He’s looking at me.
Galen Blood is looking at me, his eyes hot on the shape of my breasts, the way my legs are moving. I’m meat to him. Just a piece of meat he wants to possess and fuck and destroy, and a piece of meat who wants him to do it.
“I want her to try some things on,” Galen says, interrupting Leanne mid-sentence.
He must not have heard a thing she said. Everything is custom made. There’s no reason to “try on” clothing. They can show me styles, and take my measurements, and do tailoring. For that matter, with Galen’s kind of money, I’m sure that this store could even hire the finest Italian designers to create something from scratch, just for me.
Galen’s meat.
I can tell from the way his eyes have heated on me that Galen heard Leanne. He knows that they don’t have things to “try on.”
He just doesn’t care.
I understand now that this isn’t about buying clothes. Not really. He could have had people sent to his mansion.
This is about having me try on clothes.
For him.
He wants this, so I want it.
There is a changing room in the back, probably to try on clothes once they’ve been created. It is a circular room with a round couch in the middle. Several mirrors surround the room. I can see myself from every angle, my flabby body moving awkwardly within the ill-fitting sheath dress that the maids have clad me in.
Leanne produces dresses. I don’t know where they come from. They look like they probably won’t fit. They’re designed for shorter women and won’t cover enough of my body.
I don’t protest. I don’t say no.
I’ll never say no.
Galen folds his body onto the couch facing the dais in front of the mirrors. There is so much of him to settle against the cushions, all long limbs and effortless grace and dangerous, smoldering eyes.
“Get undressed,” he says.
My hands tremble as I move to take the dress from Leanne and move toward one of the changing rooms.
Galen stops me with his cold voice.
“Get undressed.”
A frisson settles over me as I realize what he’s saying.
Leanne arches an eyebrow at Galen. The cogs turn in her mind. She’s considering what I’ve been ordered to do, and what she hasn’t been ordered to do—which is anything at all. She hasn’t been told to leave.
Her job isn’t unlike my new job. She’s in customer service. Today, the customer she’s intended to service is Galen.
If Galen doesn’t want her to leave, she won’t. She likes his money too much for that.
It’s down to me.
Do I want to get undressed in front of both of these people?
Never say no.
Swallowing hard, I reach back to search for the zipper. I can’t reach it.
“Help her, Leanne,” Galen says.
Leanne’s knuckles are cool against my back as she exposes my spine inch by inch. She brings the zipper below my shoulder blades. Then I can reach it, and I finish the job myself.
I peel the dress away to expose my breasts. Galen’s looking at them. Leanne is looking at them. Both of them see in the full light of day how big they are, how they aren’t nearly as perky as those of a woman with smaller breasts, the peach color of my nipples.
The worst part is that they can see my areolas puckering. It’s not from the temperature. It’s warm in the store.
No, I’m aroused by their gazes.
It’s humiliating to let the dress puddle around my feet to expose my oversized hips and the rolls around my waist. My thighs are thick, too thick to match with my bony ankles. I’m not wearing underwear. They didn’t have anything for me. And now I’m standing in nothing but shoes that are a size too big like a child playing dress-up.
Leanne is professional. She keeps her eyes above the waist. She doesn’t look down to see that my arousal is dripping down the inside of my thighs, tickling the backs of my knees.
“Step onto the platform,” Galen says, reclining in his chair, resting his chin on his thumb and forefinger. His eyes track me across the carpet as I obey him. My obedience is reflected around me five or six times, allowing me to see the jiggle of my ass as I step up. “Leanne, measure her.”
There’s a smile playing around Leanne’s lips now. She stretches a measuring tape across the back of my shoulders, sending chills spreading down my spine. My nipples tighten further. It lifts my breasts just a half an inch, and I can see the flush on my chest in the mirror.
Her perfect fingernails skim down my ribcage.
“Lift your arms,” she says softly, and I do.
