HATE LOVE: A Billionaire Boss Romance

by Katie Ford

  “Is this what you want?” she whispers shyly. “Like this?”

  Holy fuck. I’m gonna pop. I can’t take it anymore. My stiff cock needs a quick touch, even through the confines of my pants, and Macy knows. Her eyes meet mine, then travel downward. She watches, fascinated, as I stroke my tool through the stiff fabric, our eyes locked.

  “That’s right baby girl,” I growl, “This is all for you.”

  “Unnnh,” grunts Will. “Aw fuck. I can’t take this anymore.”

  And like a bolt of lightning, suddenly we’re on her, a pack of wolves surrounding our prey. Matt is first, dipping his head to suckle one nipple. Will’s fingertips reach for the other, rolling that pinkness between his fingers before leaning in for a kiss.

  Meanwhile, Tim and I are busy too. I fall to my knees, licking the underside of one tit, and Tim follows suit with the other, pressing his lips to the crease between the underside of her breast and her torso.

  Macy literally shakes, her head falling back, eyes closed with pleasure.

  “Ahhh,” she moans. “Oh god.” Her breasts quiver beneath our mouths, the soft flesh heaving.

  “This is wrong,” she mewls wildly, shaking her head. “This is so wrong.”

  “Naw, baby,” grunts Tim, looking up for a sec. “Why is this wrong? This is good.”

  She comes to for a moment, just staring at us as we rotate at her tits, sucking and kissing, stroking our tongues along that creamy flesh.

  “Because there’s four of you,” she breathes, holding still as we lavish her with attention. “There’s four of you, and only one of me.”

  “So?” I grunt. “What’s the problem?”

  But she can’t answer because it’s too mind-blowing. The girl gives in then, leaning back as we kiss and suck, her entire body quivering with pleasure.

  Meanwhile,four erect cocks beg to be freed from bondage. I rub mine every so often, wishing more than anything that I could have her pillowy mouth on me right now, that I could enjoy the sweet feel of her cunt.

  But it’s too early, so instead, we play at her breasts. I bite one nip lightly and she yelps, eyes going wide for a moment before going heavy with lust once more. Matt and I tease as a team on her left side, savoring that creamy flesh.

  Meanwhile, the twins work her right side, doing some depraved shit, I don’t know. I’m too busy with my small piece of heaven to know what’s going on over there, but suddenly it all ends. Because Macy moans once, loud, head thrown back and eyes closed.

  “Come for us, sweet girl,” I urge. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “I – I,” she stammers, right on the edge. Her body twists, pussy begging to be touched, aching like hell.

  I want to bury my dick in there, but it’s not time. It’s all breast play tonight, so I bite down on her nip, hard. Simultaneously, Will sucks her right side, literally coming off that tit with an audible popping sound.

  “Ahhhh!” she screams then, curves twisting, wildly writhing in our arms. “Unnnh!”

  And oh yeah, it happens. We don’t touch her puss, no. But Will lifts her skirt so we have a view of that panty-clad pussy, and it’s a gorgeous sight. Her nether lips quiver under the thin lace before spasming, clit so huge that it literally presses against the thin material like a bullet.

  And as we watch, a wet spot grows at her crotch. Oh shit, she’s so fucking dirty! Her puss is leaking like a faucet, and pretty soon the entire seat of those panties is drenched, the delicious scent of hungry cunt rising like musk through the air.

  But Macy doesn’t know. She’s wrung out, dazed, lolling in her chair like a limp doll. I lick her nipple once more, teasing, before pulling her top up and covering heaven.

  “You alright baby girl?” I growl. “You alright?

  Shit, I need to rub one out fast, but the female’s welfare is most important right now. Because the innocent teen just got a breast job from four alphas, and that’s enough to overwhelm anyone.

  And frankly, she’s not doing super well. The brunette sags heavily against me as I lift her in my arms, standing to full height. We’ve had our fun, and it’s important to do a clean sweep now. We take care of our women, especially girls as sweet and innocent as this little brunette.

