Billionaires, Boarders, and Bastards: A Limited-Time Collection of Reverse Harem Romance Novellas

by C. M. Stunich

  I wish Jack … no all five Northington men belonged to me. I let the fantasy run through my mind, pretending just for tonight it that it is true. As our pleasure reaches its zenith, Jack and I become one, our orgasms releasing in a single perfect moment. Then reality comes rushing back.

  Now that it is all over, I am left feeling almost heartbroken. For the first time in my life, I wish there was no Christmas, that Monday would never come. Because it harkens the end of the most wonderful week of my life.

  My eyes water and tears gently trail down the side of my face. I try to hide it from Jack, but he's too quick, rubbing his thumb through the trail of liquid.

  “Am I really that bad?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood. There it is again, that humor, but this time it isn't enough. The feelings of loss are too much; more tears threaten to come.

  “I can't believe I made an angel like you cry,” he says. I don't know why but this breaks through the sadness and I start laugh crying. Jack gives me a hug, continuing to make jokes. Eventually the tears fade.

  “Sorry. I ruined your after sex high,” I say with a small sniffle.

  “Nothing could ruin that high. By far that was the best I've ever had.” He strokes my hair as he talks. “But you know what could make it better? Leftovers.”

  We head down to the kitchen and eat leftovers directly out of their containers. Lucia would kill me. She hates when I do this at home. After hanging out and joking for several hours, we decide to take the conversation upstairs next to the fireplace. But before we go, Jack makes me a cup of hot chocolate from scratch.

  “You never got the hot chocolate you requested while we were looking at the lights. I just wanted you to know you deserve to have everything your heart desires.” My heart soars at the sweet words. I almost say the only thing my heart desires is to be with you, but I don't want to ruin what has turned out to be a perfect day.

  The next morning, I slip into a burgundy top and white skirt and head straight to work. The thing with event planning is there are always last minute problems to deal with. The more often you check in, the easier it is to do damage control. It is supremely early so I doubt that anyone is awake yet. I've got a sea of papers laid out in front of me and I'm concentrating. Whittaker waltzes into the room, radiating authority … and sex. Wow, he absolutely dominates the space. He is already dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, a cup of tea in his large hands. As I watch, he sits in the chair directly next to me, slowly and sensually sipping from the steaming mug.

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't like having him this close. He notices me looking and gestures for me to continue with what I'm doing. Normally, it would be too awkward to have someone scrutinizing me as I work, but for some reason … with him I don't mind.

  The entire time, I feel his dark gaze on me, and my body starts to heat, so much so that I can't help but wiggle. I'm sure Whit notices as he finishes his drink, setting it down with a genteel clank.

  He stands up and leans over me, sending my heart racing. The spicy aroma of Scotch and cinnamon tantalizes my senses. The thick fall of luxurious locks on his forehead and the light dusting of stubble look like they were crafted for his magnificent face. The combination is pure perfection. He plucks the pencil out of my hand, giving me a mesmerizing smile, then presses the hard lines of his heated body against my back and shoulder.

  'Join me for a sleigh ride through the snow,' Whit writes in elegant, looping cursive. He tilts his head, and his obsidian eyes blink slowly several times, looking for my answer.

  I swallow.

  I don't want to break the silence, so I shake my head yes. God, he smells so freaking good.

  After last night's breakdown, I almost ran, got on a bus and headed home. But I crave their touch—all five of them. Addicted to their kisses. Obsessed with the feel of their eyes on me. I know that this dream is almost at an end, and I'll be cast aside like yesterday's newspaper. But the thought of leaving them tears a hole in my heart that I fear will never heal. I knew this was a bad idea.

  “When?” My voice comes out a hoarse whisper. Shadowed eyes watch me hungrily. Whit licks his lips. At the simple motion, my skin flushes and I lean toward him ever so slightly. He's bewitching.

