ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories)

by Donovan, Astrid Lee

  “Be yourself. You're funny, and charming. That's really all the guys want. If he's boring, don't let him know it; let's practice your fake laugh,” Jenna said. “Why should you not write with a dull pencil?”

  Laney cocked an eyebrow but played along.

  “I don't know, why shouldn't you write with a dull pencil?”

  “Because it's pointless,” Jenna said, adding exaggerated jazz hands to the groan-worthy punchline. Jenna tittered.

  “Hmm, that was okay, but try it more like this,” Jenna said, offering her own example of a fake laugh. Laney tried to imitate her. The two girls went back and forth offering each other their best fake giggles until the laughs turned real and they stumbled against each other, Laney protesting that she couldn't start crying or she'd ruin her make-up.

  When the phone in Laney's bag began buzzing, she sobered up instantly. She'd been expecting the call that would tell her that the limo was waiting, her night with the stranger from the coffee shop about to begin. Her stomach rolled and suddenly she felt like throwing up. Jenna saw her roommate's eyes go wide and rushed to comfort her.

  “It's always weird and scary your first time, but trust me, it'll be fine,” she said, holding Laney's arms in her hands. “Remember, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If he tries anything, you have the number for the chaperone.”

  The chaperone was also the driver of the limo; he would wait outside while Laney entertained her date, and if anything happened that Laney didn't like he would be there in a matter of seconds to make sure she was safe and to get the right message across to the man. Laney knew that Jenna wouldn't put her in a dangerous situation, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself and gathering all the courage in her heart.

  She had to pause once more when she got to the bottom of her apartment stairs. The chauffeur, seeing her, rushed to open the door to the backseat of the stretch limo. It would be her first time in a limo; her first time doing many things. With a hard gulp, she approached, ducking her head to greet her date.

  “Hello,” she said with all the confidence she could muster. He was dressed in another tight-fitting tailored suit, his hair impeccably coiffed. She felt her heart racing as his eyes widened, taking her in.

  “Well!” he said, a smile stretching across his face. “Isn't this a surprise.”

  Laney felt compelled to return the contagious smile; she felt that same rush of attraction that she'd felt the first time she saw him in the coffee shop, just a few days prior.

  “I hope it's a pleasant one. Didn't you see my picture?” she said, sliding into the limo beside him.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “I trust Chris, and I'm a big fan of surprises.”

  Laney tittered then stalled, searching her brain for what to say next. She knew her job that night was to be entertaining, but the idea that she was required to be a charming date made her all the more nervous. He stuck his hand out and she took it, marveling at how soft his skin was, and feeling a tingling rush as he squeezed her hand in his.

  “Thomas Murphy,” he offered, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

  “Laney Thompson,” she said in return, and when he released her hand she was surprised to feel herself loathe to let it go.

  “Do you do these sorts of things often?” he asked amiably, his tone offering no sense of judgment, just curiosity.

  “No, actually, this is my first time being a...date,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And to be honest, I was totally against it until...well, until I saw your picture.”

  Her own words surprised her, and she blushed, twisting her fingers in her lap. He looked down and saw her hands worrying against each other. With a calm smile, he placed his hand over hers, and her heart stopped before returning to its fast beating. He wasn't “supposed” to touch her, she knew, but she didn't mind. She didn't mind one little bit.

  “Well, I'll try and make it a good time for both of us,” he promised, and she knew he would make good on that promise.

  Chapter Four

  “...so I told him that if he wanted to catch a ten-pound bass, he should try using an actual rod and reel,” Thomas said, his hands falling to the table as he completed his animated tale. Laney was laughing as hard as she could while still looking classy; the elegant, upscale lounge didn't exactly invite hearty guffawing.

  The night had stretched on in pleasant conversation, rich wine, and delicious food. Thomas was a good date; he was from Atlanta and had an easy, southern grace. Laney could just barely detect the slight southern accent when he talked, and it made his voice smooth as butter. They sat close in the lounge, to be better heard over the nearby piano. He smelled of sandalwood, and she felt herself growing more and more interested in him as he spoke.