I can see her cold features over my shoulder in the mirror. She checks the distance between my shoulder blades, down my arms.
I’m exposed and vulnerable in front of her.
She is touching me.
Leanne kneels, sliding the tape along my hip. Her breath is warm against my skin.
Unexpectedly, I shiver.
Galen is watching. He can see every tiny reaction that I’m having. He can see the goosebumps, the way my breath is quickening, the hitch in my lungs when she begins to measure my inseam.
The back of her hand brushes against my pussy. She must feel that I’m drenched.
It’s too much. It’s so humiliating.
My eyes squeeze shut.
“Keep looking,” Galen says.
I obey. I’ll always obey.
The mirror transfixes me. All I can do is watch her as her hands linger between my legs. Even though I feel her skin against mine, I’m not connected to what I’m seeing. It’s not really me getting turned on by a stranger’s touch while notorious billionaire Galen Blood looks on, the three of us isolated in a high end dress shop.
Leanne’s thumb lifts. The nail skims between the cleft of my glistening, soaking pussy lips, swiping away the beads.
And then she’s stepping away, standing up, and I don’t know if she really meant to touch me like that or if it was an accident.
She takes note of my measurements. Leanne is unhurried as she writes, leaving me vulnerable and exposed on the platform in front of the mirrors. I am breathless. I want someone, anyone, to touch me and relieve some of the intense frustration that I’m feeling.
Galen’s eyes burn through me.
Is that his cock tenting his pants? Is he as aroused by watching me as I am by watching myself?
“Should I try on one of the dresses now?” I ask in a tiny voice.
“No,” he says. The sound of the forbidden word makes me twitch. But he goes on to say, “I want you to pleasure her. Pleasure Leanne.”
I can’t tell him no.
Well, I could. I can get out any time I want to.
The thing that’s keeping me from telling him “no” isn’t the feeling that I can’t escape. It’s the fact I don’t want to.
I’ve never been with a woman before, and I’ve never been all that interested in it, either. But now I can’t think of anything else I want to do more. Galen has told me to do it, and now it’s my purpose in life: pleasuring Leanne, a stranger, the store clerk, a woman.
Sinking to my knees, I am brought face to face with Leanne’s fitted skirt. It is snug down her thighs. It’s obviously cut just for her. The shoes, however, are from last season. She wears the appearance of being rich without actually having money.
It might be my imagination, but I think that I can already smell the perfume of her body. She’s aroused, too.
She looks annoyed by my presence, though. Like I’m an irritating little dog sniffing around her feet.
“Pathetic,” she says, giving voice to the thoughts I have for myself. “You don’t even hesitate? You’re disgusting.” There’s taunting in her voice, a tease, yet there’s also a quiver of excitement.
This is a role she’s playing as the dominant woman, enjoying the heady rush of the small power that Galen has offered to her.
I’m supposed to pleasure her.
How do I
pleasure a woman?
I can’t do it without touching her, that’s for certain. My hands go to the hem of her skirt, and I lift it tentatively, inching it higher up on her thighs.
Leanne scoffs.
“Pathetic,” she says again.
Her hand fists in my hair, dragging my head toward the gap between her legs. She’s in great shape for a woman of her age. She is muscular and lean. Her thighs barely brush at the top. She makes me feel ungainly and huge, and now she’s forcing my mouth to her white silk panties, holding me tightly as I lip the hem awkwardly.
The heat of my breath makes moisture spread over her underwear. I inhale her scent.
She smells womanly. She smells powerful.
This woman works for a store, a person who services rich people, and Galen has made it clear I am firmly beneath her in the hierarchy. I am less than the woman who arranges for clothing for him.
I reach for her underwear.
“No hands,” Galen says.
I bite my bottom lip as I consider the instructions. How can I please her—how can I please Galen?—if I can’t get my hands involved in the activity?
Locking my fingers together behind my naked back, I gently grab the hem of her underwear with my teeth.
