The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “Temp’rary,” he manages, the functional side of his mouth smiling.

  My parents sit down and tell me to head into the living room to say hi to the Morgan boys. But before I do, Mr. Morgan holds out his right hand and when I take it, he pulls me in close.

  “Such a pretty one,” he manages, wheezing a bit. “So pretty.”

  I blush and he chuckles. Man, some guys. Even when they’re seventy and partially paralyzed, they still got game. No wonder the boys are the way they are.

  But where is everyone? As my parents chitchat with Mr. Morgan, I make my way into the living room. And here’s the answer. Seven tall sentinels look at me, making it difficult to breathe. Seven pairs of blue eyes, all trained on me the minute I walk into the room.

  I note that the last brother, Sam, has finally arrived. He’s quite a bit older than me. His dark hair is wavy like his brothers’ but has a little bit of grey strewn throughout. He still has the Morgan build, though, muscular and fit. And his eyes are that bright blue of topaz Caribbean waters.

  Man, what a silver fox. All dressed up in a button-down shirt and dark jeans. In fact, all of the guys look nice tonight, in designer clothing, freshly showered and smelling like musk and pine. Immediately, my senses prickle.

  “Hi,” comes my soft greeting. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Is that all I can say? Really? After all that’s happened? A blush covers my cheeks immediately.

  But the brothers are smooth.

  “Hey Macy,” greets Matt. “Good to see you. Macy, this is our brother Sam.”

  Sam looks unimpressed as his eyes look me up and down, assessing every inch from the crown of my head to the peep-toe heels on my feet. He takes my hand and shakes it.

  “Nice to meet you,” comes a smooth growl. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My heart starts beating fast and furious. Because Sam’s so gorgeous and the fact that he’s older just makes teacher-student fantasies run through my head. I press my thighs together to keep from getting too wet, squirming a little already.

  But Sam doesn’t seem affected at all. In fact, the opposite. He’s a little dismissive, looking off into the distance. Like he’s not nearly as impressed with little Macy Jones as his brothers have been.

  Oh shit. Or maybe he knows what I’ve done? Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed. Maybe I really am a whore, a super slutty piece of trash. Maybe what I’ve done is not okay, even if it does feel good.

  The confidence I came in with has now left the building, and I’m wrapped in a full-body blush. Sam’s eyes go dark as he takes in my physical reaction to this encounter, but still, there’s no glimmer of lust or arousal or even interest. Just flat blue.

  But the other brothers are on a different wavelength. Matt sits and pulls me onto his lap, his lips to my ears. “Don’t worry about him,” he whispers. His breath on my skin makes me shiver. “He’s a crabby old bastard but he likes you.”

  This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be sitting on a man’s lap, ready to let go after five seconds.

  But I can’t help it. My insides are already burning hot, despite Sam’s cool reception, and I let Matt’s hand wander up beneath my skirt, scrunching the material around my hips. Oh god, oh god, so soon? But like a woman in a daze, I can’t help it. I’m caught in a dream, and it’s the best dream ever.

  So Matt continues. His brothers watch intently as those big fingers press ever so lightly against the thin satin of my panties. They’re a pale pink, and sure enough, his fingers come away damp, making the alpha chuckle. He spreads my legs wider for everyone to see, and there’s a wet spot at my crotch, a tell-tale sign of arousal.

  A low, throaty moan rises in the room, seven pairs of eyes on my steaming cunt. The brothers tense, like coils ready to pop, as Matt rubs my clit through my underwear, his other hand moving into the V of my dress, splaying against the skin of my breast.

  “Let’s get this off you, hmm?” he rumbles low. “Will, get her jacket.”

  In a flash, Will’s by our side, helping me struggle out of the blazer. And then it’s just me in this too-tight dress, sitting in the lap of a handsome man with six brothers watching ravenously.

  I’m nervous. Real nervous. The men are so intense, and with our parents just one room away, a thrill runs down my spine. Because it’s playing with fire. If before, we’d taken risks in the kitchen and shower, this time we’re asking for it. Literally, Maddy, Ted, Jim, and Marsha are mere feet away, talking like nothing’s wrong. I can hear their voices even, a low murmur punctuated by the occasional chuckle.

  But the Morgans can’t be stopped.

  “So Macy,” Sam drawls, “I hear you’re quite the budding chef.”

  What? Why is he asking me this when I’m literally draped all over his brother, legs spread, panties wet?

  But I nod, trying to keep my voice unaffected, even as Matt’s hands do a number on my body.