  So with long strides, I take the stairs two at a time. Nudging a door to the right with my foot, I peer inside. Oh yeah, this is her room. Or her childhood room, more accurately, because it’s still covered in posters of boy bands and puppies in baskets. I want to laugh, but there are more important things right now.

  My brothers trail me into the space as I lay her gently on the bed. Oh god, she’s beautiful, like a sleeping princess, skin flushed, a dreamy smile on her lips.

  “Trent?” she asks in a dazed voice. “Matt? Tim? Will?”

  And it’s too much. I can’t resist. Leaning forwards, I pull her top down once more, going in for a kiss. Matt, Will and Tim do the same, worshipping that pinkness, her crests still hard and sensitive, our mouths popping off one after another. Those ruby nipples gleam wetly, pointing skywards.

  “Ummm,” she murmurs in her sleep, pressing her thighs together. “Ummm.”

  My brothers and I share knowing smiles. Because goddamn, the girl came from just a tiny bit of breast play. We didn’t touch her pussy or massage her asshole, nor stroke any other sweet spot. So if Macy’s this good from just that much, what’s she gonna be like when we touch her elsewhere? What’s she gonna be like when we put our cocks in those sensitive holes?

  With one last look, our massive bodies file out of the room, still hard and painfully aroused. But one thing’s clear now … we’ve found our girl, and we’re teaching her a lesson this summer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Macy

  Oh god, oh god.

  I startle awake on top of my blankets, tits hanging out of the dress I wore yesterday. Did I seriously let four guys play with me like that last night?

  Because I’m a bookworm, a huge nerd. There’s still a Harry Potter poster in my room, for Christ’s sake. I cook and I study and I read. What I don’t do? I don’t let four hot, much older men get me off just by playing with my private spots.

  But it happened. It wasn’t just a dream. Matt, Tim, Will, and Trent. More than half of the week, by my count, all focused on me, all worshipping my body. It was so delicious, amazingly mind-blowing. Who knew sex could feel like that? Suddenly, my body roars to life, thighs clenching once more. Because oh god, it was good. I’d come like a hurricane, blasting everything in sight, panties sopping wet.

  But for some reason, the boys never pulled out their hard cocks. And what cocks they must be. I saw the ridges in their jeans and shorts, they were unmistakable, enormous and proud, like four replicas of Thor’s hammer just waiting to pound and conquer every pussy in the world. Ted and Maddy Morgan must have done a voodoo ritual to get boys that well-hung.

  Slowly, I shake my head again, still dazed from the memories. What in the world happened last night? I mean, my neighbors spent the entire afternoon making sexual comments, but I assumed that was just their personalities. They’re like their own little fraternity – the Seven Brothers of Sin.

  And I know that what I did was definitely not normal. Not by an inch. Not by a tenth of an inch. But it felt so good. It was amazing to be feasted on, and they’d loved my body as much as they’d loved the food I prepared. The men had sipped and nuzzled, their only goal to make me come.

  And come I had, like a champ. Holy cow. How can I be acting like this? So slutty and yet … so satisfied.

  Because I have to admit that I loved it, every single second. I loved being the focus of four men, their eyes worshipping, hands caressing. And their mouths. Oh god, the memory of those mouths on my breasts, caressing my hard nips, licking along the soft bulbs makes me cream even now.

  Oh god, oh god.

  It really was me.

  And it really happened.

  I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, stretching out, a little bit dazed. Thank god my parents d
idn’t come home when Boobfest was raging in the kitchen. Holy shit that would have been a different kind of shitshow.

  And speaking of parents, what kind of parents tell a kid how much they’ve missed her and then just go about their empty-nester-business like said kid isn’t even home? Marsha and Jim were out late last night and I suspect they’ve left again, off to bridge club or country club or golf or whatever it is people do when they’re early retirees. If you ask me, they were just waiting until I flew the nest because “real life” started then.