The panties slide down easily, exposing hair that is going gray. She’s a natural brunette. She trims in a landing strip, I’m surprised to see—a narrow stripe of hair leading from her swollen clit toward her navel, only a couple of inches long, like an arrow pointing toward the juicy secret of her cunt.
Leanne isn’t the uptight older woman she appears to be. She’s filthy, maybe just as filthy as I am, grooming herself to be fucked.
I pull the underwear to her knees.
My tongue darts out. Before I can think better of it, I lap the pink bud peeking out from between her labia.
Her hand tightens painfully on my hair.
“Yes,” she hisses.
It hurts. I deserve this.
Shifting my weight to the side, I make sure that I can see Galen in the mirror as I lick again. There’s no approval in his eyes, but he’s watching me like he can’t look anywhere else. He can’t tear himself away from the sight. Even if he looks angry, that must mean he’s pleased.
The arousal bulging at the front of his slacks suggests the same thing.
God, I want that inside of me. I want him to come up here and fuck me while I lick Leanne.
The thought gives me fresh enthusiasm for the task he’s ordered me to commit. I lick more eagerly, delving deep between the folds of her pussy to taste her juices. She is a little bitter, a little sweet. For some reason I’m thinking of vanilla lattes as I seek out her tight, damp hole.
Leanne holds me tighter. She pushes me against her pussy, and the wiry hairs on her pubis scrape against my nose.
I’ve never pleasured a woman before, yet here I am.
There really is a first time for everything.
I lick with longer strokes, deeper strokes. It feels strange to acquaint myself with another woman’s pussy. When I’m fingering this kind of soft, pink skin, I’m used to feeling it on both ends, both as the owner of the fingers and of the cunt. I know what feels good and can adjust the pressure to make it feel just right.
The only feedback I have now is her quickening breath and her fingers fisting in my hair.
In the mirror, I see myself on my knees between Leanne’s legs. She’s clutching one of the dresses in her other fist. She’s glaring at me, teeth clenched, puffing through her nose like a bull as she ruts with my face.
“Stop,” Galen says.
And I do.
Leanne gives him a look. I think she wants to yell at him. She’s drenched between the legs—as drenched as I am—and she must be aching pretty hard for satisfaction.
But Galen is powerful. His money is infinite.
He says stop, and nobody is going to argue with him.
“Compose yourself and get out of here,” he says to Leanne with obvious disgust.
“Thank you,” she replies. Her tone is cool and professional. Her taste lingers on my lips, my arms sore from being locked behind my back in such an awkward position.
Leanne smooths her hair behind her ears and leaves.
Just like that.
What power it is to have money. People know that they will be used by the men in power who have it, yet they still throw themselves to the floor and beg for that abuse.
More than that, they will be grateful for the opportunity to be stepped upon.
The tip of my nose is damp. The breeze makes it feel cold when Leanne steps through the curtains.
I’m alone with Galen, just the two of us in a changing room with so many mirrors.
And he looks furious.
***
Galen
What’s wrong with this woman?
I could see the hesitance in Eliza when I told her to pleasure the sales clerk, but she did it anyway.
That should have made her refuse me.
She should have said no.
But she didn’t.
She’s still kneeling on the raised platform at the center of the changing rooms, arms straining as she keeps her clasped hands behind her. And she’s watching me with those big fucking doe eyes that look a lot more innocent than they should.
There’s a vulnerable, fragile woman inside of this shell, and somehow, someone has convinced her that she deserves to be treated like trash.
It’s disgusting.
The idea of it makes me want to kill someone.
And if I ever find the person who made her feel that way…
I throw the nearest dress at her. “Put it on,” I command.
She hurries to do what I’ve instructed, shimmying those incredible hips into an outfit that’s obviously a little too tight to contain every delicious inch of her body. The way that she bounces as she tries to get into it makes her breasts jiggle in the most appealing way.
