Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection

by Nikki Bolvair

  His hands ghost over my body, learning my adult shape. For a moment, I worry that my hips are fuller, my stomach softer, but the reverence in his touch sweeps away all of my insecurities.

  He drifts down to my waistband, then back up, this time under my flannel, and his fingers spread against my bare back, counting the bumps of my spine, the ridges of my ribcage, as if committing my form to memory through touch.

  Emboldened, I sit up, my lips stinging and swollen from his kiss, and slowly begin to unbutton my shirt. His breath catches, and he lifts a hand to delicately trace my collar bone. As I get to the button between my breasts, he pushes the shirt off my shoulder, his palms sweeping over the rounded slopes.

  I shiver at the exploration, body flush with heat.

  “Keep going,” his rough voice urges, and I realize my fingers stilled over the next button.

  Fumbling, I push it through the loop, and the shirt slips lower to reveal the curve of my breasts. With the next button, it slips even lower, only the hard peeks of my nipples preventing it from falling around my waist.

  His fingers gently sweep along the upper swell of my breast, down the valley between them, then along the fragile barrier of my shirt. I shiver, and the shirt falls to leave me exposed.

  His breath catches. “Vonnie, you’re beautiful.”

  “You, too.” I reach for the hem of his shirt. “I want to see you, too.”

  Hurriedly, he lifts the shirt up and yanks it over his head. He throws it off to the side before his hands come back to my waist, thumbs sweeping along my ribs, teasingly close to my aching breasts without actually touching them.

  I stare down at the long lines of his chest and stomach, and his muscles contract reflexively to form hard ridges. A light dusting of hair covers his pecs with a trail that arrows down to swirl around his belly button before disappearing beneath his waistband.

  My palms flatten over his stomach, fingers spread wide to touch as much as possible, but it’s not enough. I lean down to press us together and moan at the warm heat of his skin against mine, the tickle of hair against my nipples, the flex of muscle against my belly.

  His chest heaves beneath me with gentle pants as he cups the back of my head to bring my mouth back to his. Our tongues twine together in an ancient dance, relived over our many lives together.

  His knees lift, and his hard cock presses into me more fully, the barrier of our clothes a frustration as my body yearns to complete this bond with him. Desperate, I reach between our bodies to fumble with the button on his jeans. It pops open, and the zipper slides down as I reach inside to wrap my hands around his erection.

  He groans and bucks beneath my touch before pushing me upright once more. Panting, he stares up at me through glassy eyes. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”

  At the words, my hand tightens around him, and he groans again, hips flexing into my touch. A damp spot forms on his underwear, and I sweep my thumb across it. His fingers dig into my thighs as he teeters on the edge.

  With his messy brown hair splayed out on the mattress, and his eyes half closed in pleasure, he looks glorious beneath me. Quickly, I wiggle out of my sweats and help him out of his pants before I straddle him once more.

  He cups my ass, fingers digging into the generous flesh as he positions himself against my entrance. My hands press against his chest as I slowly lower myself onto him. It’s been years since I last did this, and my muscles protest the stretch as he slides into my body. I moan, head thrown back, and I seat myself on him fully. His long cock presses against my womb, and I rock against him, body quickly adjusting to his size as he slides in and out of my wet channel.

  Still for a moment, with teeth gritted, he lets me pleasure myself before he grips my hips, his knees bending as he thrusts up as I push down. A startled cry escapes me, pleasure shooting through my body, more intense than before, and he repeats the motion until I cry and clutch at his shoulders.

  One hand leaves my hips to press into my spine, pushing my body into a position that allows my clit to rub against him with every thrust. Our mouths find each other in a hot, messy kiss as my body tightens, toes curling as pressure builds inside, then explodes. My breath stops, locked inside my lungs as the pleasure pulses through me, milking the orgasm from Davin. Deep inside me, his cock pulses with release.

  I slump over him, panting into his neck as my heart slows. His tight hold on me turns to sweet caresses once more as he strokes my back. He turns his head, lips against my temple as he whispers, “I love you, Vonnie.”

