10 MEN: A MEGA MENAGE REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE (HUGE SERIES Book 7)

by Stephanie Brother

  “How about you play with your clothes,” Blake says, his eyes flashing wickedly. They’re bright green and kinda mesmerizing. Combined with his swept up dark brown hair and beard, he’s a mysterious looking guy. Mysterious looking but pretty damn obvious when it comes to his intentions. Little does he know I’ve got a good chance of thrashing his ass.

  I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I guess I’ll have to if I want to join in, won’t I?”

  Ford eyes me suspiciously. “You sure, princess? We’re pretty good. I wouldn’t want you getting yourself in too deep.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I say.

  “Want us to play for clothes, too?” Blake asks.

  “Nah. You guys can stick to the bills, if you like.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that we’re about to get hustled?” Ford laughs.

  I give them a small smile, still trying to give nothing away.

  “What have we missed?” Antony asks, as he and Elliot rejoin us in the den.

  “Poker night arrangements,” Aaron says, over the top of the book he’s been reading. It’s something very boring looking with businessmen on the cover. I’m as studious as the rest but I draw the line at reading boring books for pleasure. If he wanted to read, he could have done that at home.

  “You got any cash?” Ford asks his brothers.

  Elliot pulls out a wallet and so does Antony.

  Aaron doesn’t look as though he has any intention of joining us. “I’ll sub you,” Ford tells Donnie, and chucks him a wad. “$200 bucks should keep you going for a while.”

  Damn. That is a lot of money for a small family game.

  “Where’s Laura’s cash?” Elliot asks, opening his wallet as if to give me some.

  “She’s playing for her clothes.”

  “Seriously,” Antony says, running his hands through his hair. “My night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Wanna deal then, Ford?”

  He winks at me and deals the cards. I slide mine off the table being careful not to show anyone. It’s a good hand but I’m not in it for the short game. I wanna take these boys to the cleaners and I’m only going to do it if I let them think I’m a novice. We play out the game and I fold prematurely, watching the way the boys play, looking for little tells that will help me in later rounds. I take off my shirt, grateful that I put a tank on underneath. Eyes widen.

  We continue this way. I’m down to my tank and jeans by the time I start to play properly, choosing to lose my socks, earrings and watch first. I love watching their eyes widen when I win my first round. By the third, Ford is shaking his head and Blake looks pissed. I’m $400 up and still decent. The night is going very well.

  The next round is a little more complicated and I lose to Elliot. I’ve used up all the easily sacrificial items already so the only thing I have left to play with is my jeans or my tank. Either way, I’m getting a little more undressed than I planned. All eyes are on me. I contemplate pulling out of the game but I know that Blake wouldn’t let me live that down. His eyes are challenging me, waiting to see if I’m going to have the guts to continue. I’m thinking that getting down to my bra is going to give me even more of an advantage. There is no way these boys will be able to concentrate as well as they have been with my boobs on show. Add to the fact that the bra I’m wearing is pretty sheer. This could just work in my favor.

  I start to take off my top and the conversation that had been going on between the McGregor brothers dies into silence. I fold it neatly, not meeting any of their eyes and put it in the middle of the table. “You dealing then?” I ask as I look around. All eyes are on my boobs and I want to laugh at how easy it is to make men forget what they are supposed to be doing.

  “Errr, yeah,” Ford says. His hands don’t look as sure as they did when I was fully clothed which is cute because he’s already seen these babies bare and he’s still all flustered.

  I get my cards and they are amazing. Three kings and I’m looking for a forth. Blake is pretending to look happy but I can see from the way his nose is a little pinched that he’s going to be bluffing if he pushes forward. The round plays out. Elliot folds pretty much immediately. Ford is in but I’m not thinking that he has much to show for himself. Blake seems determined to go all the way, though. In the end, I’m just up against Blake. All the way I’ve tried not to seem over confident. This game is so much about the way you play it. I have everything inside me crossed because there is a whole heap of money on the table and I don’t want to be sitting here in my panties next round. Even more so because Blake really needs taking down a peg or two.