  He was the owner of a chain of sporting goods stores, and when Laney discovered that it was her own personal favorite store for camping equipment, they'd had plenty to talk about. Thomas had gone on many of the long-distance hikes that lay on Laney's own bucket list. She knew he was rich, but she realized he must have a net worth well within the billions; the idea of this smooth, suave billionaire scaling mountains and going weeks without a proper bed was amazing to her.

  And he, in turn, seemed infinitely interested in Laney. He asked about her education, her plans for the future; her work at the bakery. He laughed at her jokes, and his laugh never seemed fake or forced. Laney thought about how she and Jenna could have saved time not pretending to fake-laugh; every joke Thomas made had Laney in stitches.

  And there was no denying his pure, raw allure. She found herself leaning closer and closer into him as the night and the wine went by, her eyes following his lips as they parted with each word, his hands strong and deft as they cut into his steak, his eyes studying her with patient approval.

  Those eyes...it wasn't just approval. It wasn't just fondness. When he looked at her, she felt his desire for her radiating like heat from a lamp. Usually, a man looking at her like that made her uncomfortable, but not Thomas. She felt good when Thomas looked at her like that. She felt like she was in some sort of lucid dream. And she was getting paid for it all.

  When the waiter came by to collect their empty dessert plates, Laney realized their night was almost done; her disappointment was so sudden and deep, she almost felt like crying. It had been a beautiful night, and deep down she couldn't shake the feeling that fate had thrown them together. For what purpose, she didn't know. But that dream...

  “I wish...” Thomas said, abruptly taking her hand and staring deep into her eyes. His head shook back and forth slowly as his voice trailed off. Somewhere behind all the kindness and humor in those eyes, Laney saw something else. Something that, she suspected, might be mirrored in her own.

  “It doesn't have to end,” she blurted out, brave with the way he looked at her. She blushed fiery red when his response was one of surprise; maybe that wasn't what he'd meant at all. Maybe she'd been reading everything all wrong. But then he smiled, and those eyes darkened the very slightest bit, and she felt heat whipping through her when he licked his lips.

  “I'd like it if it didn't,” he murmured, moved closer to her. His lips almost brushed her flesh as he leaned in, whispering in her ear. “I'd like for you to come home with me.”

  Laney's breath hitched, catching in her throat. Her dream came back to her in vibrant technicolor.

  “I'd like that too,” she whispered, and when she felt his hand coming to her thigh, just above her knee, squeezing her flesh, she shuddered.

  “You should know,” he said, and there was something different in his voice, something more dire and dark than he'd sounded earlier. “I'm a very nice man, Laney. But I can also be very demanding. Are you prepared for what I can offer you?”

  She jolted back in her seat, staring at him wide-eyed. Was this the same man she'd just been having dinner with? The sweet, funny, adventurous, self-made billionaire who laughed at her jokes and talked about hiking? It was, and it wasn't all at the same time. Th
ose blue eyes hadn't changed, but something in them had. And yet what she saw there, she wanted.

  She wanted it very, very much.

  So much that she felt a tingle between her legs.

  “What is it,” she asked, her voice low and thick, “that you can offer me?”

  He leaned in again, this time bringing his lips so close they almost met hers.

  “Pleasure,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing hers as he spoke. “More pleasure than you can imagine.”

  “And what,” she asked, shivering in her seat as her sex awoke in a dizzying rush, “do you expect from me?”

  “To give me control,” he said, and a moment later closed the distance between them, covering her mouth with his, swallowing her groan of pleasure as his soft lips pressed against hers, the tip of his tongue just barely tracing her mouth before pulling away. She felt her body leaning towards him, following him, wanting more.

  “Alright,” she whispered, unsure of what she'd just agreed to, but wanting it – needing it – more than she could ever remember wanting or needing anything before.

