Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  I gently pushed myself up on my elbows and blew a stray lock of red hair from my forehead. I looked around at the three men who had spent most of the night poking and prodding me and smiled.

  These guys never would have fit into Santa’s bag of goodies. They barely all fit in this bed! And to think I’d had them all inside me at once last night. It was no wonder that I was a little sore this morning—sore in a very good way.

  You’ve heard the saying “no pain no gain”?

  I think it should be “no pain no pleasure.”

  Hmmm, that sounded like something Christopher would put on a T-shirt. He had a collection of ratty T-shirts with snarky sayings like that, which sounded like an odd thing for a billionaire to collect.

  He also collected exotic cars, expensive watches, modern art, and women’s hearts. I’d have to mention my idea to him later when the twins were gone and we were back in bed alone. He’d get a kick out of it, I was sure.

  I wasn’t surprised that I was sore. The female body was a wonderfully pliant thing, but it had its limits.

  A woman’s body could stretch and adjust its various parts on the fly. It could accommodate a ten-pound baby for nine months and then push it out through an opening the side of a grapefruit.

  It could accommodate all manner of objects invading its orifices: vaginally, orally, and anally.

  But when you had three rather large cocks inside you at the same time, well, let’s just say that could stretch the limits of imagination and anatomy just a bit.

  Don’t get me wrong, the pleasure was more than worth the pain. I just might have to give certain parts of my body a rest for a day or two.

  Who was I kidding? If those three guys woke up right now with raging hard-ons, I’d start grabbing things and stuffing them into my mouth like a kid diving into a bowl of candy on Christmas morning.

  Don’t misunderstand me. I was not a slut. And I didn’t think I was a nymphomaniac. I just loved sex. Sex with men, sex with women, sex with men and women at the same time, sex with multiple men and women.

  Here’s another old saying I’m sure you’ve heard: “The more the merrier.”

  Well, when it came to satisfying the fire that burned deep inside me, that old saying was true. I loved quantity and variety and experiencing new things. If that made me a slut, so be it. Life was too short to deny yourself the pleasures it offered. It was like having a bottle of fine wine and only taking a sip before throwing the bottle away.

  Waste not, want not.

  Put that on a T-shirt, my friend.

  I loved twosomes, threesomes, gangbangs, orgies, and sex parties.

  I also loved the black foot-long dildo I kept in my nightstand that I called Samuel L. Jackson.

  Whether I was alone or with someone else, I just loved sex and I would not be denied. Desires and urges were meant to be satisfied, not ignored.

  I loved to come in great waves and make others do the same. Nothing got me off faster than watching a man or a woman coming from something I’d done with my pussy, ass, hand, or mouth.

  I totally believed that it was better to give than to receive, but I loved to receive as well.

  All that said, I was extremely particular about who I had sex with.

  I was not the type to just pick up a stranger in a bar and fuck him in the back of a van—unless I was really drunk and he was really hot—which had been the case with Christopher the night we met.

  The moment I saw him watching me from the other end of that bar ten years ago, I knew he’d be inside me before the night was through. I had no idea we’d still be together so many years later. He’d been a broke entrepreneur and I’d been a college senior. It was nothing short of amazing, how far we’d come.

  I needed to have more than just a sexual connection to someone to truly savor the moment. Take the three guys lying next to me. I’d known Christopher Kinsey for over a decade, and I was closer to him than any other man on the planet.

  I worked as the VP of marketing at his company, Kinsey-Parker Solutions. Everyone called it KPS for short.

  And we were best friends and fuck buddies.

  When he got horny he showed up on my doorstep, and when I got horny I showed up on his. Or he just walked into my office and locked the door and we did it on my desk.

  We also swung together.

  I’d had threesomes with Christopher and his business partner, Patrick Palmer, and a dozen other guys Christopher had introduced me to. The only rule was that Christopher must bring in the other guy. He would not have sex with me and another man he didn’t know. He just said that would be weird. Weird? Seriously? What a goofball he was.

  I’d more than returned the favor by bringing other girls into the mix to please him. But at the end of the night, once everyone else had dressed and gone home, Christopher and I always ended up together.

  I loved him and he loved me.

  Hell, we might have even been in love a little bit, but who even knew what that looked like. Christopher said he wouldn’t know true love if it hit him in the face. Sadly, I felt the same way.

  For now, we did what we did and we had a fucking good time doing it, no pun intended.

  As for Tony and Terry Wolf, I’d known them forever, too. They were college pals of Christopher’s and early investors in Kinsey-Parker, which was how they made their fortunes when the company went public.

  Terry and Tony lived in New York City, so we didn’t get to see them very often. They’d come into town this week to meet with venture capitalists Christopher had hooked them up with.

  Sadly, they hadn’t arrived in time to attend this year’s KPS Christmas party, which, by the way, ended in a fiasco because Christopher had wanted to screw this goth chick named McKenzie Wallace and she punched him in the nose and left him sitting on his ass on the dance floor.

  I’d known it was going to happen. I’d warned him, but he hadn’t listened. McKenzie was not one of us. She was a country girl from back east who was in way over her head. She had thought she wanted to play in our world, so she’d had a threesome with Christopher and Patrick.

