Sharing Hannah - A Reverse Harem Romance

by Krista Wolf

  At one point Adam held my ankles back — a seemingly innocent little act I found strangely twisted and hot — so his friend could plow me even deeper. In that moment I never felt more owned. More totally possessed and desired and taken care of, by not just one but two ridiculously hot guys.

  They dominated me all night. Dominated my bed. It finally ended sometime in the wee hours of the morning, with both of them roaring through another simultaneous orgasm. I was letting them shoot in me… on me… wherever they wanted. Taking their final pleasures after having given me so many of my own, before all collapsing together in a twisted heap of arms and legs and hard, beautiful muscle.

  It took me only a few seconds after that to pass right the hell out.

  I slept the sleep of the dead that night. A dark, dreamless oblivion that had me waking wholly rested and totally alone.

  Huh?

  I rolled over. Both of my lovers were gone. They’d left somewhere in the middle of the night, after covering me with blankets I distinctly remembered strewing to the floor.

  Mmmmmm…

  Other fond memories floated back too — a long, heated sequence of last night’s events. Adam, screwing me slowly after my second orgasm. Kissing every inch of my body in the warm, safe darkness. And I could remember Dante, too. Piecing me. Drilling me. Fucking me so hard while pinned up against my headboard, the impact of our bodies was chipping away holes in the drywall.

  I stretched out like a cat, reaching up with both arms. Tiny pieces of sheetrock still littered the top of my bed. I’d have to get it fixed. My apartment complex was cool for the most part, but the last thing I wanted was to lose my security deposit over a little sex-induced damage.

  The shower I took was baptismal. I stayed in ten minutes longer than normal, letting the hot, soapy water stream away the more physical aspects of last night. The mental parts however… well, I was busy tucking them away.

  I gathered up my discarded pieces of lingerie and stripped the bed, vowing to stop at the basement laundry after work. Then I got dressed, put on a little makeup, and stood back to take stock of myself in the mirror.

  I looked like my normal, happy self. At a glance, nobody would’ve ever suspected that I’d spent the night playing the part of a complete and total slut. Being passed happily back and forth, between two strapping, beautiful boyfriends.

  Boyfriends, huh?

  Yeah, I’d said it. And no, I didn’t regret it either.

  What exactly are you doing Brooke?

  I honestly didn’t know. But what I did know, was that I had a good half hour before I needed to leave for work. Which was just enough time…

  Breaking out my notebook, I started writing everything down. I began with the guys, and all they’d told me about themselves. Their background information, their education, their ideals. Where they’d come from, and how they got to where they were.

  Eventually I launched into the more interesting stuff; everything I should expect out of a relationship with all three of them.

  Slowly I was learning that this wasn’t a standard polyamorous romance, where people dated openly within it. No, what they were proposing was more of a closed circle. A committed triangle really, with me in the middle.

  I also found out there was a more specific term for what I was involved in: polyandry. A situation in which one woman has more than one lover, or mate.

  It was ten minutes later than I wanted it to be when I finally glanced at the clock.

  “Shit.”

  I threw the book to one side of my desk, and rushed out the door. Then I headed in the direction of my car, clicked the ‘unlock’ button on my key-fob, and looked up.

  My car was gleaming.

  What the—

  Someone had not only washed it, they’d waxed it too. They’d squeegeed the windshield. They’d rubbed Armor-All on the tires…

  Chris.

  I knew it was him because he’d done it before. He’d waited until I’d fallen asleep, then hooked up a hose to the apartment complex’s outdoor spigot. Back then, I’d woken up to find my car fully detailed, inside and out. We’d already been broken up for three months.

  Holy shit, Chris.

  At the time he’d laughed it off and told me it was an ‘ex-boyfriend favor’. I’d somehow forced a smile and a mild ‘thanks’. I still thought the whole thing was a little creepy, of course. Now, more than a year later, it was downright frightening.

  Unfortunately I had no time to do anything but jump in the car and shoot off to work. The drive should’ve been fun. Filled with warm meandering, thoughts and good coffee.

  Glancing at the clock, I didn’t have time for my usual drive-through java. So much for that.

  And no matter how many times I tried pushing him out of my head….

  … all I could think about was Chris.

  Twenty-Four

  BROOKE

  I’d just hung up my coat and placed my phone on the desk when it began buzzing loudly. Still annoyed, not to mention caffeine-deprived, I picked it up.

  Sorry not sorry, about the holes in your wall.

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. All thought of Chris fled instantly away, as I hammered out a response.

  That might not be all you guys put a hole in last night.

  The little typing-bubble appeared for a second or two, followed by the smiling emoji with its tongue sticking out. I laughed again.

  Sorry about bolting out like that. I had a 5am crew waiting on me, and Dante’s got meetings all day.

  I thought about Adam in a dirtied up T-shirt, swinging a hammer with one big, sinewy arm. I envisioned a dirty work belt. Maybe some flannel. Damn, there was something seriously hot about him being in construction.

  No worries. As long as you come back and spackle my wall, we’ll call it even.