  “I love to cook,” comes my soft mewl. “It makes me happy.”

  Sam nods approvingly, eyes still sharp.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Sam says. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  What? What kind of question is that? Now, of all times?

  “No of course not,” comes my sputter, sitting up slightly. “No, definitely not.”

  Sam moves on, expression suddenly hot.

  “Do you like what my brother is doing to you right now?” he asks quietly, that voice a low rumble. His head is tilted. I’d say he looks like a lion crouched in the grass, focused on its prey. That posture is curiously relaxed, but his gaze follows every move of Matt’s hand, weighing every answer carefully.

  And unbidden, a whimper escapes my lips, a precursor to what I suspect will be a four-alarm wail. Because I can’t resist. The sensations are building like a tsunami, magnificent tension pooling in my belly. I don’t want to let go here, with our parents so close. Yet, I do. I want it, and I can feel it rumbling, the steady build like a storm drawing close.

  “Yes,” comes my breathy pant, my eyes dazed already. “Yes, I like it.”

  “Good,” he says, eyes bright.

  For sure, I’m gonna explode now. For sure, it’s gonna happen, Matt’s rubbing my clit smooth and steady, driving me to a peak. But suddenly Maddy Morgan’s voice pierces my dream.

  “Dinner’s ready! Boys!” she calls. “Dinner’s ready! Please escort our guests into the dining room.”

  Like a startled rabbit, I jump off Matt’s lap. Oh my god! Seven pairs of eyes are still taking me in, appreciating the wetness between my thighs, the big boobies bouncing as I struggle.

  Because I need to get dressed. In a rush, I push myself back into the purple wrap, struggling to whip those creamy curves into shape.

  And like a gentleman, Sam steps up with my blazer in hand.

  “Missing this?” he says, one eyebrow quirked.

  “Oh god,” I rush breathlessly, struggling into the fabric. “Oh god.”

  And just like that, I’m covered up again, like nothing’s wrong. Nothing except for the fact that the atmosphere in the room is still heavy with lust, the boys smiling lazily, adjusting themselves.

  “Come on,” comes my breathless whisper. “We gotta go.”

  And those big forms unfurl, stretching long legs to wander into the dining room like nothing’s wrong. Oh my god, oh my god. Did we really come so close? It’s impossible, my parents are right here.

  Yet it really did happen, and I try to catch my breath, hoping the flush on my face is mistaken as just being hot, and not aroused.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Morgan has made quite a spread, and everyone’s attention turns to the food. Two pans of gooey lasagna on the table along with a huge bowl of salad, a mound of garlic bread, a platter of green bean almondine, and some stuffed mushrooms. Color me impressed that she managed to pull all of this together on her own.

  The boys dig in, heaping praise on their mother for always keeping their bellies full.

  “Fantastic,” compliments Tren
t.

  “Absolutely incredible,” growls Ford. “You did great, Ma.”

  Maddy Morgan beams.

  “I love to cook,” she says. “And I love it most when it’s for my boys.”

  A blush rises on my cheeks again. Because I would love cooking for these men too, every day of the year. How strange that we get pleasure from the same thing, even though our viewpoints are completely different.

  Conversation flows easily, but my nervousness grows because Marsha is all about making connections, and the Morgan boys are an opportunity not to be missed.

  “Tell me about your law practice,” she coos, turning towards Ford.

  I look at the big man, shocked. Really? Turns out that Ford, Mr. Motorcycle, is also an attorney. Who would’ve thought that this Harley-riding, barrel-chested alpha with the devil-may-care attitude would be a successful business lawyer?

  But Marsha’s not done yet.

  “Ford, maybe you could help Macy find an internship,” she hints, not so subtly. “Or you, Smith. Or you Sam. Do you think you could help?

  Because it turns out that Smith is an investment banker, and Sam is a hedge fund manager who works on Wall Street.

  I practically die of embarrassment. The last thing I want is a job putting together mindless spreadsheets, much less an internship that my mom forced me to take.

  But Marsha’s relentless, pressing ahead.

  “Or maybe you, Trent, you’re a doctor right?” she says then, swinging rabbit-like eyes his way. “Maybe Macy could get an internship at your practice.”

  Oh god, the Earth should just swallow me whole now, I’m gonna shrivel up and die. But fortunately, the Morgans take it in a stride. This must happen to them a lot, they’re powerful men.

  “No worries, we’ll figure something out,” says Sam smoothly. “With the seven of us, there should be a spot for Macy. Plus you know that Will and Tim have their own company right? I’m sure we can rustle something up.”