  Ford is watching me with a sparkle in his eye. Elliot’s gaze flicks between us. When I turn to Donnie I notice that he’s found a pen and a scrappy piece of paper and he’s started to sketch. His dark curls are flopping over his furrowed brow, teeth biting his lip in concentration. I guess the site of my almost naked body has inspired him so much he’s lost interest in the game. It’s kind of sweet the way he’s so passionate about his art. It’s something I’ve noticed about each of the McGregor brothers that I’ve gotten to know. They all have something outside of their day jobs that inspires them. For Grant it’s animals, Donnie art, Ford is outdoors pursuits and Elliot is exercise. I wonder what inspires the other brothers.

  I turn my attention back to Blake who, for a moment, has dropped his cocky façade. I’m wondering what’s going to happen but then he calls. I lay my cards out. Three kings and two tens. Blake groans. He has two pairs and it isn’t enough.

  “Damn,” Antony laughs when I scoop the pot.

  “You’re moving,” Donnie complains.

  I give him the side eye. “It would have been polite to ask first, Donnie,” I tell him, taking my tank and pulling it back on. I gather the cash that I’ve won and count it out. Across the whole game I’m eight-hundred-dollars up. Not a bad result and I think it’s time for me to quit while I’m ahead. This money will come in useful when this weekend is over.

  “Hey,” Blake complains. “What are you doing?”

  “I think it’s time I went to bed,” I say. “Before I take all your money.”

  “Or we take all your clothes,” Blake replies.

  I look down at myself to make a point.

  “That isn’t looking very likely,” Ford laughs. “I think we’ve been sharked.”

  “Yeah,” Blake grumbles. “Seems like Little-Miss-Innocent isn’t that new to poker.”

  I shrug. “I may have played a few games before.”

  “You have a very good poker face,” Elliot says.

  “Not when she’s fucking,” Ford says.

  I grab a pillow and chuck it at him. “What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom, Ford. Didn’t your dad teach you any manners?”

  “We’re all friends here,” Ford says, hurling the pillow back.

  “Can I finish drawing you?” Donnie asks. He turns his paper and I’m stunned at the likeness he’s managed to capture in such a short amount of time. The boy has skills. “It’s just preliminary sketch. I want to take it forward in oils.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “He sells his paintings for a lot of money, you know,” Aaron says defensively, as though I’m trying to belittle his brother. He’s so prickly, like a grumpy old hedgehog.

  “I can believe that,” I say, “but I’m not sure how I’d feel about my half naked body hanging on someone else’s wall.”

  “Would it help if I agreed to keep it?” he asks.

  I snort. “I don’t know if I like the idea of my almost naked body hanging on your wall either.”

  “I could give it to you,” Donnie says. “It’s just that when I find a muse…”

  “. . .he can’t let it go,” Antony finishes.

  “Remember Casey’s girlfriend,” Elliot says. “What was her name?”

  Ford leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head. “You mean Angela?”

  “Yeah. That wa
s her name. Angela. Casey caught Donnie sketching her while she was asleep by the pool.”

  Antony shakes his head. “That was not a pretty show.”

  “I thought you boys are all about the sharing,” I laugh.

  “Sometimes, we are,” Ford grins, “but it’s all about the rules of engagement.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, there has to be an understanding. You can’t just sidle up to someone’s girlfriend and get with her. That’s not cool.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get with her,” Donnie says. “I just wanted to paint her.”

  “You still should have asked,” Aaron pipes up. Always the one reinforcing the rules. “You know how Casey can get.”

  “The C twins are into boxing,” Elliot explains. I vaguely remember reading about that in a gossip column while I was doing my pre-moving in research stalking. “It’s a way of channeling all their excessive aggression.”

