Twin Tease_An MFM Menage Billionaire Step Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “You know she’s going to just tell everybody she can find. She’s probably already posted it on Facebook. We probably already have our own Reddit subgroup.”

  “I really couldn’t care less,” Jack says. “Lying is too hard. This is easier. Let’s do this.”

  I pause for just a beat. “Let’s do what, exactly?”

  Chance shifts around, taking a chair next to me. He takes my other hand so that now I’m holding both their hands, suspended between them. I’m instantly transported back to maybe one of the first times I ever met them. Five years older than me, big and strong when I was little. Maybe I was nine, or ten? We were walking somewhere. Oh, yes… Walking along the beach of Lake Michigan. One of those wide concrete promenades. Birds flew over our head, the sun beat down, there was a cool breeze coming off the lake. They walked on either side of me, each holding one of my hands. Every so often they would both lift at the same time so that I could swing my legs into the air, kicking until I was practically airborne.

  It was a beautiful day. I loved the feeling of freedom, the feeling of knowing that they would catch me as I fell back to the earth, and then send me skyward yet again.

  “Just say the words,” Chance prods encouragingly.

  “You’re the boss,” Jack reminds me.

  Say the words, I tell myself. Say what words?

  But I know I need to say something. There needs to be some kind of declaration. There needs to be a moment where we go from playful messing around to organized with direction. A self-organized system. Even if it’s a completely weird system. It’s definitely one that works.

  “So, this is a thing?”

  Jack raises one eyebrow. “A thing? That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius?” Chance scoffs. “Nice vocab, there, Chelsea.”

  I take a deep breath and glare at each of them. But they’re looking at me so expectantly, it’s like having a couple of puppies waiting for a treat. I can’t believe they’re so open right now. No artifice, no defensiveness, just the trust and affection of people I’ve known my entire life, almost. As long as I’ve been me, anyway. As long as I can remember.

  These handsome, trusting faces. These loving faces. They challenge me. They dare me. They take me places I’ve never been, just like they said they would.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “We will be, like, together. Boyfriends. Plural. And girlfriend. Singular.”

  “There, now, was that so hard?” Jack says.

  “Actually, it was really hard,” I admit.

  “Well, I kind of like it,” Chance adds. “You know, I don’t think I have ever been anybody’s boyfriend before.”

  “Wait, what?”

  They glance at each other then start grinning like fools, shaking their heads.

  “No, he’s right,” Jack smiles. “Nobody ever laid that word on us before. Or we haven’t let anyone. Not really, not officially.”

  My eyebrows arch in surprise. “Wow! Well I am… Really honored.”

  “Yeah, I was expecting it to be harder, to be honest,” Jack admits.

  Chance leans toward me, taking my cheeks in his hands. He cups my face and tips it toward his, stroking my cheekbones with his thumbs before kissing me sweetly, deeply, shamelessly.

  “Yes, Chelsea,” he sighs, his breath mingling with mine. “It’s the easiest thing in the world.”

  Jack tugs my hand and I pull back from Chance, drawn immediately into Jack’s sweet, passionate kiss. His lips are firm and insistent, and I can feel the longing in his heart. It matches mine, totally in sync.

  “Easiest thing in the world, Chelsea,” he agrees.

  “Of course it is,” I sigh, smiling with happiness and relief. “It’s the truth.”

  Epilogue

  Chelsea

  Ned and Matthew chase each other around the shallow end of the pool, throwing a Nerf football back and forth, barely catching it. It’s kind of a new thing for them, one they discovered practically by mistake. But it turns out that athleticism runs in the family.

  They are strong and agile, tall for their age. Still, they know to be careful around the pool, and I see them glance at me out of the corner of their eyes every once in a while, as though we are all on the same page: they won’t get too much out of hand, and I won’t have to haul my giant body out of this chaise lounge to come over there and put that ball in timeout.

  That’s for the best, because the sun feels wonderful. It’s gotten to where I can not even see my feet from here. Lying on the deck chair, the enormous globe of my belly blots out a generous percentage of my view. I don’t mind. It’s fun to watch this alien landscape swell and change every day. And even more fun to lie here and relax poolside, while the new life inside of me does such a complicated combination of gymnastics that I can actually see it from the outside.

  Strange little bumps that roll past my belly button. Sometimes even the outline of a heel or elbow. It’s impossible to tell, but fun to guess.

  I’ve been in this position for at least ninety seconds so now I have to move, of course. Any day now, our baby will be out in the world. These are the last few moments that I will be sheltering him or her in my womb. It’s been a magical experience… Except for the stretching, swelling, vomiting, wobbling, leaking, insomnia… Oh, you get the point.

  I hear the sliding glass door open and Chance comes out, threading his way between Ned and Matthew with a tray in his hands. He walks over, smiling proudly, feasting his eyes on my giant belly before sitting down next to me. He holds out a glass of iced tea.

  “Thirsty?”

  “Constantly,” I answer, taking it gratefully. The glass is slippery and cool, dropping water in a trail along my belly as I bring it to my lips.

