Alphas: Supes and Badboys (8 Books in One)

by Myles, Eden

  Thank god! I thought, though I stayed exactly where I was for the next few minutes. Very distantly, I could hear the first whine of an approaching fire truck. I took that as a good sign that help was on its way and slipped out from behind the Mustang, hoping to make a beeline for the corridor.

  But as I started that way, someone grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me back against his body. Clark. I tried to fight and kick, but I was just too small to do much damage.

  “You fucking bitch! Did you think you could outwit me?”

  The box cutter flashed across the side of my face. The blade caught me at the top of my cheekbone and slashed my skin at a diagonal, peeling back a good flap of flesh. I didn’t feel pain, just a sickening numbness as my blood painted the side of the Mustang. I screamed through blood and panic, so loud that Clark actually let me go. I fell down onto my knees, then scrambled up and made for the exit into the corridor. Clark swore and I heard the pounding of his feet as he pursued me.

  I was now running on pure adrenaline. Desperate, I covered the long, dark corridor in seconds, turned the bend…and nearly ran straight into Dorian, who was standing there in a long, dark grey raincoat, a dangerous expression on his face. I marveled but did not question this miracle. I ran straight into his arm and he looped one long arm around me even as Clark pounded around the corner toward us.

  He suddenly stopped, and as I turned around, I saw he wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He hadn’t expected to see someone like Dorian in the college corridors in the middle of the night.

  “You!” Dorian boomed, and his striking blue eyes held a peculiar kind of dangerous fire. He stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body.

  Clark stopped, dropped the knife, and immediately turned and headed back down the corridor, only to stop once more. Damian was stepping out of the Automotive Garage, dressed exactly like his brother, in a similar coat that managed to hide all his tattoos so they were identical. Clark stuttered at the sight of two men who looked exactly alike. He couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of his situation.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Damian asked with a cruel, lopsided smile on his face. He was carrying a tire iron from the garage, slapping the heavy piece of iron against his open palm.

  Clark turned, looking for an escape, but then immediately stopped as Dorian closed the distance between them, forcing Clark to back up closer to Damian. To anyone else looking on, the men were completely alike, but after spending so much time with them both, I could easily tell them apart.

  Dorian didn’t have a weapon, but both big fists were clenched, and he looked capable of murder. If I were Clark, I would have taken my chances with Damian, tire iron or no tire iron. But the sight of Damian’s predatory smirk made him back up until he was practically within reach of Dorian. Bad move on his part.

  Clark raised his hands. “My dad’s rich. He owns the police.”

  Damian quirked an eyebrow. “Hey, bro, we put a couple of cops’ faces back together pro bono after that accident last year, didn’t we?”

  “We did indeed,” Dorian drawled. “You might even say the police owe us one.” Dorian reached out one long arm and clenched the back of Clark’s neck, sending the smaller man to his knees with a scream. He nodded to Damian, and Damian lifted the tired iron.

  Both brothers laid into him at once.

  * * *

  I was sitting up in one of the big, comfy beds in the Michaels brothers’ convalescence hall, watching an old movie on the TV in the corner of the room, when Stef poked his head in the half-open door. “Iz?” he said.

  I switched off the TV with the remote and said, “Stef!”

  He came over and gave me a huge, tight hug, then set the bouquet of yellow roses he’d brought me on the bedside table. “How are you feeling, Izzy Pop?”

  “A little woozy,” I admitted. “But Damian said the anesthetic might do that. I was under a long time while Dorian fixed this.” I indicated the bandaged right side of my face.

  After the police and EMT’s had arrived to pick up the battered and broken Clark, one of the First Responders had insisted I go back to the hospital to have my wound assessed and dressed, but Dorian and Damian had stepped in and insisted I go back with them so Dorian could fix my face.

  At first, I was a little worried that the police would insist on normal procedure, but apparently the Michaels brothers wielded far more power than even I was aware of, and with just a single, brief call to the Police Commissioner I was suddenly being ushered into my lovers’ limo and being whisked back to the house so Dorian could perform midnight surgery.