  There was a sexy little pause before he wrote back:

  Is that all you want me to spackle?.

  Just reading the last response, my whole body felt suddenly warm. Damn, he was good. Really good.

  Maybe… maybe not.

  A few seconds went by, and then:

  Sounds like you’re angling for a rematch. I don’t know, though. Word going around town is you broke Trey’s bed.

  I chuckled some more as I sank into my chair.

  Trey broke his own bed. And come to think of it, he owes me some underwear.

  A long minute went by. Then:

  We’ll talk to him, and get it all worked out. The new underwear part, that is.

  I gulped hard at the thought of the guys picking me out underwear. Of them dressing me up… any which way they wanted.

  Shit, that could be a lot of fun.

  I was about to write something else when a sign-off message appeared:

  Sorry, gotta run again. Have fun at work, sexy. Talk later.

  I pushed my phone away and kicked back a little, sliding my hands behind my head. I was starting the day with naughty thoughts, now. Dirty, distracting thoughts…

  Trey’s bed.

  God, that had been some night. Last night too. I’d had two amazing dates with three amazing guys. I could only imagine what would happen when we all got together again.

  “Silver-grey Infinity.”

  I looked up, straight into the pale, sparsely-bearded face of Chris. He was standing in my doorway. I was in such a daze, it took me a moment to even recognize him.

  “What did you say?”

  “Silver-grey Infinity,” he repeated again, matter-of-factly. “License plate XKD3100”

  My brows crossed. “I don’t have a clue what you’re—”

  “It was in my old parking spot last night,” said Chris, “at our apartment complex. The one right next to your car.”

  My jaw tightened. “It’s not our apartment complex anymore,” I seethed. “It’s mine. And that’s not your spot either.”

  “Hence the word ‘old’,” Chris countered. “And I’m just saying—”

  “Anyone and everyone can park
there,” I laughed out loud. “Anyone and everyone does.”

  “Oh I’m aware,” my ex acknowledged. “But never that car. Never a silver-grey Infinity, license plate numb—”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” I practically yelled. “What are you doing, stalking my apartment complex? Taking notes on every car and truck that enters and exits? Writing down every license plate that…”

  My voice died, trailing off as I realized the truth. Yes. Yes, he had. Chris was writing down license plate numbers. He was sitting in the parking lot of my apartment complex, drawing up a running schedule of who parked where, in which spots, and at which times.

  Goddammit, I could see it perfectly.

  “Chris…”

  I felt queasy. The idea of him sitting in the lot, marking down license plates? It made my stomach roll.

  “Chris, you’re sick.”

  He frowned again. It was the usual ‘you’re being silly’ frown.

  “No, really,” I said, my voice suddenly low and deathly serious. “You need fucking help.”

  My ex-boyfriend sighed mightily. “Brooke, I’m the one who’s helping you. Why can’t you see that? There’s nothing wrong with being a little cautious. Nothing wrong with keeping an eye out for—”

  “You washed my car.”

  He nodded firmly. “You’re welcome.”

  “My ex-boyfriend washed my car in the dead of night…” I said, saying it all out loud. “And then sat there making a map of the parking lot. Marking down everyone who went in and out of my complex.”

  I wanted to hear it. Needed to know if it sounded every bit as batshit insane as it did in my mind.

  It did.

  “Brooke—”

  “YOU WASHED MY CAR!” I yelled loudly. “YOU DON’T EVEN LIVE THERE AND YOU—”

  In the blink of an eye he was gone, retreating just as fast and silently as he came. I was left standing at my desk, screaming at nothing. A few of the temps looked up at me in confusion, from the row of cubicles opposite my office.

  “Go scratch your ass,” I muttered under my breath, while stepping forward to close the door. Just as I got there however, a young, spiky-haired man with an immaculate goatee stepped into my doorway.

  “Chloe needs to see you in her office.”

  Twenty-Five

  BROOKE

  I shoved past Chloe’s assistant so rudely and abruptly, I made a mental note to apologize to him later. Fists clenched, I marched straight down to her office and flew through the doorway without knocking.

  “Your brother—”

  “—is a complete asshat,” Chloe finished for me. “I know.”

  Her response was so unexpected, it threw me back a step.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I heard your entire lover’s quarrel,” she said dismissively. “Or at least most of it. The entire office did, too.”

  “That was not a lover’s quarrel,” I seethed.

  “Oh no? Were you at one point lovers?” she demanded. “Was that not a quarrel?”

  My upper lip curled back so far, I think I snarled. “That was so long ago I—”

  “Once a lover always a lover,” Chloe said, with the wave of her arm. “Can’t change that. Believe me Brooke, I know he’s an asshole. And I couldn’t care less what you two were arguing about. That’s not why I called you in here.”

  Once again, her words threw me for a loop.

  “N—No?”

  “Fuck no,” said Chloe. I realized now she wasn’t even looking at me. Hadn’t looked at me since I’d gotten here, she’d been scanning her desk the whole time.

  “Then what—”

  “Have you seen the Martinez file anywhere?”

  I shook my head.