  Pushing myself up, I whisper my own confession against his mouth. “I love you, too, Dav.”

  ~

  By the time Jameson and Hughe get back, the sky outside has begun to lighten. Davin and I sit at the kitchen table, freshly showered and languid with contentment. My body aches deliciously in places I forgot could ache, which makes drinking my bitter tea completely worth it.

  As Davin sips on a mug of coffee, his eyes drift to me every so often, ripe with new knowledge, and we goofily smile at each other. When Jameson and Hugh stomp inside, cheeks red from the cold, they hurry to join us. Hughe tosses a duffle bag toward the hall, where it lands with a loud thump. I cast a curious glance toward it, but don’t comment. If they think they’re going to sneakily move it, I’ll play along.

  “Did you make anything for breakfast?” Hughe asks as he pulls down two mugs from the cupboard and passes one to Jameson.

  “There’s cereal.” I point to the box on the counter with a happy face poised over wheat flakes.

  Jameson wrinkles his nose, offended. “That’s not even the good stuff.”

  “If you want pancakes, you have to make them yourself. I burn everything.” Davin catches my eye, and we share another soft smile.

  Hughe flops into the chair across from his brother and stares at us, eyebrows raised. “What’s up with you two?”

  “Nothing.” Heat fills my cheeks, and Davin’s ears turn pink. I hide my face with my teacup, before asking, “Did Tomas help you get what you needed?”

  “Your brother’s way too chipper in the morning,” Jameson complains as he takes the seat across from me, a steaming mug in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other. “But, yes, we got the runner. Dav and I can take the measurements and cut it tonight, then I’ll help Hughe attach it tomorrow.”

  Hughe’s foot nudges mine under the table. “Since when are you a tea drinker first thing in the morning?”

  My cheeks heat even more as I mumble, “Sometimes, it’s a nice change.”

  As he sniffs the air, his nose wrinkles. “What flavor is that? It smells like the stuff Mom forced on us when we were sick.”

  Jameson straightens with concern. “Are you getting sick, Sibby? Maybe you should stay home today. Those steps aren’t safe anyway. You shouldn’t be walking up and down them.”

  Chugging the rest of my bitter brew, I stand to refill the cup with coffee. With my back to them, I wave away Jameson’s worry. “I’m fine, and I can’t call in to work. There’s no one to back me up.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Flanagan would be happy to stand in,” Jameson insists.

  Affronted, I spin around to glare at him. “I’m not interrupting her marriage week!”

  “That’s true.” Jameson’s gaze skitters away from mine and worry fills my chest.

  Is he uncomfortable talking about the Thread Reader? Even after all this time, does the idea of being tied to someone by fate still make him want to run?

  I check my wrist watch. “I need to get downstairs to open up.”

  “But you still have twenty minutes,” Hughe protests. “We’ve barely gotten to see you this morning.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have hurried off in the middle of the night,” I snap. “Tomas could have brought what you needed over before you guys got back here tonight.”

  “Told you so,” Davin says into his cup of coffee.

  Setting my full mug on the counter, I pull my coat off the back of my chair a
nd shrug into it before dropping a kiss onto Davin’s hair. He leans his head back and tugs me down for a real kiss, his mouth hot with memories, and my pulse leaps into hyper-speed as my body reminds me of all the other places he touched earlier. When I straighten, I meet Jameson’s and Hughe’s surprised gazes and tug my coat closed.

  “Well, then, be safe at work today!” I quickly kiss Jameson, his cheek rough against my lips, and circle around to Hughe.

  He accepts my fast kiss against his temple, then seems to regain control of himself and makes a grab for me. I wiggle out of reach, slapping his hands away, and he growls, “I want a kiss like Davin’s.”

  I bop him on the nose. “Then be here when I wake up in the morning.”

  As I open the door, I hear Jameson. “That’s it, we’re moving in.”