It reminds me of how she looked while I’d been fucking her the night before.
It makes me think of how hard I’m going to fuck her today.
She rolls the black material up her chest and tries to thread her arms in. The movements should be awkward, graceless, but it mostly just thrusts her chest forward and twists her body in a way that makes me itch to grab her.
Doesn’t she have any fucking clue how hot she is?
I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard before. Not in my entire life. It’s painful, the way my dick strains against my slacks. There’s no way to hide it, either.
I’ve gotta stand up. She looks at me in a way that is both frightened and trusting when I rise to my full height. Eliza’s eyes drop to my slacks, drinking in the outline of my cock. She’s tried so hard to pull the small dress up over her breasts that it’s ridden all the way up her thighs to reveal the bottom curves of her ass.
We don’t have a lot of time. My brother, Braden, arranged for us to fly out of the country in just a couple of hours. I don’t have to go through any security checkpoints to reach our private jet, of course. I own the fucking airport. I could make the plane wait. But Braden will take it as a victory if I make us late to the meeting, and I’m not going to let him have one goddamn inch.
So I shouldn’t be stalking toward Eliza, thinking about how much I want to shove my cock in her mouth, between those sweet tits, into her dripping pussy.
I shouldn’t think about how I want to taste that other woman on her lips.
We’ve got business to do.
Games to win.
I clench my fist in the back of the dress. It won’t quite close over her spine. She’s too much woman for a dress this size, and it makes me happy to see that. I’d never settle for a woman who’s any less. I’ve had enough skinny bitches in my time. They never satisfied.
She satisfies me. Eliza also makes me hunger for more.
I am an ouroboros, feasting endlessly, always filled, always wanting a few more inches.
I will have her.
<
br /> With my grip on her dress, I bend yank her against me. She sucks in a gasp and falls against my chest.
My cock grinds against her hip.
“You liked that,” I accuse her. “You wanted to go down on Leanne the moment you saw her, you dirty fucking slut. You’re such a little cocktease.”
Her eyelashes flutter. She can’t even catch her breath. “I want…” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and it’s the most interesting thing I’ve seen in my life. I gaze at the movement. She’s magnetic.
“What do you want?” I growl. “You want Leanne to come back? You want her to ride your face?” My thumb swipes down the tip of her nose to the dimple in her chin, wiping off the remnants of the woman’s juices.
Eliza’s throat works as she swallows.
She speaks so quietly I can’t hear her.
So much humility. The perfect submissive.
It disgusts me that she could think that she deserves to be so small. Fucking sickening.
That disgust comes out in the way I shake her, squeezing her tightly against me. “Speak louder.”
“I want to please you,” she says.
It’s enough to make my dick even harder and my heart skip a beat.
My lips crash over hers.
I knew she’d taste like another woman’s pussy. But the flavor’s mingled with her saliva, marking Leanne with Eliza’s brand. It’s fucking delicious. Her tongue slides against mine, mouth opening wide, yielding to my wordless demands. She bows against me with a moan. The sexiest goddamn moan I’ve ever heard.
If I don’t bury my cock in her soon, then something real fucking embarrassing is going to happen.
But then I hear the shriek of rings against a curtain rod, heralding Leanne’s intrusion.
I hold Eliza tightly against me and turn to tell Leanne she’s fired.
It’s not Leanne waiting for us.
It’s my brother. My enemy. That bastard.
Braden Blood.
***
Braden
Look at the two of them together. It’s ridiculous. I can already see how much he adores her by the way he’s clutching those naughty curves to his chest, like she’s his new teddy bear and he can’t live without filling his palms with her flesh. Galen couldn’t have expected that I was coming or he wouldn’t have squeezed her into such a tiny little dress, leaving so much of her exposed to my hungry gaze. This is a private moment.
Blood Brothers: A Dark BBW Dom Billionaire Stepbrother Menage Serial (Stepbrother Billionaire Games Book 2) Page 2