  But I guess it works. Because yesterday was crazy, beyond incredible, and thank god Jim and Marsha didn’t bust in. What would they have thought?

  Sweet daughter, getting licked by four men.

  Opening her legs, begging for it.

  Pushing her boobies into the mouths of four ravenous alphas.

  Yep, that’s me.

  It would have been disastrous, to say the least.

  So I sit up, determined to put a stop to the constant loop of images in my mind. There’s real life, and yesterday was a dream.

  Suddenly, a loud, rumbling noise sounds outside, making my head pound. Talk about adding insult to injury! What could be going on so early in the morning?

  Squinting, I haul myself to my feet, pulling off my dress and pulling on a threadbare t-shirt that my mom likes to call my “blankie,” since I often wear it when I’m feeling out of sorts. It’s been a part of my life since seventh grade and has a very faded picture of a younger Nick Jonas on the front.

  That hiccuping, rumbling sound fills the air again, so I haul myself to the window, still squinting against the bright sunlight. And oh lordy, but my breath catches then. Because there’s brother number five, working on a motorcycle in the Morgans’ driveway. The bike is oversized, chrome-covered, and built like a beast. Just like the man bent beside it.

  A brick wall, the dude has bulging biceps glistening with sweat as he works shirtless in the late-morning sun. His hair is longer than the other brothers I’ve met, but still richly dark and wavy. And I bet there are sky-blue eyes under his slick, black sunglasses.

  What is it with the Morgan boys? How can they all look like cover models? But all I know is how they make me feel, because as I watch the Adonis outside, my hand moves almost unconsciously, stroking ever so lightly at my clit as my pussy juices flow, soaking my panties.

  These Morgan guys can’t be real. They have to be a figment of my inexperienced and therefore sexually crazed brain.

  But it’s real, oh yeah, it’s real. The man bends toward his bike, head low, almost breathing onto the chrome, and I just about come. Is he going to kiss it? Lick the metal? But as I lean forward, squinting to see, the man howls and jerks back, cradling his hand.

  Shit, what happened?

  A discarded piece of metal lies on the floor now, jagged and rough, covered with blood.

  Oh my god.

  If I can see blood from my second-story window, then he must have really hurt himself. He could be bleeding out.

  Instinctively, I dash for the door, hurtling myself down the stairs and outside. It doesn’t occur to me until I stop that I’m only wearing a flimsy, see-through t-shirt, complete with Joe Jonas’ face on the front.

  And seeing this guy up close does nothing to stop what’s happening between my legs. He’s bronzed and tattooed, hair shaggy around his ears and neck. But yeah, it’s that same coal-black hair, the same penetrating blue eyes.

  Stop ogling! the voice inside screams. Someone’s injured, he needs your help! So I force myself to focus on the hand he’s cradling. A torrent of swear words is filling the air like a hillbilly symphony. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear me when I murmur, “Can I help?”

  So louder, I say it again.

  “Hey, can I help? You okay?”

  This time the pained Adonis nods and I hurry over.

  “Keep pressure on it. You got a first-aid kit in your house?”

  Growling like a dog, the man nods and starts walking, heading into the house and up the stairs to a small bathroom. As he cradles his hand, still howling, I dig through the cabinets furiously, throwing things left and right. Oh god, oh god, he’s so close. This bathroom is tiny, and between my curves and his bulky mass, we’re practically touching. In fact, I can feel the steam from his skin, radiating like a star on fire.

  But no, this is wrong. He’s bleeding, for god’s sake, and needs help. What the hell is wrong with me?

  So I turn back, all business.

  “Let go,” are my words, brisk and professional. The commanding tone does the trick, because he pulls his uninjured hand away, revealing a deep gash, with a river of fresh, red blood flowing. To be honest, it gets to me. I’ve never been good with medicine, and wooziness makes my gut churn even as I clean and bandage the wound.