  “If it doesn’t show up in the next five minutes I’m gonna break a few asses,” Chloe snapped. She pointed to one of her guest chairs. I didn’t have to be told to sit down.

  “Brooke, I have good news and bad news for you.”

  My mouth went tight. “Give me the bad news.”

  “Know what? Screw that,” said Chloe. “Everyone wants the bad news first, and then they never pay any attention to it. I’m giving you the good news first.”

  I gripped the arms of the guest chair tightly, marveling at how uncomfortable it was. Maybe they were designed like that. Maybe Chloe wanted everyone a little bit disarmed while she—

  “Cosmo extended the deadline for your article another two weeks. They’re moving it back a month.”

  Shit, that was good news. I had plenty of stuff floating around in my head as to how I wanted to start things, but I hadn’t written a single line of the article yet.

  “So what’s the bad news?”

  “The bad news is I still want to see something by Monday,” Chloe said. “Tuesday at the latest.”

  “And what do you want to see?”

  “Whatever you have.”

  I tried not to shift too much, in the uncomfortable metal chair. It was a losing battle.

  “I know you hate doing that,” she admitted, “and that you always put out a polished product. But this is too important. I’m gonna need to at least see your direction, if not—”

  “Okay.”

  She stopped mid-sentence and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, unfolding my arms. “Not a problem.”

  My boss had always given me journalistic freedom, and seldom asked to see something before it was finished. If she was asking, it was important to her. I wouldn’t let her down.

  “No pushback?” Chloe asked. “No fighting me on this?”

  “Nope,” I said, standing back up. “I’m all out of pushback.” I glanced over my shoulder and out into the hall. “And I think I’ve done enough fighting for today.”

  “You and me both,” said Chloe.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “You need anything else?” my boss asked abruptly. “Resources, outside expenditures, anything to help get the article where it needs to be?”

  “Nope,” I said truthfully. Then, as an afterthought: “Well, maybe one thing.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Keep Chris out of my hair for a little while?”

  Chloe stared at me for a full five seconds of absolute nothingness. Finally she nodded.

  “Alright, done.”

  Two birds, one stone, I thought to myself. Thank God.

  I headed out, eager to get started. I still had a lot to do. A lot to collate and condense. I needed a really good hook for the article, probably the best one ever. And I needed a couple of great first lines, too.

  All those things would come to me, I knew. They always did.

  Now if only I could focus…

  Twenty-Six

  BROOKE

  The next week was the busiest of my entire life. A whirlwind of writing and re-writing. A maelstrom of dating and brainstorming and jotting things down, and of course, dripping hot sex.

  I went out. I stayed in. I went to bed alone some nights, with company on others. I woke up in a different place each night; Trey’s bed, mine, Adam and Dante’s apartment. They took me out together and alone, the three of them. One-on-one dates that turned into trios or even foursomes, as the others finished their day and joined in on whatever we were doing.

  I spent most of the weekend writing and outlining, but there were times when I needed a break. Trey showed up to take me to dinner… and then back to his place to break in his new bed. Adam showed up on Sunday morning, eager to spackle my wall. I rewarded him with the blowjob of his life, then took him to breakfast at the best — and greasiest — diner in town.

  The best part was just letting myself go. Immersing myself in the multi-partner lifestyle. Only it didn’t seem like a ‘lifestyle’ to me. It seemed like the most normal relationship in the world, filled with love and lust and butterflies and jitters. The same butterflies of anticipation and over-the-moon swooning of any budding romance still in its honeymoon phase.

  Only it was with three
people instead of one. Three very unique people with their own likes and dislikes. Each with his own personality, sense of humor, wit, charm, and smile.

  And yes, each with his own distinct physical style. Especially when it came to the bedroom…

  Adam loved kissing. Absolutely loved it, to the point where we’d spend hours on end just laying in bed doing nothing but that. By the time we finally progressed further, I was always soaking wet. Whatever panties I wore were drenched straight through, from all the slow sensuality that came with being so close, so intimate with him.

  Dante’s thing seemed to be going down on me, and believe me, I was more than fine with that. If he wasn’t diving between my legs to taste me we were generally locked in a hot sixty-nine; teasing and pleasing each other until our bodies trembled with violent, mutual orgasms.

  Trey loved a little of both, but our lovemaking sessions seemed to be the fiercest of all. No matter how they began they always ended the same way; with him behind me, screwing me hard and fast. He loved pulling back on my hair, or my arms… or my all-time favorite, slamming into me while clamping one hand down over my mouth to keep me quiet.

  Over a period of ten days I went on a half-dozen dates, and stayed in some nights only to receive a low knock at my door. The guys couldn’t get enough of me. One or more of them would show up at all hours, either to climb into bed and snuggle with me… or even better, to do far, far more.

  I realized how much I loved it one particular night, at Adam’s place. He’d just finished inside me, after a particularly long bout of kissing and touching and slow, sensual grinding. The sound of the elevator opening at the other end of the apartment startled me at first… but then Dante walked in, looking incredibly hot in a black collared shirt and green silk tie.