  She’d loved the sex, but she couldn’t keep her heart out of the equation. You couldn’t do threesomes and fall in love. It just screwed with your head and broke someone’s heart.

  When she ended up falling for Patrick, Christopher tried to drag me into this grand plan to steal her away. I played along for a while, but when I saw that Patrick was falling for McKenzie, I pulled out of it and told Christopher to do the same. He didn’t want McKenzie. He just didn’t want Patrick to have her.

  What Christopher couldn’t seem to understand was that his best friend, Patrick, was nothing like him. Patrick Palmer wanted to build a monogamous relationship with McKenzie. Christopher Kinsey didn’t have a monogamous bone in his body, which was one reason he and I would probably never go beyond the fuck-buddy stage.

  I hoped that someday I met a man who would ride in on a white steed and sweep me off my feet and make me want to leave my crazy, sexy life behind.

  Someday, I’d be a one-man woman. Until then, Christopher and I would continue to have a good time.

  I quietly sat up in the bed and then scooted to the end and set my feet on the floor. It took me a moment to get my balance. I had one hell of a hangover, and every muscle in my body screamed at me.

  Christopher and the twins didn’t move.

  I resisted the urge to wake them up with a little morning foreplay.

  I tiptoed to the bathroom and stepped inside. I glanced back at Christopher through the crack in the door, hoping he might join me in the shower for a little alone time.

  When he didn’t move, I quietly closed the door and went to shower alone.

  As the hot water washed away the previous night’s sweat and smell and stains from my body, I couldn’t get Christopher out of my mind.

  I had no idea why, but I had this nagging feeling that something had changed between us last night.

  It was that little feeling you got wh
en you knew something incredibly important had happened, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was.

  You could only hope and pray that whatever happened turned out to be a good thing.

  END OF SAMPLE:

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  More Steamy Romance by Tia Siren

  About The Author

  Other than my insatiable desire for chocolate, reading and writing steamy romances is my most guilty pleasure.

  I write about tough and sexy Bad Boys who, underneath that armor of muscles and tattoos (and sometimes suits), are more sensitive and wounded than they'd like to admit.

  I'm happily married to a really good guy, but, every now and again, I crave the forbidden excitement of falling for one of the bad boys in my stories.

  There really is a bad girl in me too!

  Want to Read More?

  Check out my other books. For a limited time, they are just 99c and always free on Kindle Unlimited. Please click on the link.

  Billionaire Flawed: A Bad Boy Billionaire Baby Romance

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LYQ9YC4

  Four under the Mistletoe: A Billionaire Christmas Menage Romance

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MSMLOFP

  Ace: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LXL3E2T

  Big Bad Cowboy: A Billionaire and a Virgin Romance

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N8V9C8B

  First Chapter Sample: Big Bad Cowboy – A Billionaire and a Virgin Romance

  CHAPTER ONE: Miranda Carson

  I hated my life.

  Okay, hate was probably too strong of a word to use, because my life was not all horrible all the time. It was just mostly horrible most of the time. So maybe I should just say I hated parts of my life at different times. And this moment was one of those times when I pretty much hated everything all at once.

  And I blamed it all on my dad. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be in the spot I’m in today. My life would be a hundred and ten percent different. Then again, I probably wouldn’t be the person I am today, but honestly, I didn’t think that would be such a bad thing. I was certainly nobody’s idea of a prize.

  Please don’t get the wrong idea about my relationship with my dad. He was never anything but kind to me. The truth is, I loved my father, more than anything. I still do. He was a great guy, the best dad a girl could ever ask for. He worked hard to support his family, taking as much overtime and as many weekend shifts he could get working as an oil driller in our hometown of Fort Worth, Texas. Even though he worked his ass off to keep us fed, he never missed a dance recital or a softball game or a school play.

  We remained close even after he got married again two years after my mom died of cancer. And the fact that he married Mom’s best friend, Helen Anderson, didn’t bother me a bit. Helen was great. I loved her. She had been like a second mom to me all my life. If Mom could have picked Dad’s next wife, she would have picked Helen.

  Okay, maybe Dad getting remarried bothered me a little. Not because it was Helen, but because I had always been daddy’s little girl and having to share him with a woman other than my mom just took a little getting used to.

  Hey, give me a break. I was just eighteen years old when they got married, and I was your typical, selfish teenage girl. It was bad enough that I had to share my dad with my younger brother, Scotty, who was thirteen at the time. I understand it now, but at the time it was just hard for me, watching him open his heart to share all that love with someone other than me.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Helen, who was nearly forty-five at the time, got pregnant a year after they married and gave birth to TWINS!

  Can you imagine that, at her age? Twin boys named James and Josh. Thank god I was heading off to college by then, so I didn’t have to put up with two screaming babies in the house like Scotty did. He says it was pure torture.

  They turned my old room into a nursery and all seemed right with the world for a while. I’d never seen Dad so happy, and I had to admit, those had been some pretty cute babies. They still were.