  “Dad hates it,” Aaron says.

  “He hated it even more when Casey turned it on my face.” Donnie winces at the thought.

  “You had that black eye for weeks,” Antony reminds him.

  “It was worth it,” Donnie says. “I still have the finished painting in my studio.”

  Ford begins to pack up the cards. “You just liked it because she had her legs open.”

  Donnie blushes. “She had good legs.”

  “Yeah she did.”

  “Better not go reminding Casey about this,” Ford warns. “You know how he gets.”

  “It’s been eight years,” Donnie says. “He dumped her seven and a half years ago!”

  “Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” Ford says. “Especially the ones driven by jealousy.”

  Donnie sits forward in his chair, seemingly getting agitated. “I didn’t want to fuck her. I told him that. It’s about art.”

  “Is it about art with Laura?” Antony asks. I’ve noticed that he has an edge to his cheekiness, as though he enjoys poking people in their sensitive areas to see what kind of a reaction he can get. I don’t think Antony is malicious as such, more that he enjoys the verbal sparring game.

  Donnie blushes and I actually feel sorry for him. He’s definitely the most sensitive of all the brothers I’ve gotten to know so far and they all seem to enjoy making him feel uncomfortable.

  “Whether he does or he doesn’t is pretty irrelevant, would you say,” I tell Antony sternly. “He’s not asking to fuck me right now, is he? He’s asking to draw me.”

  “So what’s the big deal?” Antony says. “If it’s so innocuous, then let him do it.”

  The challenge is set. I have two choices and neither are very appealing. If I say no, then Antony has won in this stupid battle, and if I say yes, I have to let Donnie sketch me in my underwear which I’m not exactly sold on either. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

  But in the end I think I feel that Donnie needs more of an ally here than Antony does.

  “Come on then,” I tell him. “You can finish your sketch but I’m not taking my top off in here again. Let’s go to Ford’s bedroom.”

  Ford gives a low whistle of approval and I give him a withering look. “We’re not in kindergarten, Ford.”

  He puts his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m being an immature idiot. I get it.”

  “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Antony calls after us as I lead Donnie out of the den.

  “And that will put absolutely no restrictions on anything,” Aaron says, laughing. I’m not sure the laugh suits him. It sounds way too jolly, but I’m pleased to see that he actually has it in him to make a joke.

  This could be a huge mistake.

  14

  In the bedroom, I’m uncertain about how this is going to work. “Where do you want me?” I ask.

  Donnie pulls a chair from the corner. “Can you sit up on the bed? Try and get as close to the position you were sitting in when I started to sketch you.”

  I tug my tank over my head, avoiding looking directly at Donnie who I can see is settling himself on the chair and resting the half-finished drawing on his knee. I take a seat, leaning back against the headboard. I’m conscious of my stomach bulging a little over my jeans so I suck it in a little.

  “Just relax,” he says gently.

  Our eyes meet as he pulls his pencil from behind his ear.

  I sit as still as I can, listening to the scratch of his drawing and the soft sound of his breathing. In the background there is the occasional rumble of laughter from the den. It sounds like the rest of the boys are enjoying each other’s company.

  As time passes I gradually relax. It’s funny how shy you can feel when you first reveal yourself to someone but as time passes, you no longer feel exposed.

  The room is a little cold and I can feel the skin on my arms turning to goose flesh. My nipples harden, too. Donnie clears his throat and I wonder if he’s noticed.

  Stupid thought. Of course he must have noticed. In the den he’d mostly completed my face and arm so I now I assume he’s working on the detail of my torso.

  I’ve never been the kind of person who is comfortable in silence for too long. I feel compelled to fill it whenever I can.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I ask him

  “My dad says I picked up a pencil when I was just over a year old and never wanted to let it go.”

  “Sounds like it’s in your bones,” I say.

  I can’t look at his reaction which is a little frustrating. There’s a long pause. “Do you believe in reincarnation?” he asks me.