  Chapter Five

  When the limo pulled up to the hotel where Thomas was staying, Laney told the chauffeur that he could leave for the night; he looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head.

  “Can't do that, ma'am,” he said. “Here to make sure it all goes well all night long. Need to be here in any circumstance. But it's alright, I'll...”

  “Will you take a room?” Thomas offered, pulling a card from his wallet. “I hate to think of you sitting out here in the cold. Here, take my corporate card and get a room. You can take a nap, watch TV, whatever. And you'll still be here for Ms. Thompson whenever she decides to leave.”

  The chauffeur looked at the offered credit card, then took it with a smile.

  “Will do, Mr. Murphy,” he said before returning to the driver's seat to park the limo in the hotel's garage. Laney marveled at the opulence in the lobby; the Trump International was everything New York was famous for. Grandiose, elegant, sophisticated, with a bevy of doormen, bellmen, concierges, and front desk agents all eager to provide the best service money could buy. But she barely had time to process it all as she was ushered to the elevators; Thomas had to use his key to access the penthouse where he was staying.

  As the elevator rose, Laney and Thomas were silent, with Laney throwing glances at him, her heart racing. What was she doing? This was very un-Laney behavior. She was about to sleep with a near stranger, who had promised that the encounter would be like none she'd ever had before. What had he meant by giving him control? What did any of it mean?

  The elevator dinged open and revealed the enormous penthouse suite that Thomas had rented for himself. A lavish living room with glass windows showed the cityscape below in glorious colors, the twinkling lights of Broadway inviting a gasp from Laney's throat. The room had plush carpeting, all leather furniture, and a separate kitchen area with a fully stocked bar. Thomas made his way across the room.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked, pausing near the bar and turning to look at her, his eyes dancing with unhidden lust. Laney stepped into the living room, her heels sinking into the carpet. Impulsively, she kicked them off, not wanting to look foolish wobbling across the carpet.

  “No,” she said, making the decision as soon as her mouth opened. She didn't need or want another drink. She needed to go with it now, before she got too scared and left. And she already felt mildly tipsy; if she was going to give into this, into these feelings, she wanted to feel it all. Thomas met her eyes and nodded, placing the glass he had held back on the table and drawing himself up.

  “Then I'd like for you to go into the bedroom,” he said, pointing down a hall that jutted out from the living room. “And take off your clothes.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She was beginning to understand what he meant when he asked for control. Nodding, she felt the warm fuzz of the carpet under her feet, her body already responsive to sensation; she could also feel Thomas' eyes behind her, watching her every step.

  “All your clothes, Laney,” he said right before she disappeared into the open bedroom door. Turning, she felt the heat of his stare and it reignited that rush to her sex, her body humming with curiosity, fear, and desire. She nodded again and slipped into the darkened bedroom.

  It was as lavish as the living room, with a grand window overlooking the city and a four-poster bed made up in silk blankets and sheets. Reaching behind her, she unzipped her dress and let it fall around her ankles, feeling the cold air in the room nip at her flushed skin. Doing away with her bra and panties, she noted how the chill in the air made her nipples stand erect, every fiber of her being seemed to be alive.

  “Lay on the bed,” his voice came from behind her, that light southern drawl more pronounced now. Without turning, she obeyed, crawling onto the bed and luxuriating in the cool silk underneath her curves. She looked to the hallway, awaiting him.

  When he appeared in the doorway, he was shirtless, his long, lean, muscled torso worthy of sculpture. He still wore his well-tailored pants and impeccably shined shoes, but his belt was missing. She bit her lip, her mind alight with desire, anxiety trailing close behind. His words rang in her mind, over and over.

  Control.

  Pleasure.

  Control.

