Beast Brothers 2: An MFM Twin Ménage Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  Beast Brothers 2

  An MFM Twin Ménage Romance

  Stephanie Brother

  Contents

  1. Catch Fire

  2. Oh Yeah

  3. Really, Really Bad

  4. Make My Toes Curl

  5. More Than Frisk Her

  6. Rushing South

  7. Exactly What He Wants

  8. Greedy

  9. Funny Feeling

  10. I’m Always Ready

  11. Slammed Shut

  12. Ruin It

  13. Done With Us

  14. That’s The End

  15. You Don’t Go Anywhere

  16. Deal With Us

  17. Pathetic

  18. No Pushover

  19. A Simple Matter

  20. Intense

  21. Megan’s Men

  22. Ache In My Heart

  23. Relieved

  24. Harder Path

  25. One More Piece

  26. So Close

  27. Going Public

  28. Dreamless

  29. Armor Around My Heart

  30. Shattering

  31. That’s Our Girl

  32. You Owe Me

  33. Hollow Victories

  34. Do What We Need To

  35. Favorite Pastime

  36. Hood

  37. Man, Woman, Child, Dog

  38. Right Now

  39. Over

  40. Open

  41. Our Girl

  42. Accelerated

  Epilogue

  Check out Sparked

  Also by Stephanie Brother

  About the Author

  Beast Brothers 2

  A Twin Ménage Romance

  © 2017 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.

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  1

  Catch Fire

  Zoe

  The women’s restroom at the MMA fight club has a line out the door waiting to use it. The men’s room? No line.

  And I’m on the verge of an emergency — or should I say pee-mergency. When things are that dire, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  So I ignore the line of women, hold my head up, and march into the men’s room like I belong there. My luck holds — there’s nobody else in here. Darting into a stall, I lock it and find sweet relief.

  Closing my eyes, I let out a long sigh. It’s a moment before I open them again, and when I do they widen in shock. Because just on the other side of my stall door are two pairs of feet in heavy work boots. Men’s feet, judging from their size, their footwear, and … um… their location, here in the men’s room.

  I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am alarmed. Mine is not the only stall in the place and the men attached to the boots aren’t stepping up to the urinals. They seem to be waiting … for me.

  Crap! Just my luck to get bathroom stalkers. What should I do? Ignore them and hope they leave?

  That option disappears when the door rattles and a deep voice says, “Step out of the stall, miss.” Well. I probably shouldn’t judge the man too much by his voice, but he doesn’t sound like the creepy assailant type. More like a DJ for a sexy-love-songs radio show.

  “Just a second,” I call, and finish taking care of business as quickly as possible. Just in case, I dig my tiny can of mace out of my purse and have it at the ready. The door opens inward, putting me at a disadvantage, so I sling my purse over my other shoulder, ensuring it won’t get in the way of my dominant hand and the can of mace. Grasping the bolt, I slide it back.

  As soon as the door is free, it bursts open, so fast I have to jerk away from it before it smacks me in the face. Losing my balance, I start to go over backwards, almost falling into the toilet, but two strong hands grab my arms and yank me forward out of the stall.

  The next moment, I’m bent over near a hand dryer, my cheek against the wall. “Hey!” I yell as I’m relieved of my mace and my purse. “Give those back!”

  “Hush up,” says that same impossibly sexy voice. But right at the moment I’m not in the mood to appreciate how great it sounds.

  “Hush up?” I repeat. “Did you just tell me to hush up?” My voice rises even more on the final words. “What the hell is going on?”

  A man comes into the bathroom and stops dead at the sight of us. His eyes go from me, to Mr. Sexy Voice, then back again. “I gotta pee, man,” he says finally.

  “Bathroom’s closed,” my captor snaps in a tone of absolute finality. “Find another one.”

  The intruder backs away, hands up and out. “Okay, okay, sheesh.” Then he’s gone.

  The man on the other side of me bends down. “Name,” he says in my ear.

  “Go to hell.” I try to twist away, but he’s got a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me in this awkward position with ridiculous ease. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Unless you want to spend the evening answering questions at the police station, I suggest you lose the attitude.” His voice is slightly different than the other guy’s — but only slightly. How can two different men both sound good enough to eat?

  “I was just trying to pee in peace and quiet,” I retort. I know I’m probably not being smart here, but who do they think they are? Since when is using a men’s room a federal offense?

  “All right,” he says. “Have it your way. We’re going to frisk you for weapons.”

  While he holds me down, the other man runs his hands over me. He starts at my hips, moves up under my arms, and then slowly and thoroughly slides his hands down past my hips again. There’s nothing overtly inappropriate about it — no touching where he shouldn’t be — so why am I chewing my lip, trying not to get turned on? And is it my imagination that his hands linger just a fraction too long on my inner thighs, or is that wishful thinking?

  Whatever the truth is, by the time he’s done I’m restless and fighting the urge to squirm. Not to mention that my panties might possibly be a little on the damp side. Okay, more than a little. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been touched, but what is wrong with me?

