ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories)

by Hawke, Jessa

  Debra nodded at her friend knowingly as the men whisked her away. Debra could only imagine what had been happening on the plane in that first class cabin, and she felt her own lust bubbling to the surface in full force. They rushed through customs and as soon as she was done securing her luggage and giving it to the chauffeur who had come to pick them up, she turned to face her two Italian gentlemen who seemed to have been studying her ass the whole time.

  “Okay, guys, you asked for it, where is the limo? Is it time for us to party?” she said, following them out of the building, where a long black limo was waiting for them.

  She slipped off her thong the moment that she entered the car, and Mickey took it from her and took it to his nose, sniffing it in with a satisfying look on his face.

  “Mama Mia, this here is one hell of a horny woman we got, Marco, I think that we finally met our match, he said, and Debra could see the cocks of both men hardening in their pants.

  Debra was feeling so horny, she could barely think straight. All that she wanted was something huge, hard and delicious inside her pussy, and she did not even care who was the first to fuck her. She proceeded to remove all of her clothes as the men did the same, her whole body more alive with erotic desire than ever before. Marco was the first one to get rid of all his clothes, and she pushed him down onto the floor of the car, making him lie on her back. His cock was long and thick, and she would have loved to taste it, but not right now. Right now she wanted it deep inside her doing what it was made for. She moved over him and straddled him by the waist, her opening directly above his dick. She lowered herself down onto him, taking a hold of his dick and guiding it into her vagina. She closed her eyes and hissed as his thickness slid into her depths, lowering herself until he was completely inserted inside her. She then leaned her upper body on him, her huge breasts resting on his chest as he began driving his dick in and out of her pussy deliciously.

  Debra was so overwhelmed by the pleasure that she was getting, she barely noticed Mickey parting her butt cheeks and licking her hole. She however became aware of his presence when she felt his dick pushing into her butt hole as he got on top of her. She fused her lips onto Marco's, stifling a moan as both cocks began to move in and out of her love holes. It was not long before they all exploded into one huge orgasm, the male juices flowing into both of her love entrances filling her in a way she had never been done before, and to think that she had a whole night ahead of her. This vacation for the girls certainly started off with a bang, and they had hardly even touched French soil yet.

  THE END

  M

  Menage with my Best Friend’s Brother

  “Men are bastards,” Amanda seethes through a wet wash of tears at the bar.

  “Now, now,” Jenn pats her sympathetically on the back and gestures to the bartender for another round of cocktails. “Not all men. Just this one.”

  “Who breaks up with someone on their birthday? I’d really love to know. Tell me. Who does that?” Amanda bubbles up in another fit of crying.

  Not that it was her boyfriend’s—excuse me, ex-boyfriend’s—fault that her birthday fell so close to Valentine’s Day, though it stung, a lot. But it certainly was his fault that the girl he was leaving her for was all of tender nineteen—way too young for him, but who was asking her? No one, that’s who. There was nobody to even turn to after he told her he was leaving her for someone ten years younger—she had planned her whole birthday to include a romantic dinner between just the two of them, fielding phone calls from her friends for weeks to carve out that precious space of time to spend with him. And for what? Clearly, it had been to orchestrate her own personal disaster.

  “Listen, you need to just move on from him, from the situation. It’s cliché, but the faster you find someone new, the lesser the sting will be,” Jenn tells her sagely, leading her over from the bar to a more secluded table nearby.

  “And he’s got to be hot,” Amanda hiccups, almost stumbling on her way to the table. “I can’t have him outdoing me in the race. Who do you have for me?”

  “Well, you can have Bobby, that’s for sure. He may not be much to look at, but the boy humps like a pro.”

  Amanda winces. “Can’t do it with someone with that many hard consonants in his name. Nothing to moan, in the end.”

  Jenn almost chokes on her drink from laughter. “That’s the spirit!” Her phone beeps, audible through the din at the bar. She pulls it from her purse and smiles.

  “New man?”

  “Nah, old friend. You remember my baby brother, Jacky?”