  'I would love if you'd join me … right now?' he scrawls, just below his last question. He gives me a big smile, teeth and all. Whit is absolutely magnetic, electrifying the air around us. How can a man say everything that needs saying without a single word?

  “Yeah.” I try to stand up, but I'm flustered and end up tripping over the chair. Whittaker catches me, the movement graceful and effortless, teasing my stomach with butterflies. I find myself completely tongue-tied.

  He guides me back to my feet and gestures at the door, ever the picture of grace and poise, of Lucullan luxury and ardent passion. I grab my warm winter jacket off the coat hanger on the way by.

  Outside is a freaking one-horse open sleigh, bright cherry red, like Santa's.

  Holy crap.

  Whit helps me up into the seat and then glides in next to me. He lays a blanket over our laps and pulls me closer. This really is like something out of a Christmas fairy tale.

  We glide through forests covered in a perfect blanket of white. I can hear birds chirping in the trees; the winter sunshine reflecting off the newly fallen snow gives a magic quality to the earth, like it's glowing. It is one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced. I don't know how long the ride is, but it goes by in the blink of an eye. Whit barely looks at the natural beauty of Colorado. Instead, he watches me the entire time, a look of intense fascination on his perfect face.

  When we get back to the Northington Chateau, Whit helps be jump down. I start to go, but he stops me, lifting up two fingers then one.

  “Two things. The first?” I ask. He tosses me a decidedly decadent smirk. Clearly I guessed right. Though honestly, it was like playing charades with a master. Each and every subtle movement of his luscious body spoke volumes, told stories, and the regal lines of his kingly face could convey an array of obvious emotions as easily as you or I could blink an eye. He slides a long rectangular box from his pocket and cracks the top for me to see. It is a tiny, understated diamond necklace. I can't help but think that it was made to go with my engagement ring. Laying on top of it is a small note. He takes the necklace out, putting the box and the note in my pocket.

  “Is this for me? You really didn't … ” He lifts his finger to his lips in the universal shh position. When people do that, it is usually rude or condescending, but the way Whittaker does it is just sexy as hell. He unclasps the delicate white gold chain; pushing my hair aside, he sensually slides it around my neck and clasps it. Goose bumps break out all over his skin. He lifts up a second finger, stepping forward and scooping me up in his arms.

  Snow begins to fall as Whit slants his mouth over mine, kissing me deep. He encourages me to kiss him back with several skilled flicks of his searing tongue. I don't know how long we stand there in the cold and the snow wrapped in one another's arms, tasting, feeling, memorizing the taste of each other's lips. I can think of very few moments that even come close to matching the magic of this perfect kiss.

  I spend the night with Whit.

  We end up fucking over and over again—in the hot tub, in the shower, on the floor naked in front of a roaring fire.

  Over the next few days, the six of us fall into a comfortable routine. Sometimes, I'm with one of them … sometimes more. All I know is, I get to know them all a little better, get to see the men behind the wealth and luxury. One night, I even get Gabriel to tell me a little about the day his father adopted him. The details are sparse. I don't think he is ready to truly relive the pain he went through, a sentiment I can understand perfectly. The brothers talk about their father Bishop often. The love and respect they have for the man is apparent. Like most sons, they strive to make their father proud, to be the kind of men he would want them to be.

  The night before Christmas eve, I lay in bed wide awake, con
templating the end of … every wonderful thing I've experienced since I met Gabriel outside NHI headquarters. Jack and Hudson are asleep next to me, one on each side, like that first night, but everything is so different from that day. The things I feel are so much more than they were before. And it hasn't been long. How will I feel in months? … years? My feelings for these five run with a passion so deep when I think about it, my blood quickens and I can't breathe. I know I might sound naive or maybe just foolish, but I can't help but feel that the five of us belong together, that ours is a romance for the storybooks.

  How can I possibly say goodbye? Don't I owe it to myself to confess the strength of my feelings? If I don't, I'll regret it until the day I die.

  I've made up my mind.

  Tomorrow, after the party, I'll tell them.

  Tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, I will confess my love.