  “Okay,” Sexy Voice 1 says at last, and the pressure of his hand is gone. Slowly, I stand and turn to face the men.

  And that’s when my ovaries catch fire.

  2

  Oh Yeah

  Zoe

  These are Men with a capital M. Well over six feet, broad shoulders, massive chests, thighs like tree trunks. Their delicious bodies are encased in snug jeans that send my mind straight to the naughty zone. Their shirts strain against their muscles and I try to think of some reason I need to frisk them back, like we’re taking turns. They’re not bodybuilder types, just built.

  And it’s not like these are hunky bodies paired with unfortunate faces. That part of them is prime real estate too. Dark hair that begs me to run my fingers through it, straight noses, strong jaws, full, kissable mouths.

  And their eyes — oh my god. They’re a stunning silver blue. I could stare at them forever.

  If you’re wondering why they sound identical, it’s because they are. Though their hair and clothing styles are a bit different, there’s no question, seeing them side
by side, that these two amazing men are twins. And they are every bit as gorgeous as the Beast Brothers.

  Who? Okay, back up. Last year, my friend Megan met Brock and Cody Easton, twin brothers who play for the Leopards, the pro football team here in town. They had some drama, to put it mildly, but long story short, they’re together now. As in, the three of them. Together.

  And ever since — I’m not too proud to admit it — I’ve been fighting feelings of jealousy. Oh, I’m happy for Megan. Thrilled for her, in fact. I’ve never seen her so happy and content.

  But damn. Not just one studly man, but two? All to herself? It hardly seems fair, when some people — cough me cough — don’t have even one sex god to warm their bed at night.

  So when I’m confronted with a set of twins who are every bit as mouthwatering as Megan’s Beast Brothers … and my love life has been rather, shall we say, nonexistent of late … you can hardly blame me for getting a little carried away.

  All of this goes through my mind in a flash, and then I give them my best sultry smile. “Well, hello there.” Now honestly, I am not lying — or bragging — when I say I’ve got it going on. Not like I’m a beauty pageant winner, but I’ve had a fair bit of masculine attention over the years.

  But my hunkalicious men don’t even bat an eye. “Name, please,” Sexy 1 says.

  I cross my arms under my chest and push up my best assets. Their eyes don’t shift downward, not even a little. “You first.”

  The men exchange a glance. Sexy 2 says to me, “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in here.”

  “What I understand,” I say, “is that I was minding my own business, taking care of the necessary, when you two assaulted me. Maybe you’re the ones who should be down at the station answering questions.”

  They look at each other again, and this time Sexy 2 rubs his mouth in a conspicuously casual way, like he’s trying not to smile. Of all the nerve. But before I can gear up to tell them off again, Sexy 1 turns his gaze on me.

  I suddenly go very still. Because there’s a no-nonsense chill in his eyes that tells me everything up until now has been them taking it easy on me. And I really, as in really, don’t want that to change.

  “Zoe,” I say in a whisper. “Zoe Kelleher.”

  “When were you born, Zoe Kelleher?” says Sexy 2.

  I frown at him. “What?”

  “Your date of birth.”

  “Why?”

  “Just answer the question,” Sexy 1 says.

  Then it comes to me. “Oh. I get it. You want to know if it matches what’s on my ID. Which you looked at, when you were going through my purse.” I can tell I’m going to get mad again if I keep thinking about it, so I stop thinking about it and tell them my birthdate.

  A quick eye flicker between the men is all it takes for them to communicate. They’ve got a rhythm; they must be used to working together. And thanks to Megan’s Beasts, that sends my mind straight back to the bedroom.

  Two men, working together on me … there’s a fantasy for the ages. And thinking about it being these two men? Oh yeah.

  3

  Really, Really Bad

  Alex

  This girl is not the stalker. I could tell right away, but we may as well make absolutely sure, because she looks damn fine bent and spread.

  She feels good too, soft curves under her silky blouse and short skirt. Long, bare legs rising out of her heeled boots. She doesn’t look like most of the crowd here. In fact, when I first saw her dart into the men’s room, I thought she might be someone from the executive staff at the arena, but Lucas rushed in after her so I followed.

  Our job tonight feels like a joke. Of course any situation could turn serious, but we’re trying to track down a female fan who’s obsessed with one of the fighters. She probably just wants to profess her love for him in person or give him a pair of her panties, but we have to assume the worst and find her before she gets herself into trouble.

  Our suspect pushes her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and looks at us with impatience. “So, are we done here?” she asks, shifting her narrowed gaze between us, pursing her dark red lips.

  My brother isn’t done. He’s very thorough. “What were you doing in here?” he says.

  “I told you already; I was peeing. I had an emergency. Couldn’t you hear me? Since when is using a public restroom a crime?”

  I should move things along so we can do the job we’re supposed to be doing, but I find I’m not ready to leave this woman just yet. Of course I wouldn’t abuse our position, but my mind keeps searching for reasons I can frisk her again.