  A scrawny, thirteen year-old with green eyes and a tousle of dark brown hair flashes through Amanda’s mind. “Oh yeah, baby Jacky.”

  “You know, he always had such a huge crush on you.”

  “Really?” Amanda tilts her drink against her lips. Her mind is tumbling back through the years, twelve of them in total, back to a day she thought she’d forgotten long ago. She’d known Jenn since high school, and stayed by her often. Her mind drifts back to the night Jenn’s parents had taken Jenn to the hospital because her appendix had burst, and asked her to stay with Jacky for the night. She remembers that it was the hottest summer for the past ten years, and all she wanted to do was take a shower…

  Steam rises like a vaporous sheet off of the lake of water in the bath. She slowly peels off her clothes, hardly daring to look at herself in the mirror that’s above the sink. It is as if she catches sight of herself there, some terrible secret on the inside of herself will turn itself out, pink guts there for all to see. She drops her panties to the side and dips a finger in the water. Hot. She steps in, feeling the warmth of the water creep up her ankles, legs, and thighs, and finally decides to glance in the mirror.

  The long, continuous line of her tanned skin is a shock, at first. So is the flare of her hips, stark against the rest of the edges of her form. The look is broken by the rough edge of pubic hair at her sex, and she strokes it almost absently, feeling the soft curl against her fingertips. She glances back up at herself and strokes her hand up the gentle curve of her stomach; something is not quite right. She reaches up and pulls her dark honey hair free of its band. It tumbles out along her shoulders, covering her to the tips of her breasts. There it is, the completed nude teenage girl, her body a settlement of imperfections and youthful plumps and rounds, topped off by a burgeoning womanliness. What will her body look like ten years from now? She wonders this, and then folds her body until she is covered to the tip of her nose in the tub.

  Twenty minutes later, while she towels off, there is a small scrape at the door. She rubs the towel along her shoulders, thinking it a creak in the floor as someone passes on their way to the kitchen, but seconds later, there it is again—a small shuffle, as if there is someone right outside the door. She ceases her toweling and creeps over silently to the door, carefully, as if she suspects nothing. There, against the door, she hears, or almost feels, the carefully muted breath of someone trying to conceal their presence.

  Jacky.

  Little baby Jacky, pressed against the door, watching her. Her chest throbs with shame edged with something for which she has no name; she knows only that there is something welling up inside her that makes her want to show Jacky just a little more. Slowly, towel wrapped around her, she steps away from the bathroom door and walks over to the cabinet behind the sink mirror. Rummaging amongst the bottles, she locates what she wants. She walks the few steps over to the edge of the tub and lifts a leg, towel edge falling away from it in a seemingly careless little motion. Upending the bottle, she deposits a small amount of moisturizer into her palm and rubs it slowly and carefully into her leg, feeling for the first time, how shapely and long it is. She moisturizes much farther than she usually does, edging the towel further and further away until she is rubbing the inside of her thigh. She repeats the procedure with the other leg, imagining the whole time, Jacky’s huge green eyes growing even larger, knowing full well the treat she is giving him.

  She
never knew she could be a treat, this body of hers all planes and edges. Dare she go further? She pictures baby Jacky with his eye jammed against the crack in between the door and frame and turns away from the door. With one smooth motion, she undoes the corner of the towel tucked in against her breasts and the towel slides off of her completely. Her hair tumbles, gloriously wet and tangled, against her naked back, and she reaches out a long arm for the bottle once again. One quick dollop of the lotion into her hand again, and she is slicking it along the sides of her slim torso, rubbing it into her generous hips, and then, with a saucy, but seemingly innocent little glance over her shoulder, she rubs it into her bottom, massaging back and forth against the curve with both hands, watching her hands as surely as Jacky is.

  “Amanda.”

  Little Jacky, big green eyes watching.

  “Amanda!”

  Amanda startles from her reverie of the summer long past in answer to Jenn’s sharp poke to the ribs.

  “What are you thinking about, girl?” Jenn asks, swirling a cotton-candy colored straw in her matching drink.