  Davin, ever the cautious, points out. “Shouldn’t we ask first?”

  “I’m pretty sure that was an invitation just now.” Hughe glances to the door and catches me still there listening. He winks, a roguish smile on his lips. “And if it wasn’t, I don’t care. We’re moving in.”

  Warmed all over, I close the door without commenting.

  No Distance

  I wipe sweat from my brow and stare at the tables lined up around the room. We’ll definitely need to expand into the dance hall soon. Mr. Nagel kept everything. Dishes, glasses, and serving wear fill one table, while another groans beneath the weight of hundreds of books. I’d tried alphabetizing them at the beginning, but as more and more boxes appeared, I gave up the effort, deciding it would be better to do that at the end.

  Another table holds boxes of pictures and albums. I can’t see the owners of Lapton Main Gallery wanting to hold onto them. The town elders will probably want to go through those and take the ones that have sentimental value to their families.

  Against one wall, three boxes hold nothing but door knobs. Then there were the parts that I assume must have been from his ship building. I kept those off to one side, unsure how to sort them. Since Mr. Nagel passed away without an apprentice to fill his shoes, no one in town would know what to do with the parts. We really needed another boat crafter. Right now, the fishermen have to haul their ships to Shrieve Port for repairs.

  Dust fills the air as I rip open another box, and I sneeze, my nose running.

  My shoulders ache from working all day, and I raise my arms over my head in a full body stretch. How much more could Mr. Nagel have stored in that attic?

  The bell over the front door chimes to alert me to a visitor, and I rush out of the room. “I’ll be right with you!”

  “It’s just us, Shiv!” Hughe calls.

  A moment later, heavy steps fill the hall as the triplets arrive with more boxes.

  I back up into the community hall, hands on my hips. “How many more loads, do you think?”

  “We should be done on Saturday, if they don’t mind us coming on the weekend.” Hughe grunts as he sets his load down against the left wall, the space dedicated to new arrival.

  My shoulders slump at the news. “That long?”

  “This is the last load for the day, and we’re about halfway through the attic.” Jameson sets his box down next, and then straightens to rub the back of his neck. “There’s some larger pieces that we’re going to have trouble with. I hope they’ll fit on the elevator.”

  “What kind of pieces?” I reach for the pair of gloves stuffed into my back pocket and pull them on as Davin sets his load down. While they insisted I didn’t need to help unload, it went faster with an extra set of hands.

  “One looks like a figurehead from a ship.” Davin sounds excited as we tromp back down the hall, and I prop the door open to make it easier. “I’ll need to go to the library to verify, but it might be from one of the founder’s ships.”

  “That would be amazing.” His excitement is infectious, and I bounce on my toes. “If the owners donated that to the community center, it could go alongside the wheel. The townsfolk would love to see them together after all these years.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He claps his hands together and dust flies out of his gloves. “We could save it for an unveiling after we get the updates done to the center. It would be a nice feature item to draw people in.”

  I laugh as I accept the box Hughe hands me. “They’ll come regardless, just to be nosy.”

  Jameson’s arm bumps against my shoulder as he walks back toward the door with his own load. “But they’ll stay because they’ll love what you’ve done to the place.”

  “I hope so.” As I follow after him, my lips purse. “I’m more worried they’ll think I’m crazy for messing with tradition.”

  At the back of our procession, Hughe raises his voice. “There’s a big difference between tradition and old. The community center is just old.”

  As my boots scuff over the dull, parquet floor, I can’t argue with his assessment. I know Mrs. Flanagan did her best with conditioning the old wood every Saturday night, but time won over her diligence. The wallpaper in the hall, which I’m sure was once a fashionable yellow, now, looks dated, and it peels in some places. One of my first tasks when I began working here was to go around with a glue bottle to tack the corners back in place.

  On my third pass back out the front door, my eyes catch on the clock, and I stumble to a stop. Oh, no. Book Club. Jameson bumps into me from behind, then catches my arms to keep me from stumbling.