  “You mean that people die and can be born again as a fly or a donkey or something.”

  “Well, not so much the fly or the donkey bit. More that we might have been here before.”

  “Like a past life thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  To be honest I’d never thought about it but I know that some people really feel like they can recall living before. I’ve read a few stories in magazines and always felt a little skeptical. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “I…I’ve always felt like art is in my veins. . .like I’ve lived before and this was my passion. Even from when I was at preschool, I had this instinct for it. I don’t know.”

  “I guess, when you have a talent like you obviously do, it must be hard to try and explain where it comes from. You’re searching for an otherworldly answer but maybe you should just accept that it’s all you.”

  “My dad told me that God tosses out special talents some times. I just got lucky.”

  “I’m not sure I can envisage God tossing anything out, Donnie. If he was responsible for your talent, then it was a gift and one that you should really treasure.”

  “I do,” he says softly. “I just wish I could spend more time doing it.”

  “Why don’t you?” I ask. I guess I assumed that it would be his full time gig.

  “I have to do all the marketing design for the business,” he says. “I just do this in my spare time.”

  “But that’s crazy,” I say. “With your talent, you could be really successful.”

  Donnie doesn’t reply and I turn to look at him. His shoulders are slumped as though he’s been defeated.

  “Have you all had to give up your passions for your father’s business?” I ask.

  “The business belongs to all of us,” Donnie says defensively. “Dad has worked himself to the bone to make a success for us.”

  “I can see that,” I say. “And you guys are lucky to be in such a great position but the business is your dad’s passion. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you guys to all have time to indulge your own passions a bit more.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “Don’t let Dad hear you talking like that, though. Not if you’re thinking about joining the family in the way that he is hoping you will.”

  Donnie’s eyes meet mine again at this point, the color of them almost dove gray in the low light of the room. There’s something so otherworldly about them that I almost ge
t a sense of a person from another era existing within him.

  “Don’t you think what he wants for you all is crazy?” I ask softly. “Surely you want a woman who can be all your own.”

  “It’s what we know,” Donnie says. He leans back in his seat, his drawing temporarily forgotten. “We didn’t have the traditional childhood. You know that dad paid for us. . .we were all born from surrogates.”

  I didn’t know that and suddenly so much of why the McGregor’s are the way they are falls into place. “You didn’t know your mom?” I ask.

  Donnie shakes his head. “I have a photo and a letter. I know that she was an artist, too. Not a very successful one. I think that’s why she was a surrogate, for the money.”

  “She was pretty successful,” I say and Donnie looks confused. “She created you. I’d say that was a pretty huge achievement.”

  He smiles gently. “Thanks.”

  “So this plan that your dad has, is just like a continuation of what you’ve been brought up with?”

  Donnie nods and looks wistful. “Dad has his own way. He’s not constrained by society’s expectations.”

  “And what do you think about me for the choice?”

  Donnie’s cheeks pink immediately. “I don’t think Dad could have done any better,” he says, looking away as though he’s embarrassed. I don’t know how to respond. It’s seriously flattering that all these gorgeous men are so into the idea of being with me. Seriously hard for me to believe, too.

  I know I’m not the perfect woman by any stretch of the imagination. My stomach is rounded, my hips and thighs too broad. My nose is a little too wide and my chin a little too pointed. I always look at myself with a critical eye which used to infuriate my mom. She told me that I’m beautiful exactly as I am, but moms are biased.

  I know that I can be a little sharp with my tongue, too.

  Surely, there are other girls out there who would be better. Sexier girls. Girls from richer families with all the airs and graces that come with a privileged upbringing.

  “I’m not special,” I tell him. “Not special enough for this.” I feel suddenly tearful and overwhelmed. In a way the pressure of this is weighing on me. They all seem so convinced I can be this person. The glue to their future relationships, their way to fulfill their dad’s request, but I know I’m not enough.