  Then, when the twins were two and Scotty was fifteen, Dad and Helen were killed by a drunk driver on the way home from a cookout at Helen’s sister’s house in Lakeview.

  They were less than a mile from home when the guy veered into their lane and hit them head on. Scotty and the babies were in the backseat asleep and somehow walked away without a scratch. Scotty says he doesn’t even remember the crash. He just remembers waking up and seeing blue and red flashing lights and wondering why the babies were crying. They say our brain blocks out the most traumatic moments of our lives to keep us sane. For Scotty’s sake, I pray that’s true.

  A few days later, we buried my dad and Helen. I had to drop out of college without finishing my degree to take care of Scotty and the twins. I came home just two semesters away from earning my physical therapy degree. All I had to show from three years of college was a grungy Texas A&M sweatshirt and a shit-ton of student loans that I didn’t know how I’d ever pay back.

  At the ripe young age of twenty-two, I became the legal guardian to two-year-old twins and a fifteen-year-old boy who was pissed at the world because it had taken his father from him. We had to sell the house at a loss and move into a tiny apartment, because on my paycheck as a waitress at Red Lobster, it’s all we could afford. The place was a shithole, but it beat living in a cardboard box by the railroad tracks. Or having my brothers taken away from me. That would be the last straw on an already-breaking camel’s back.

  It had been two years now and things had just gone from bad to worse. Or from horrible to even more horrible. I spent eight to ten hours a day, six days a week, waiting tables at Red Lobster while my neighbor, Sheila, watched the twins. Scotty just ran amok. I gave up trying to keep up with him long ago.

  If it wasn’t for food stamps and government assistance, we’d all be living in the street.

  I loved my three brothers with all my heart, but like I said, at this moment, I hated my entire life and I blamed it all on my dad.

  Thanks for nothing, Dad…

  Wish you were here.

  * * *

  “Come on, guys,” I pleaded, waving the pair of Winnie the Pooh onesies in the air as I chased the twins through our tiny apartment. As usual, Scotty was plunked down in front of the television with headphones covering his ears, seemingly oblivious to it all. That was what he did every night if he wasn’t out with friends. He just put on those damn headphones and shut out the real world. I wished I could do the same, but I was the adult, the responsible one, the one determined to hold this family together no matter what.

  The twins ignored me and continued to run stark naked through the house, dripping bath water along the way. I finally cornered them in the room they shared with Scotty. I managed to hem them in and lock the door. I swear, it was like herding cats, dealing with those two.

  I had just gotten their pajamas on and tucked them into the little bed they shared when Scotty pounded on the door.

  “What?” I screamed, jerking open the door. For some reason the twins didn’t irk me nearly as much as Scotty did with his pissy teenaged attitude. I didn’t know what he had to be upset about. All he had to do was go to school and keep his grades up so he could get a scholarship someday. God knows I didn’t have the money to put him through school. I didn’t even have the money to finish out my own degree.

  “Wanda Jean is on the phone,” he said, giving me the “go fuck yourself” look that was his usual expression these days. I was pretty sure if he showed up to get his picture taken for the school yearbook, that was the face you’d see. He shoved the phone at me. “Here, she says it’s important.”

  He started to turn away, but I grabbed the cowl of his hoodie and pulled him into the room. The twins were lying in bed, watching us. I picked up the Cat in the Hat book I had been about to read them and shoved
it at Scotty in the same manner he had shoved my cell phone at me.

  “Read this to them,” I ordered. “I have to take this call. It’s important.”

  “I’m not reading this crap,” he said, tossing the book onto the bed like a frisbee.

  He gave me a defiant look that let me know I had no control over him. I could not make him do anything, and we both knew it. He was an angry seventeen-year-old, a head taller than me, who was always pissed at the world, starting with me.

  “You’re not the boss of me!” was Scotty’s motto. “Fuck you, Miranda!” was his other one. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  I took a deep breath and let the anger drain from my body. I told Wanda Jean to hang on and tried a new approach.

  “This is Wanda Jean about that temporary job in Amarillo I told you about, the one at Big Sky Ranch & Spa, the one that could pay our bills for months. I have to take this.” I picked up the book and held it out to him. “Please, read them a story, and if I get this job I will get you your very own cell phone.”

  I thought I saw a spark of excitement flash through his eyes. It had been so long since I’d seen anything but a scowl that I couldn’t be sure. He bit at the inside of his cheek and stared at me.

  “Seriously? My own cell phone? Not one that we have to share and you always take with you?”

  “Your own phone,” I said with a smile.

  I knew I was lying to him, but I had no choice. We would need every cent of the money I could earn in the month I would be at Big Sky Ranch & Spa, but if I had to lie to get him to read the twins a fucking Dr. Seuss book, then brand me a liar.

  “Okay,” he said, taking the book and frowning at the cover. A rare smile crossed his lips. “This used to be my favorite. Dad read it to me every night.”

  “I know,” I said, tears coming to my eyes. I put my hand on the back of his neck and drew his forehead down to mine. It was a rare moment of solidarity. “Don’t worry, little brother, we’re going to be all right.”