  “You look amazing,” he smiles. “Feel okay?”

  I smile and shift my weight, relieving pressure on my hip that suddenly seems unbearable.

  “I feel fantastic,” I smile back.

  “And little Bartholomew?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Bartholomew today? I thought you were sticking with Travis or Imelda.”

  “Just trying it out,” he shrugs. “Bartholomew or Amethyst, I’m thinking. We could call her Amy.”

  Moving didn’t fix the pressure, so I try shifting to the other hip, which involves rearranging my knees in such a way that I can hoist my belly over the tops of my thighs without actually propelling myself completely out of the deck chair.

  “Amy is a good name,” I agree. “I still think that Francie was my favorite so far. Or Chuck. Chuck is a nice name for a boy.”

  “Seriously? Chuck was your favorite boy name?”

  Oh, my hips. I give up and try to manage some kind of pretzel-style sitting, with my knees out and Francie-tholemew floating in between. He or she seems to like this arrangement better, and I could tell by the rolling somersault that he or she does in gratitude.

  Chance’s eyes widen. “I still can’t believe that doesn’t hurt you.”

  I shrug. “Honestly, I think I’m going to miss it. What is it like to have no one kicking you in the bladder all day? How do you manage it? I have totally forgotten.”

  He leans forward, laughing, and kisses me on the forehead. “Kind of boring, actually.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Somersault, somersault, backflip, swan dive. Then the baby seems to do the twist, and I feel a gush of wetness, a strange and sudden pop.

  “What the...”

  He arches back in alarm. “What? Did something just happen?”

  “Ummmmmm, I am not sure,” I murmur.

  Experimentally, I walk my hips back a little bit, swishing my belly back and forth slightly. As expected, every time my abdomen moves, little bit more liquid gushes out.

  “You know what? I think you might want to get Jack.”

  He jumps up immediately, nodding like a parade official. “Get Jack, got it!”

  I hang out on the chaise lounge for another
couple of minutes while Chance runs around the house and pool area. He hustles Ned and Matthew off for Emergency Operation Gogogo, which is what they have been calling it. They did practice drills and everything. It was awesome.

  Presently, Jack appears on the patio, his expression concerned but excited.

  “Seriously? Are you serious? This is happening?”

  I hold my palms out over the puddle of liquid that has gathered under my ample thighs, like a spokesmodel introducing a new prize.

  “Yeah… I think my water broke. I mean this is water. Coming out of me. Definitely looks like that’s what’s going on.”

  Breathlessly he pumps his fist in victory, then collects himself and reaches down under my elbow to help me to standing.

  Carefully I take a couple of steps, and realize walking is really not a problem. I’m fine. It’s nice to have him guiding me, hanging onto me, but I can do this.

  “You need an ambulance?”

  “Nope,” I reassure him. “I’m great. Walking is supposed to be good for labor anyway.”

  Chance appears again in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re in labor!” Jack announces proudly.

  “Seriously? For real?”

  I roll my eyes. “You guys are not going to ask a bunch of stupid questions all day long, are you?”

  “Okay, okay,” Chance nods, not offended at all. “You’re right. We will try to keep the Captain Obvious jokes to a minimum.”

  “Let’s be real, there will be some joking,” Jack adds.

  “I expect nothing less,” I smile as I waddle toward the front door where my emergency hospital bag has been for the last two weeks. “Hey, do you think you could get me something else to wear besides this bikini? It doesn’t really seem like the way that I want to bring our child into the world.”

  Jack continues to hold onto me so Chance runs off, returning with a pretty blue dress, the kind that just slips over my head. With deliberate, deft affection, they dress me in a flash. I feel like a fairy princess. A really giant, swollen fairy princess.

  Even the driver must be excited, because I can hear the brakes screeching when he stops in front of the front door. He bursts in, his face red.

  “Thanks!” Chance says.

  For a second, we all stand there. A family, ready to add a member. Chance and Jack crowd around me, caging me in their strong arms, huddled together like some kind of rugby team. The kids grab their jackets and shoes. We pass a silent message to each other of encouragement and love. Yes, love. This is it. This is us.

  Here we go.

  About the Author

  Jess Bentley is a contemporary romance author who adores writing about adventurous young women — and the hot sexy men who love them. She spends her days reading and writing, tending to her flower garden and growing vegetables, as well as playing the guitar.

  For Jess’s author page, click here!

  To hear about the newest books and giveaways, and get a free book, click here!

  For more information

  authorjessbentley@gmail.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Preface

  Bella

  Who would have thought that I, Bella Cage, the serious and virginal Bella Cage I might add, would ever be in a menage? Much less have my own happy ever after with two gorgeous, handsome beasts of men?

  If you asked me a year ago if I thought I’d even have a boyfriend by now, I would have laughed in your face. Then I’d have gone back to the cozy spot on my couch and opened the computer. I would’ve tamped down my loneliness with work, and later that night, given my vibe a bit of a workout.

  But — sometimes magic will play its part in your life, when you least expect it.