  “You are aware this is a men’s room,” I say, wanting to get a rise out of her.

  Blondie just glares back at me, a sharp inhale lifting her chest in a way that makes my cock twitch. “No kidding,” she says, not even trying to sound mistaken or sorry.

  Lucas holds out Zoe’s purse. “You’re free to go,” he says.

  “Wait a minute,” she says as she grabs her bag. “First you’re going to tell me what all this was about. Surely the two of you can’t be so hard-up for action that you have to accost unsuspecting women in restrooms.”

  Something is hard, all right. Getting there at least. I take another glance at her toned thighs while my brother shows her his badge.

  “We’re looking for someone,” he says. “Your behavior was suspicious.” Blondie’s expression softens a hair.

  “You’re clear to go,” Lucas repeats.

  She looks like she wants to say something, even opens her mouth, then closes it again and turns sharply on her heel.

  She’s at the door when I speak up. “Zoe Kelleher.” She turns back to us and I toss her the mace I took away. She catches it smoothly.

  “Be good,” I say, taking one last look at her full lips and thinking about how I’d like to get her to be bad. Really, really bad.

  4

  Make My Toes Curl

  Zoe

  Back in the arena, I squeeze past spectators to return to my seat. Megan has swapped seats with Cody and is now nestled snugly between her two men, looking like all is right in her world.

  As far as the public knows, Megan and Brock are a couple. They don’t want reporters snooping into their private business, so they bring me or Tara along to pose as Cody’s date. Usually I’m happy to play along, but right now, seeing my friend surrounded by her twin hunks of perfection just adds to my bad mood.

  Why is it that when I finally meet my sexy pair of identical brothers, they turn out to be uptight assholes?

  I plop down in my seat with a harrumph, and Megan leans across my fake date to check on me. “Everything okay, Zoe?”

  I utter another sound of frustration and lean back in my seat, arms folded. If I were a cartoon character, there’d be a dark, scribbled ball of anger above my head.

  My friend slips over Cody’s lap to switch seats with him, and he supports her body like she’s a fragile jewel. As she settles in next to me, she smooths her shirt over her emerging baby bump and I see that glow of mom-to-be bliss flash across her features before she looks at me with concern.

  “You all right? I was about to come looking for you.”

  “I’m fine,” I huff. “I just had a run in with a couple of rent-a-cops.”

  “What did you do?” Megan asks, cracking a suspicious smile. She knows me too well.

  “I didn’t do anything.” I feign interest in the match we’re here to watch, but Megan continues to stare at me. When she doesn’t let up, I tell her what happened, embellishing my story only a little bit.

  “Never a dull moment,” she says, shaking her head and giving me an affectionate look. She seems to think I live an exciting life, but she’s the one who’ll be going home with not one but two men — her baby daddies — and I’m the one who’s so desperate for action that I just got turned on, being frisked by rude strangers.

  I love my friend and her men are nothing but sweet to me, but maybe all of this fake dating is c
ramping my style. “Tell me again why you won’t go public with your relationship,” I say, abruptly changing the subject.

  We’ve had this discussion before. “You know I don’t want to hurt their careers,” Megan says. “Fans can be … unforgiving.”

  “Do they think it would hurt their careers?” I ask.

  She looks thoughtful. “No. In fact, Brock is the one who brings it up the most, which I think is sweet. With the baby coming —”

  A hush goes over the crowd, immediately followed by a loud eruption of yelling, drowning out the rest of Megan’s sentence. Maybe the fight is over and we can leave.

  I look to the stage, expecting to see a victor, but instead the brawling has stopped and a woman is clinging to one of the fighters. It becomes immediately clear that the woman isn’t part of the plan. She’s wrapped around the guy like a koala in a tree and a small group of men are climbing onto the stage headed straight for her.

  It doesn’t take long for them to disentangle her, and as she’s pulled off the mat, I see familiar faces. Two identical faces, looking stern as ever, keeping the world safe from misbehaving women. The memory of their firm hands on me returns unbidden, and my skin tingles at the thought. God, I need to get laid.

  The match resumes and while I wait for it to end, I form a plan. Finally it’s time to go, and when we all rise to leave I say my goodbyes.

  “Thank you for a lovely date,” I say with a smile and a wink before giving Cody a quick hug. “I’m going to catch a cab from here.”

  “We’ll take you home,” he says.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” I say. Megan steps in to find out what’s going on and I hug her too. “I’m gonna hit a club,” I say.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been having a dry spell and it’s time to make it rain,” I say.

  Megan looks me over while I straighten my skirt. “Be careful,” is all she says.

  I make arrangements for a taxi, then head to the ladies room to check my makeup. This time, I bypass the still-long line since I’m only going to be using a mirror. I brush my hair, reapply my lipstick, and undo a top button on my blouse.

  There’s a cluster of bars not far from here. I have one in mind that’s usually filled with executive types on a Friday night. A little dancing, a little drinking, and a little something — make that a big something — to make my toes curl. That’s all I need tonight.