  She had never ventured far from the vanilla. Then again, she'd never had such an immediate attraction to a man. And rarely had that attraction run so deep, seeming to plumb the deepest wells of her desire, striking her to her core. His eyes traveled over her body, hungry and heated. Appreciating her. Her vulnerability, her willingness, her chest as it rose and fell in desperate gasps. The long, low whistle he released made her blush, and he smiled. This time, though, that smile was not meant to comfort.

  She felt she was being devoured by his eyes, she knew she was doing the same to him. His pants hung low without a belt, and the muscles around his abs fell in a deep V, inviting the eye downward. His arms were lean but taut with strength. Her heart was racing like a sprinter, and her mind was a confused knot. She felt bare. She felt beautiful. She felt exposed. She felt delicious.

  “After this, if you want to stop, you'll have to be very clear about it,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I won't press you past your limits. But I will test them.”

  She shivered as though his words were a finger tracing down his spine. This man was dangerous in ways Laney didn't quite understand, but wanted to. She wanted to be pressed beyond all she'd known so far. His eyes were deep wells that offered unimaginable pleasure. She was ready. She nodded her agreement, her willingness to do as he wished, whatever it might be.

  Still, when he approached, she couldn't help but shrink away slightly. She saw, as he brought his hands forward from around his back, that he held his belt in one hand. She could only guess what he would do with it. Panic gripped her heart even as her body reacted to his nearness, heating up one degree at a time. He towered over her as she lay on her side on the bed, and she wondered if he would see her fear and go easy on her.

  Some deep and strange part of her hoped he wouldn't.

  She didn't want him to hold back.

  He reached out and stroked her hair with his hand; automatically, her eyes closed and she leaned into his palm, feeling him warm against her cheek. His thumb found her lips and ran along the bottom of her mouth; the slightest touch made her nipples tighten, and when he pressed his thumb into her mouth she swirled her tongue around it and moaned.

  He pulled his thumb away and moved his fingers back to her hair, gripping it harder, pulling her head backwards so that her long neck lay exposed. Her face turned up towards his and he lowered his head, meeting her lips with his own, tasting her gently at first and then harder, laying seige to her mouth with his tongue, exploring and probing each inch of her mouth, tickling the roof and waltzing with her own tongue as his lips swallowed her groans.

  She could feel dampness between her legs and her clit throbbed
; she clenched her thighs to relieve the growing ache there. Her nipples were stiffer than she could ever remember them being. He tasted like something wild, damp cedar and dark chocolate. When he pulled away, she strained forward, not wanting the kiss to end. But he kept her still, his grip on her hair tight. And then he yanked, sending tendrils of light pain through her, which strangely spiked her desire. She felt herself pulled towards the headboard and scrambled to follow where he was leading her, until she felt a pillow beneath her head.

  He released her, then, only to capture her wrists in his strong hands, and pulling them upwards held them above her head.

  “What...” she began to ask, realizing that it was beginning for real. What she wanted and feared so much at the same time - a great and dark unknown.

  “No questions,” he growled, interrupting her, and she bit her tongue to stifle a squeal as he pulled her wrists further up, making her muscles strain slightly. “Tell me you trust me.”

  Looking into his hooded eyes, feeling his desire for her like a radiating heat, she did.

  “I trust you,” she said in a small voice, and he nodded his approval.

  “I'd like for you to call me Master,” he explained, his tone now business-like. He held both her wrists tight in one hand, the other reaching for the belt he'd placed on the bed beside her. “When you speak to me, which you should only do when I tell you to, I'd like you to call me Master. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, but that wasn't what he wanted, and he showed her by yanking on her wrists again.

  “I understand, Master,” she gasped. He brought the belt forward, trailing the metal buckle lightly up her body, up her bare torso, between her breasts, the metal cold against her heated skin. She watched its progress until she couldn't anymore, and felt the leather wrap around her wrists, taking the place of his hands. The bind was tight, the leather smooth against her flesh. She realized, as she moved her fingers, that he was tying her to the headboard, using one of the ornate metal vines to anchor her.