  Amanda smiles, lost in thought. Baby Jacky, a good twelve years ago, she thinks, but aloud, she says, “Nothing much. Just remembering Jacky. He was always such a curious kid.”

  Jenn snorts. “Curious and no longer a kid. Did I tell you he manages a hedge fund now? Baby brother playing for the big leagues.”

  Amanda pulls the hem of her dress a little lower, wondering what other games Jenn’s baby brother likes to play now. She glances up at her friend and gives her another smile. “It’s nice that Jacky’s doing so well for himself.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Ever since he heard you were back in town, all he can do is ask about you. Told me not to mention anything like that to you or he’d have my head, but if I can’t screw with my own brother, who can? Am I right?” Jenn chuckles, knocking back the rest of the drink. She wipes her mouth off, then reapplies her lipstick. “So, should I tell him that a certain old friend would like to meet him for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Maybe we’ll even get a little friendlier.”

  “Amanda!” Jenn scolds, frowning slightly. “Shame on you!” The frown quickly turns into a deep chuckle. “Though I will say,” she tells her, shooting a quick text over to Jacky, then leaning back into the chair, “It’s good to see you smile again.”

  Amanda fishes a lipstick out of her purse and excuses herself. As she re-applies her makeup in the mirror, a crimson, bow-shaped smear against her face, she thinks about the possibility of a dinner tomorrow night with little Jacky. She wonders how he grew up, and if he ever grew into those big green eyes of his. Maybe it was wrong to look at him that way when he was little, but now he’s grown, all twenty-five years of him. Maybe, she muses as she makes kissy-lips at herself in the mirror, just maybe, little Jacky would want to play with her again.

  * * *

  Deep in the bowels of an apartment that belied his hedge fund profits, Jack straightens his tie in the mirror. From the moment his phone had alerted him to the fateful text that he would be seeing Amanda the previous night, he’d been all pins and needles, to say the least. Oh yes. Jack might have been a killer in the boardroom, but when it came to Amanda, there was something that brought him back to twelve years ago when he was a runty little pre-teen with nothing but a horny little dream to his name.

  “Getting ready, Jacky darling?” drawls a male voice facetiously from the opposite end of the room.

  Jack reaches for a comb to brush his brown hair flat and grins. Good ol’ Ian. They met during Jack’s senior year of high school and somehow ended up in college together as well. In truth, they probably planned it that way, but none of Jack’s fashioned machismo would allow him to admit that they had done that, like a couple of girls from the 50s who wanted to have babies together and watch them marry each other one day. None of that. Ian was just simply his best friend—what could be more natural?

  “You can laugh, but this girl was the highlight of every fantasy I’ve had since I was in diapers,” he tells Ian, who is indecorously draping himself over the edge of the couch and looking up at him with mock-adoring eyes. Sure, Jack could have lived in his own apartment on his hedge fund manager’s salary, but there was no reason for him to. Together, they rented out the entire top floor of a loft in Buschwick, where Ian had an entire two rooms merged to be his studio and Jack had a space that was damn near the equivalent of his own apartment. And there was nothing like living with Ian. Womb to tomb, baby, Jack thought, grinning.

  “You don’t even know what she looks like now. It’s been over ten years; what if it’s morphed into Quasimodo or something?” Ian asks.

  Jack’s mind skips back to the day Jenn’s appendix had ruptured and his family had left him in Amanda’s care. Painfully shy, he masked this by being overly active, by annoying Amanda so much that she would lock herself in another room just to get some peace from him. But that day, there was something else in her eyes—fear and something new. Sympathy, perhaps. She had sat with Jacky on the living room couch and tried to explain what had happened to his sister, and that she would be all right. And for the first time ever, Jacky let himself sit down next to her and be hugged. When she wrapped one of her long, tan arms around him, his nose filled with the scent of her perfume, something fake and berry, something so utterly girl that Jacky wanted to reach up and touch her. How exactly he wanted to touch her, he did not know, but more than anything, he wanted to wipe that fear from her eyes.