  The morning of Christmas Eve, I get up just as the sun rises. Today is a big day, my favorite holiday, and I'm announcing my engagement to five billionaires, meeting their father, and taking a chance on love. I might get my heart broken, but at least I'll know. I wish Lucia were here with me right now. I don't have time to call, but I shoot her a quick text letting her know I will call her tomorrow to wish her a merry Christmas.

  I need to change out of the oversized chunky sweater, leggings, and fuzzy suede ankle boots I put on, so I could run around, making sure everything is on schedule. The decorations might all be designer, but those alone aren't enough to impress anyone—not at a party full of billionaires. And I have no idea when the boys' father will be arriving, but I can only assume he will get here before the other guests.

  The library looks great; the two story room is almost as big as a ballroom and it's the most likely spot for guest to have their after-dinner drinks. I'm about to head back to my room to get dressed when Whitaker walks in, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. His impressive form practically glides over to me. One look at the hard lines of his gorgeous form draped in a black suit and a red and white striped tie and I'm already wet.

  “Hey.” My voice comes out a lot huskier than I intend and I ogle him without meaning to, but he doesn't seem to mind in the least. He lets his eyes peruse the full length of my body, leisurely taking in every little detail. I shouldn't feel beautiful in my stupid sweater and leggings, but Whittaker seems to appreciate what he sees. And this makes me feel just a little less self-conscious.

  He looks around conspiratorially, blinks his ebony eyes several times slowly, and then gives me a look filled with devious concupiscence. He walks toward me, a wolfish grin on his face. The voracity of that look causes me to back up several steps. He moves toward me like he's on the hunt, and I am the prey. A thrill runs through me.

  I back up several more steps, but my back hits the hard surface of the mahogany shelves. Whit closes the distance in the blink of an eye, pinning me in with a hand on either side of my head. His eyes, dark as pitch, look downright ravenous as he licks his lips. He keeps one hand on the bookshelf above my head and unbuttons his slacks with the other, letting them fall to the floor. His look is dominant, demanding, hungry. Whit grabs my leggings; pushing them around my knees, he lifts me up by my exposed ass cheeks, pinning me between the bookshelf and the hardness of his muscular chest. Trapped by the fabric of my own pants, my knees get pinned up, exposing my swollen sex.

  Whit positions himself, impaling me with his cock. My body stretches to accommodate his girth. He doesn't give me time though; carnal desire has taken over. With each hard and deep thrust, I moan louder. He covers my mouth with his own and shoves his tongue deep, stifling my cries of ecstasy. My sensitive body pulses around him, squeezing, encouraging him to fill me. He slams into me me over and over, pleasuring himself in the heat of my core. A powerful shudder racks his body and he spills himself inside of me. He holds me there, panting in my ear for several minutes before he releases me back to my feet.

  The sated look of male satisfaction on his face is priceless.

  “Did you come in here to ask me something or was that your intention all along?”

  He lifts an eyebrow at me then raises his hand up, signing something to me very slowly. The guys—Hudson mostly, so he can trick me into saying dirty things—have been teaching me a little, primarily the alphabet.

  He signs it again, a smile on his face. I pinch my brow and concentrate.

  “D … A … D.” I say each letter as he makes the symbol. Fuck. “You came to get me because your dad is here and you want me to meet him?” I guess.

  He nods his head yes like he thinks this whole situation is hilarious.

  “And you still fucked me? When he's out there waiting, probably wondering what took us so long?” I say, exasperated. Whit's smile gets even bigger and he nods his head yes again.

  Bishop Northington is a short, plump, happy man with a kind demeanor and a big hearty laugh. He honestly reminds me of Santa Claus. But there's also a sharp wit under all of his good cheer. When Whittaker comes into the room, Bishop gets up and gives him a loving hug. Whit towers over his father.

  “It's nice to have everyone here for Christmas,” he says, looking at his sons, the epitome of a proud father.