  It had taken half the night, but he’d promised me the surgery was so successful, I wouldn’t even have a scar when the bandages came off in a few days.

  “I get that the Michaels brothers are connected to the police. The only thing I don’t understand, and that they won’t tell me, is how they knew I’d be at the college at that hour,” I told him.

  Stef blushed. “They don’t want to tell you because they’re afraid you’ll get pissed at me.” He cleared his throat. “After I heard on voicemail that you’d gone to pick up Myles—who, by the way, had already been picked up by his sister—I got so mad at you for putting yourself in danger, I called them and told them everything about what happened to you. I told them I didn’t feel good about you being out there alone on campus with that shithead Clark still on the loose. I was hoping they’d talk some sense into you, because I sure knew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “But how did you know about Clark in the first place? That he’d come back?”

  Stef pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the note that Clark had written, threatening me and my grandmother, the one I’d thought I’d thrown out weeks ago. “I found this in your trash when we had that pizza night a few weeks back. You should hang onto it. It’s police evidence now.”

  “You went through my trash?” My voice rose three octaves.

  Stef shrugged. “I know you, Izzy Pop. When you started acting all weird, I knew something was up. I knew it probably had to do with Clark, so yeah.” He leaned down to kiss my forehead carefully. “But only because I care about you, you idiot, and you never open up, so I gotta be all sneaky around you all the time.”

  It was too much. I burst into tears.

  Stef let me cry on his shoulder. A few moments later, Damian and Dorian stepped into the room, looking concerned by the scene I was making. I waved to let them know I wasn’t in any pain. The morphine drip was more than doing its job. “I’m fine. Stef’s just been filling me in.”

  They Michaels brothers came and sat on both sides of my bed. Both brothers took one of my hands. Dorian kissed my knuckles while Damian squeezed my fingers reassuringly. I felt like I had two guardian angels looking over me.

  “You know you should have told us about Clark,” Damian reprimanded me. “We could have protected you from the start, Belle.”

  “I didn’t want to endanger either one of you,” I sniffed. “And besides…I was so ashamed. I was so afraid.”

  Stef, sensing there was much to discuss, kissed me one last time, then quietly exited so I could be alone with my two lovers. Dorian and Damian squeezed my hands. It felt good. I felt safe at last, protected. Clark was going away for life, the evidence against him staggering. Even his rich father wasn’t going to be able to bail his sorry ass out this time.

  “Still, you should have come to us,” Dorian leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “And you have absolutely no reason to be ashamed, my dear. What happened wasn’t your fault. It was never, ever, your fault.”

  Finally, finally, I was starting to believe that. I was starting to feel worthy.

  “I wasn’t really a virgin when we were together that first time,” I confessed through my sniffles, then realized they probably already knew that, had figured that out.

  “Your first time wasn’t consensual, Belle,” Dorian said.

  “And you were a virgin,” Damian finis
hed.

  I smiled at that.

  * * *

  I looked in the full-length mirror at the costume dress the Michaels brothers had dressed me in. It was a black, diaphanous little maid’s dress that was stretched tight over my rosy-tipped breasts and hips and the dark thatch of hair at the juncture of my thighs. It left nothing to the imagination. It was trimmed at the bustline and hem with white lace, and had a cute little white apron and a white lace choker. I wore black fishnet thigh-high stockings and feathered mules with four-inch heels.

  Dorian and Damian came up behind me in their pressed black tuxedos and stood like a wall of elegant muscle at my back. Dorian looped an arm protectively around my waist. Damian squeezed my left ass cheek in a friendly, protective and possessive manner. Dorian leaned down to kiss my ear and the black pearl and diamond chandelier earring there. He bit gently at my earlobe, making me shiver, and said, “You look gorgeous. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Belle.”

  I giggled nervously at his ridiculous compliment.

  “Nervous?”

  “No,” I said. It was the truth. “I’m excited to play with both of you.”

