my hips resonated with the sensory memory of Jackson and Declan walking arm and arm with me through the gallery… Jackson’s breath on the back of my neck when he placed the pendant on me… and the sensation of being utterly taken over in the dark, metal boat. It had seemed like a dream I had been waiting for my whole life.

But then I remembered I am not that kind of girl. Cringing shame flooded me like a tidal wave and I rolled over and moaned into the pillow. I was supposed to be a professional, and I had acted like… Well, like a professional
something
, I guess. What would they think of me? Suddenly I wanted a shower. Maybe I could just move away? New name? Go blonde?

I imagined them high-fiving each other like locker room teammates over their mimosas or squeezed pomegranates or whatever it was billionaires had for breakfast. They probably did this sort of thing all the time, and I had cartwheeled like a class-A bimbo right into the middle of whatever game they were playing.

I groped on the table for my cell phone and texted Bridget with my eyes closed.

R U awake?

Holding the cell to my chest, I tried to push the images away. A voice in my head kept saying
It’s not that bad, come on,
 and then the judgey part of me shoved another reminder of just how bad it was.
Two at once, remember?
 the judgey part said, and then played a little mental video clip of that part of the night complete with sounds, sensations and an encore presentation of hot, clenching wetness between my legs. I kicked my feet against the sheets until they billowed around my calves.

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for my opportunity to confess. I swear Bridget sleeps with her phone under her pillow just for me.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” came her voice over the line, gravelly with sleep. I heard the small gasp that meant she was lighting up her first cigarette of the day.

“I need you to tell me if I’m crazy.”

“You are for sure crazy.”

“No, seriously, Bridget. I need you to hear this.”

I recounted the whole story to her in a low voice, talking right into the phone’s mic. She didn’t even interrupt me once, which was my first hint that I had really crossed the line this time.

When I finished, she didn’t say anything.

“Are you still there?”

She sighed.

“Seriously, Bridget. Have I freaked you out completely?”