  But at least he’s stopped howling. Instead, those intense blue eyes focus on my frame as I work. It’s so embarrassing! Why oh why did I run out without at least grabbing a sweatshirt first? Or a robe? Or a blanket? Because my boobs push out against the thin material, almost transparent with age. And oh god, but as his eyes drift downward, my pussy gushes again. Yep, right there in the tiny bathroom, I’m running hot and wet like a raging river.

  My hands tremble. Can he smell it? Can he smell the wet pussy scent, my personal musk?

  Oh god, oh god.

  Please, just let the earth open up and swallow me whole.

  Because sure enough, those masculine nostrils flare, blue eyes growing brighter. And my traitorous body responds.

  A deep tingle starts in my belly, growing as it becomes an ache in my womb. I’d beg if I had to, get down on my knees and do whatever they wanted. Whatever this man wants.

  But first things first. I finish wrapping his hand but make no immediate move to step away. Because where would I go? He has me pinned between the wall and the sink, there’s no space in this tiny upstairs bathroom.

  So I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say. My words come out like a croak.

  “Hey,” I manage. “Hope that’s okay.”

  Oh god. Why do I always come off as nervous and inexperienced? Maybe it’s because I am nervous and inexperienced, and a slow grin covers the dark man’s face, those eyes flashing dangerously.

  But talk about bad timing. Because as we stare at each other in the bathroom, the air electric, who materializes but Matt, Tim, Will, and Trent, four looming forms in the hallway.

  “Yo man,” Tim growls. “What’s going on in here?”

  “How’d you get your hands on our girl so quick?” adds Will with a frown. “Goddamn bro, talk about moving at light speed.”

  And finally, Trent claps the strange man on his back.

  “I see you’ve met our neighbor Macy. Welcome to the club, Ford.”

  Ah ha, so his name is Ford. I steal another glance at the dark man. Sure enough, he’s weathered around the edges, older than his brothers, but just as good-looking in a worn-in, mature kind of way.

  And in reply, Ford grunts, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Yo,” is all he says. Clearly, not a talker, even if that hot gaze is crawling all over my form, making me heat up from the inside. Oh god, is this the girl I’ve become? Or maybe I was always like this. Maybe these huge, dark-haired gods woke something inside that was asleep before. But unfortunately, the “real me” is a chubby, shy, nerd-girl who likes to cook and can’t hold a conversation, especially not with gorgeous men.

  So I stammer again.

  “Hi,” comes my murmur. “Good morning.”

  And it’s a good morning too because my nips point straight at the men, fluid beginning to seep down my thighs. Oh god! Why do I have to be creaming right now, with five guys staring at my bod? Why, why, why? I should be taken to jail and put there until I learn to control my responses.

  But the brothers don’t look disturbed at all.

  “Hey honey,” drawls Matt, eyes appreciative. “Think you forgot something.”

  I’ve fo
rgotten my name, my age, where I live, and all my important stats. But no matter.

  A blush creeps over my cheeks.

  “I know, your brother was bleeding so I just ran out of the house,” comes my stammer. “It was an emergency.”

  Trent smiles lazily then.

  “No worries, Ford’s in good hands now. I’m a doctor, I can take over.”

  I nod gratefully.

  “I’ll just be going then,” are my soft words, trying to make for the door, clearing out some personal space. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

  But not one of the men budges.

  “Baby,” says Trent again, that deep voice sensuous. “You have blood on you now. Don’t you see?”

  And gasping, I look down. Because oh no, there’s red everywhere. It’s smeared on Joe Jonas’s cheek, on my knee, even a bit on the inside of my thigh.

  And woozily, my head begins to spin again. Taking a deep breath, I grab onto the edge of the sink.

  “No worries,” comes my breathy pant. “If you’ll just give me a minute to get changed, I can take this off and get some new clothes and ….”