  “And who might this gorgeous young lady be?” he asks, giving me a kind hug. Bishop doesn't say anything, but his blue eyes flick to my ring. He smiles at me, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes the same way it did a few seconds ago. He hates me.

  Last night, with the comforting warmth of Hudson and Jack surrounding me, my fantasy of confessing sounded like a really good idea. Today, meeting the Northington Patriarch … not so much. All five of them crave their father's approval above all else. Doubt tries to weave its way into my psyche, change my mind, but I won't let it. I take a deep breath and strengthen my resolve.

  “Natalie Winters. It's nice to meet you, sir,” I say, offering him my hand, but he ignores it.

  “Ah, none of this sir business with me. You can call me Bishop,” he says with a big hearty laugh, and a hug.

  “Bishop, it is. And you can call me Natalie,” I say with a genuine smile. I can see why these boys strive to be the kind of man their father would be proud of. Heck, I just met him and I want him to like me. I used to daydream that someone would take my father away and Lucia and I would get sent to live with a family where the father was kind and friendly and warm like Bishop Northington.

  “Well, Natalie, I suppose you're responsible for making this big drafty house so cozy.” All five of his sons watch our exchange with masks of boredom, but I can see the way their eyes follow our conversation.

  “Yes, sir … er, Bishop.”

  “Why don't you sit next to me and tell me a little about yourself and how you met Whit?”

  Oh crap.

  I hadn't even thought of that.

  Bishop continues talking.

  “I wonder if Anita is finished yet? I'm starving. I don't know if you know this, but she makes the best blueberry pancakes in the country,” he says with a chuckle. Thankful for the change of subject, I answer him.

  “That's what I said. Colden thought I was exaggerating,” I say as I follow him to the dining room.

  Bishop is truly as smart and cunning as I thought. He asks me all kinds of questions, but avoids the subject of engagement. I end up telling the truth about everything except when I met the five of them. And of course, the whole fake fiancée deal. At least he seems to genuinely like Christmas as much as I do.

  After a few hours, I excuse myself to go get ready for the party.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My dress is a stunning, red, sleeveless Oscar de la Renta ballgown. I coif my hair into a fancy updo, taking extra care to make sure my simple but elegant makeup is absolutely flawless. The only jewelry I wear is the necklace Whittaker gave me and my engagement ring—nothing else seemed appropriate. I'm running way behind because unfortunately, it took me way longer to get ready than I thought it would.

  I decide to find the Northington men
and confess my feelings before I do anything else. If they don't want me, then I'll go. They can keep all the money and the gifts … everything. After meeting their father, I can't do it. He cares for them and vice versa, and I won't be responsible for putting a wall of lies between them.

  I take a deep breath, open the door, and head out to do the bravest thing I've ever done. I ignore the little voice in the back of my head that tells me I'm not good enough.

  Guests are already beginning to arrive and Anita is greeting them, showing to the ballroom. As I pass the study, I hear a voice I recognize. Gabriel? The door is closed and I scoot closer, so I can make out what is being said.

  He's arguing with someone.

  It's Bishop.

  Their voices are muffled, so I press my ear to the door.

  “She doesn't belong with the lot of you. She's different. I mean it—send her away … ”

  My heart drops and my vision blurs. I knew it. I pull my ear from the door. I should have known. I could go in there and confess, but I won't because … even if they would have me, I can't be responsible for breaking up a family as loving as this. How could I be so stupid? I don't need hear anymore.

  The answer is clear: I'm not good enough and I never will be.

  I need to get out of here. Now. Panic is threatening to overtake me.

  I run for the entrance, grabbing my coat and purse; I fight to hold back tears as I run.

  “Natalie … what's wrong?” It's Anita, calling to me from across the foyer. I don't wait around for her to chase me. I take off down the front steps, running into the frigid Colorado air.

  I run until I can't run anymore, until my chest is too tight and it hurts to breathe. I don't know if it's from breathing in the frozen air or the pain of a broken heart, but every breath is agony.