  “You’ll be the Belle of the ball,” Damian quipped and the three of us laughed at that.

  In the limo, on the way over to the Dollhouse, I wore a silk raincoat over my scandalous outfit and sat in Dorian’s lap with my legs in Damian’s lap, snugly secure between my two gentlemen. My protectors. My angels. My world. Damian raced his fingers up my stockinged leg and then between my legs, testing my wetness. I squirmed a little. In the close confines of the limo, I could smell my own arousal already.

  “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain, my dear?” Dorian asked with concern, his voice muffled against my hair.

  “I’ve been fine for weeks, Dorian. I’m fine now.” I couldn’t be angry with how concerned they were for me, but I was growing frustrated with how they babied me sometimes. “I’m your partner in the business,” I reminded him. “And I want to be your courtesan in full as well.”

  Ahead, we were coming upon the Dollhouse. It was a huge, palatial house, almost like something you’d expect to see in the Deep South, a rambling stone colonial manor that sat on acres of manicured green lawn on the southernmost tip of Staten Island. Beyond it, I could hear the distant roar of Raritan Bay. According to Dorian and Damian, it was one of the oldest houses in New York, and one of its best-kept secrets.

  My gentlemen escorted me up the steep stone path to the front door, and then we were past the doorman and I sucked in a breath at the Old World charm of the Dollhouse, the rustic wood, huge, old portraiture, vast black and white floors, and amazingly detailed erotica on all the walls.

  Felix and her gentleman Alex immediately spotted us. Felix waved, then bounced over to hug me as if we were long-lost sisters. “I’m so glad to see you here, Belle! I just know we’ll be bestest friends ever!”

  Felix’s bubbly personality was infectious and I found myself giggling with her.

  “Let me show you around,” she said, dragging me all over the mansion for the next half hour while the gentlemen talked among themselves.

  Soon enough, Dorian and Damian appeared to collect me. I knew it was time. I felt the first flutter of nervousness. I gulped the bubbly water we were drinking at the wet bar and said, “Oh god. What if I’m awful, Felix?”

  She smiled. “You can’t be awful if you’re yourself.”

  Dorian came to me and attached a leash to my choker. He walked me into the great room where a vast canopied bed was set up for my debut as the Michaels’ courtesan. We ascended the dais until we were standing beside the bed. Damian disrobed me and looked me over, the desire obvious in his simmering blue eyes. I looked at him, and at Dorian, not at the gentlemen and courtesans and courtiers gathering around the dais to watch us. I knew if I looked at our audience, I’d probably lose my nerve.

  “Tonight we play a game,” Dorian announced in a deep and very masculine voice, and I nodded obediently. He’d informed me we would be playing a game, as he called it, though the exact nature of it remained a mystery to me.

  Dorian explained the rules to both me and our audience. His game was simple: my gentlemen would leash me naked in a kneeling position in the center of the bed, my hands cuffed behind my back. Both brothers intended to touch me, to do things to me, and I was expected to guess which one of them was doing it.

  “Let’s see how well you know us, Belle. If you guess correctly, you’ll get a reward,” Dorian said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me once I was cuffed and collared and in position. He narrowed his eyes in a sexy way. “But if you guess wrong, we punish you.”

  I gave him a saucy smile. “How do you intend to punish me, sir?”

  He produced what I knew from talk among some of my wilder friends at college to be butterfly clamps. They looked like devices of pure metal torture and I sucked in a breath at the sight. “What color are you, Belle?” Dorian asked.

  My courage failed me and I said, “Y-yellow, sir.”

  “Bro, you’re frightening her,” Damian complained.

  “She’s not afraid,” Dorian said. Of the two brothers, it was Dorian who perhaps knew me best. “Are you, Belle?”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. I want to play with both of you. Just slow, please.”

  Dorian snagged my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He watched my eyes as he rolled it, then stretched it out. I hissed breath between my teeth. He held it a long moment before he attached the clamp. The pinch of the metal was both painful and thrilling. I arched my back at the sensation and a warmth flooded my loins.