  When we grow up, we think fairy tales are just that, children’s stories, but the truth is, fairy tales come from our lives. Don’t we all have a wicked witch in our midst at one time or another, even if she’s doesn’t have green skin or isn’t decked out in a pointy black hat? Maybe we don’t even notice for a while, since we’re fooled by the fact that she drives a Ferrari instead of riding a straw broom.

  And don’t we all have our temptations, the dark roads into murky forests where we know we shouldn’t go, but against all odds, that’s exactly where we find ourselves? Magic is all around us — it just looks different these days than we ever were led to expect, so we miss it.

  Perhaps the most surprising and exciting thing: when two handsome, strong, sexy, hard beasts are involved, fairy tales are anything but children’s stories.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. Read on to find out what happened to me once upon a time…

  Chapter 1

  Bella

  This is how I like to spend my morning. Sitting here in my robe with a cappuccino in one hand, breathing in. The small table in my bedroom is strewn with lipsticks and eyeliner pencils, pots of shadow in too many hues to count. The browser is open to my stats page and I watch, almost in real time, as the clicks are recalculated on my latest article.

  120,000 shares. 96,000 tweets.

  This is good. This is really good. And it's a nice way to start my morning, because this article, entitled 19 Ways Your Mascara Isn't Doing You Any Favors, is the last one of many. Too many. No more makeup bargain comparisons, no more lists of sex positions. No more “most embarrassing moments” or “fun and crazy facts about vintage hairstyles.” I’m finally through with all of that.

  I’m going back to serious personal journalism with a wave of loyal followers and a healthy bank account. It’s not just my passion, it was supposed to be my job. After I won that Reinert Fellowship, everybody wanted me. I could have had my pick of jobs in publishing, writing essays or screenplays, even. But I came to work with my bestie from middle school, and social media came along, turning everything on its head. The whole industry.

  I should be grateful I still have a job — and in some ways I am, definitely — but I hate these fluff pieces. I hate that Hannah insists that I keep writing them, even more. But even I have to admit that they sure do get great stats. I’ve got two million Instagram and Twitter followers and a half million subscribers on the TurnPost main site. That makes me “influential,” they tell me.

  I think it’s weird. None of those people realize that 90% of my job is sitting at home in my jammies talking to my computer. They wouldn’t even give me a second look if they could see me in real time right now. Unless it was a look back to make sure the crazy lady wasn’t following them.

  I sit here for another minute, nearly done with my makeup but thinking I could stick around to see the stats click over to 121,000 shares. That could totally happen. Then I’ll be able to leave for my meeting, already feeling pretty good about myself.

  I really needed this one to hit the mark, and it did, but it was kind of a surprise. You wouldn't think that mascara was something people felt deeply enough about to share, but it turns out this is just one of those unspoken frustrations every woman has. Tubes that run out too fast, layers that don't thicken up. Black smudges under your eyes just as you're talking to somebody you really want to connect with. You're talking to them, and they are really meeting your eyes. Really connecting, really listening to you. Or so you think, until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the tiny mirror next to your monitor in your cubicle. Thumb-shaped smudges of black ring your eyes that must have accumulated while you weren't paying attention. This conversation you're having, this deep conversation with all the connection and whatnot? No. They were just looking at you and your makeup malfunction. It’s a disaster.

  That’s how mascara can let you down. There are also eighteen other ways, if you’re counting.

 
Somehow, this dumb listicle turned into a statement about how no matter what we try to do, someone else's failure is always jumping in the middle to mess everything up. I wonder why...

  So I struck a nerve, which is every writer’s goal, right? You don't always know what is going to happen, but sometimes some effortless observation will plop down onto the page and other people will let you know that they really needed to hear that.

  Like here, in hard numbers: 120,560 shares on Facebook. That's how many people felt like their mascara — just that one humble accessory — had really screwed up their lives too, come to think of it.

  Come on, 120,561.

  But it's getting pretty late. I need to get going and I'm not getting up to 121,000 quite fast enough, so I set the ceramic mug down on the desk and slip out of my robe, absentmindedly picking my Calvin Klein sheath dress off the chair and pulling it carefully over my newly-waxed legs. As I zip up the side zipper, I see the stat tick over to 120,802. Oh, this could happen.

  Come on. Just one hundred and ninety-eight more people who love me, and I can get out the door with confidence. Go grab the future by the balls, like they say.

  Today's the day! No more listicles! No more lifestyle pieces!

  I execute a little fist pump in the mirror, twisting to one side and then the other, checking out my figure. Does this look like the dress one wears to one's triumphant comeback meeting? I think it does.

  My long brown hair falls in even waves over my shoulders, acceptably shiny and healthy looking. Some of the Kevin Murphy products that I was sent in the mail really helped with my split ends. Despite what my mother always told me, with that bossy quaver in her voice, the expensive stuff really does do a better job.

  I walk around my queen-size bed, pulling the pink satin comforter neatly back up to the pillows. There's no sense in leaving a bed unmade, I suppose. I may not have anyone to impress, and heaven knows nobody but I will even see it, but it's just something I do for myself.