  I twist around. “I need to wash up. The book club is going to be here in ten minutes.”

  “That’s fine, we can unload the rest.” He glances past me to the truck, still three quarters full. “Will we be in the way?”

  “No, I’ll close the door.” I rub my face and groan. “I didn’t finish reading the book. I completely lost track of time.”

  He pulls us off to the side to let Davin and Hughe pass. They glance at us with concern, but Jameson waves them on. “How far did you get?”

  “I don’t remember.” Thumping my head against his chest, I draw strength from his solid body. His large hands rub soothing circles into my back, content to hold me for a moment.

  With a deep breath, I straighten and walk behind the counter. I pull off my gloves and stuff them into my back pocket before digging out my copy of Trapped by the Traveler and the stack of notecards I had started. The bookmark sticks out two thirds of the way through, and I have to struggle to even remember what the story is about. This isn’t going to be my best day.

  In an effort to jog my memory, I flip through the cards and leave gray fingerprints behind. Sighing in frustration, I set them aside and glance up, surprised to find Jameson standing quietly on the other side of the counter.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I give him a wane smile. “Get back to work. I’m just going to go wash up and get the cookies and tea ready.”

  “Okay.” His gaze drops to the book on the counter.

  The cover shows a scene of a man clinging to the leg of a Traveler woman. The woman wears the skins of animals and holds a long rifle in one hand as she gazes off into the distance. Her other hand rests affectionately on top of the man’s head in a gesture of protectiveness.

  I blush and stammer, “Mrs. Moran suggested this week’s read. It’s a wonderful look into the Travelers’ history and shows the juxtaposition between caravan living to being in a city.”

  His mouth kicks up in one corner. “I’m not judging you, Sibby.” He nods toward the hall. “Go wash up.”

  Spinning on one heel, I hurry away, my face hot with embarrassment. It reminds me of the first time I participated in Book Club and realized the kind of stories the old ladies liked to read.

  In the kitchen, I quickly wash my hands and splash water on my face. For a brief moment, I consider running upstairs to change, but I really don’t have the time. Hopefully, after a quick brush-off, the dark sweater and jeans I chose for work today will hide what dirt remains.

  I prep the teapot and pour the hot water over the herbal blend, letting it steep as I gather the coo
kies and arrange them on the serving platter. The half empty box of lemon drops reminds me I wanted to talk to Mr. McArthur about supplying the baked goods for the community centers evening events. They would be so much better than the store bought ones, and it would give Mrs. Flanagan an excuse to continue to come to the center.

  Darcy’s voice travels down the hall just as I set the refreshments down in the conference room. Hurrying, I unstack the chairs to form a circle, and then rush from the room. My steps slow as I near the front, and I pull in a couple deep breaths to slow my heart rate. I can wing it this time. It will be okay. And next week, I’ll make sure to read my book before I let the triplets pull me into a horror movie marathon.

  When I reach the front room, I find not only Darcy, but Mrs. Moran and Mrs. Buckley already there. They have Hughe cornered this time. His wide eyes find me over their heads, and he mouths Help me.

  Grinning, I join the group. “Darcy, thank you so much for the casserole. Hughe here couldn’t stop raving about it.”

  Today, a glittering fuchsia headband holds back her pink curls, and they bounce with happiness as she peers up at him. “I was hoping our wee Siobhan would share with you three. I put extra effort into that masterpiece.”

  “I could tell.” His eyes narrow on me. “It was memorable.”

  She reaches up to pat his chest. “I’ll send over another next week. Large boys like you need the extra carbs.”

  “No, it’s protein they need,” Mrs. Buckley grins, her dentures extra bright today. “Eggs. Lots of eggs. Preferably raw, or so I hear.”

  Hughe turns a little green, and I force my face to stay straight. “Shall we adjourn to the conference room, ladies, and let the O’Brien’s finish their work?”

  “When do we get a look at the goods?” Mrs. Moran demands as she peers out toward the work truck. “That old coot was stingy with everything he owned.”