  “Belle…”

  “Green,” I said between gritted teeth.

  Dorian attached the second clamp, then gave the chain between the two nipple clamps a quick, harsh yank, which tented my breasts and immediately brought me. A tiny orgasm rippled through my lower belly and the warmth of my come spread down my thighs for all to see. Dorian touched me there, his fingers squicking in all the wetness, then unhooded my clit and teased my little bud to full attention. It didn’t take much; my body was already wired for pleasure.

  He produced a third butterfly clamp, just one on a longer chain. I knew what was coming, and the anticipation seemed to heighten the experience. He attached the third clamp to my clit and my entire body spasmed with a shocking commingling of pleasure and pain. I would have fallen back onto the bed had Damian not chosen that moment to support me against the wall of his body.

  “Belle?” he said with concern when I whimpered, but Dorian hushed him.

  “She’s stronger than you think,” he said as he attached the long clit chain to the existing chain between the nipple clamps. He gave the whole contraption a light tug, tenting my nipples and jerking my clit, and the shock of painful pleasure drew me toward him. He held the chain tight while his other hand clamped over the side of my face. He kissed my lips hungrily and said, “Christ, you’re sexy like this. What color are you, Belle?”

  “Green.”

  “Do you want to continue?”

  “Yes.”

  He produced a black silk blindfold and tied it tight around my eyes. The brothers began circling the bed, and then the play began in earnest.

  One of the brothers leaned down to lick along my ribs all the way up to my tormented tit. He encircled the clamped bud and sucked and I hissed breath between my teeth.

  I said, “Dorian.”

  That earned me a tug on the chains.

  “Damian,” I corrected myself, frustrated by such an elemental mistake. Damian had a tongue piercing he’d put in before we left. Why had I not noticed the little stud of metal clanking against the metal clip?

  A long, strong hand brushed my hair back away from my ear and a brother took my earring in his teeth. He bit gently at my lobe and sucked, and I said, “Damian.”

  Another sharp tug.

  “Dorian!”

  Argh, I hated that I was making such stupid mistakes! Concentrate, Be
lle, I told myself. Concentrate.

  An elegant, learned hand squeezed one of my nipples before graduating downward and gliding over my wet, exposed sex. Two fingers parted the swollen folds of my labia and hooked inward, sliding along my slick canal.

  “Dorian,” I breathed out, and he leaned down and kissed my lips.

  “Good girl.” He produced a heavy necklace of what felt like a thousand diamonds and affixed the necklace around my neck. I knew I would love the necklace when I finally saw it, but the truth was, I wanted to come more.

  “Make me come, sir.”

  “Not yet.” His voice drifted away and there was several seconds of silence.

  Then one of the brothers leaned down and bit the back of my neck, hard. I cried out and nearly came with the sensation, but somehow I kept my wits about me. I’d felt the piercing this time. “Damian!”

  He breathed hotly in my ear. “And just for that, we’ll be visiting Venice for a two-week romantic getaway. Would you like that, Belle?”

  “Oh yes,” I told him.

  A hand glided down my back and pushed me forward onto hands and knees. A pair of hands parted my buttocks and applied a cool lubricant to my asshole. “Damian.”

  A hard yank made me cry out. “Dorian!”

  He pressed first one, then two fingers inside me, deep. I arched my back at the invasion. I expected it to be painful—I had never been penetrated there before—but instead it was just plain maddening. I shifted backward, seeing his touch, an orgasm, but the fingers withdrew. I thought I would go mad with need.

  “Take her,” Dorian said to his brother, his voice hard as steel.

  Damian pulled me atop him, his cock hard against my belly. I groaned at the wet, hard feel of it rubbing against my opening. He undulated his hips, making me cry out with frustration, then lifted me slightly and let me plunge down upon him. He fit perfectly inside me and I immediately started moving upon him, but Dorian had other plans. He grabbed my hips and I felt the hardness of his cock exploring my slick hole. He brushed against it over and over until I thought I would scream before heaving upward and filling me there as well.