  As it neared nightfall, Amanda put him to bed and went to take a bath in the guest bathroom. Something nameless pulled Jacky from his bed in his Spiderman pajamas that he could not believe he had let Amanda see and to the bathroom door. At first, he made excuses for himself, saying he was only headed to the kitchen for a glass of milk, but soon, knees knocking together, he found himself holding his breath as he pressed an ear to the bathroom door. The water was running and he heard Amanda walking around. Soon, he heard her unzipping her jeans, and he was carefully pressing his eye into the crack between the door and the frame that would let him peek in.

  Everything was murky from the poor lighting, but Jacky could see enough to knock the wind out of him. Amanda was stepping out of her jeans, peeling them off of strong, round thighs and discarding them carelessly. He held his breath as the bottom of her top climbed its way up her torso, until she was standing there in nothing but her bra and panties, both a bubblegum purple color with little happy faces on the bottoms. Jacky felt a familiar stirring in his pajama bottoms, one that he had discovered last year, one that didn’t give him any sleep until he had taken care of it. Was this the nameless thing that always made him want to touch her when the other girls in his class held no interest for him? This is what he felt for his older sister’s friend, the one who was already in college and would never look at him except to tell him to put on his Spidey pjs?

  But there was no time to think about that, because Amanda was unclasping her bra and sliding off the happy face undies. Her little bubble butt sprang free, so bouncy that Jacky wanted to rest his head on it; he noticed that she was not looking at herself in the mirror. If he looked like Amanda, he thought, almost grinding himself against the door, he would do nothing but look at himself in the mirror all day. Then, with a splash, she was gone into the bathtub.

  Knees shaking, Jacky slid down to the ground. How long he sat there, listening to the sounds of soaping and running water that were beyond his field of vision, he did not know. It was only when he heard the drain release that he picked himself up and hammed his eye almost painfully to the crack again.

  What he sees there nearly stops his heart. Amanda is advancing towards the door; does she suspect something? Jack steps to the side of the door, heart beating so loudly that he is sure that if she cannot see him then surely she can hear him. But there is no sudden opening of the door, no screams, nobody condemning him for looking. One minute passes, two, five, beat along like an eternity, and he slowly presses himself back to his peephole.
Amanda has retreated back to the sink, and—oh God.

  Oh God, she is rubbing lotion on herself, all that already smooth skin taking on a satiny sheen that he knows will haunt his memories forever. He takes in the long curves of her legs, the press of her pink-nippled breasts on her golden thighs and feels himself growing hard in that brand new way. His heart rate accelerates again, and just when he thinks it’s over—she’s done her legs after all—he sees her reach over and almost deliberately rub lotion on her bottom. Jacky has to bite his lip from crying out. What he wouldn’t give to be those fingers, that lotion, or just to commit this image of his first naked woman to memory forever.

  Not that he needed to worry. Because that image is still before his eyes today as he slides into his blue suit jacket under the watchful eyes of Ian.

  “I’m pretty sure that unless she was bitten by a radioactive spider, she couldn’t have transformed into a snaggle-toothed hunchback, man,” he tells his friend. “And besides, I want to see what she looks like now. I have a feeling she’s one of those girls who just gets better with age.”

  “I think you’re seriously misguided by your pre-teen fantasies,” Ian answers. “But if she’s still hot, why don’t you bring her over after dinner? Maybe we’ll both get to know her a little better,” he winks.

  Jack puts on his shoes and does a final bow in front of the mirror. He steps in front of Ian and sweeps out a questioning arm. Ian nods in approval and tosses him his wallet. Catching it, Jack bows again.

  “Maybe I will bring her by,” he says slowly, heading for the door. “Maybe I will.”

  “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” cries out Ian in his stead, making fake kissy faces at Jack’s back. Then he slumps back into the couch and covers his face with his hands.

  * * *

  Minutes stretch endlessly long after Jack leaves the apartment. Rising lazily from the couch, Ian makes his way into his studio to stand in front of the full-length mirror he uses for self-portraits, surrounded by his commissioned paintings.