  I shoot a grateful look his way. Because he’s tactful, intent on soothing my mom.

  “Oh good!” Marsha chirps. “Good, if you two have your own company, then you’re the boss. You can definitely hook Macy up. See honey? That’s what networking does,” she beams proudly.

  But Marsha’s proud of herself, not me. I barely spoke during this exchange, shaking my head again.

  “Thanks Mom,” I say softly, head down. “Thanks so much.”

  But soon the conversation moves on to other topics, and the boys and I stay silent, mostly. As we finish our meals, my mother and Mrs. Morgan clear the table, chatting about golf.

  They bring coffee in, but only for the “adults.”

  Mrs. Morgan shoots us a warm smile.

  “Why don’t you boys take Macy down to the rec room and play? It’ll give us time to socialize,” she says, taking Marsha’s hand. “It’ll be so good to catch up.”

  This is weird. These boys are full-grown men ranging from thirty to over forty. They all have careers and are crazy successful. Why is Maddy treating them like they’re babies? But I guess, in some ways, they’ll always be her babies, even if they’re hulking six foot giants now.

  I’m about to excuse myself to head home, ready to be done with the awkwardness. As I open my mouth, though, Tim interrupts.

  “Actually, that’s a great idea. We were all-state football players and there are a million trophies stored downstairs. Macy, wanna take a look?”

  Trophies? I know nothing about sports. But like a good neighbor, my head nods.

  “Oh sure,” comes my voice, calm and neutral. Wow, is that really me? “One of you broke a passing record way back when right?”

  The boys grin at one another.

  “We’re not so old,” Will says mildly. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

  “But it was me,” says Sam smoothly. “I guess I’m ancient by your standards, but come take a look anyways.”

  And with a smile, I nod. After all, there’s a farce to keep up in front of our parents, a secret that they shouldn’t know. Besides, what harm is there anyways? It’s just some trophies, dusty in a glass case.

  We all rise and head down the stairs. The rec room is pretty big, with a bar in one corner and a pool table in another. One area boasts a huge, soft-looking sectional couch. I’d be willing to bet that thing saw a lot of action when the boys were growing up.

  But they weren’t lying. There’s also a long row of gleaming trophies along one wall, and as I step up to look, from the corner of my eye, I see Will at the top of the stairs, locking the door from the inside.

  Hmm, very interesting.

  Does that mean …?

  Must be, right?

  I gaze at all seven men full-on then. They’re the best-looking group of alphas I’ve ever seen. Now I understand the statement “tall, dark, and handsome.” But I could also add intelligent, wicked, dominant, and arrogant to the list too. Plus, charismatic, sexy as hell, and panty-melting hot.

  I lick my lips, taking in those heated stares.

  “So …?” my words hang in the air. “Trophies?”

  But this time, the alphas aren’t fucking around. Sam steps forward, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  “Macy, it’s time,” comes a low growl.

  My heart is about to pound right out my chest.

  “Time for what?” are my soft words.

  But I know. My pussy is already wet just at the thought.

  The brothers are fierce as they stare me down, circling like lions. I’m biting my bottom lip, feeling shy and sexy and overwhelmed at once. Can I handle this? Can I handle whatever these seven men have in store for me?

  And finally, Ford speaks.

  “You know,” comes that low growl. “You’ve always known what we’ve been building towards. We want you, Macy.”

  Oh god. Oh god, oh god.

  “But I’ve never …” comes my breathy gasp. I can’t get the words out. It’s too embarrassing. But it’s better if they know, so I force the sentence out then. “I’m a virgin,” I mutter, ashamed, bowing my head. “A virgin.”

  There’s silence for a moment, and I can’t look up. I can’t meet their eyes because it’s so humiliating. Most girls have lost it by fourteen if not earlier. But me, the big girl? Nope, still untouched.

  So what are they going to do? Reject me? Start laughing? Bend over double holding their stomachs, it’s so funny? I hold my breath, expecting raucous guffaws to break out.

  But instead, there’s silence in the air, the tension thick. Slowly, I steal a peek, unable to keep my curiosity in check.

  And immediately, my insides grow hot. Because if anything, the Morgans are even more aroused, those blue eyes blazing, bodies hard. Ready to take and own.

  “That’s perfect,” Will grinds out. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “Nothing could be better,” is Smith’s deep vow.

  “We want you shaped to our cocks,” finishes Sam’s smooth voice. “Your pussy is gonna be molded just for us.”

  My eyes fly open. Oh my god, this is so dirty. Is that even possible? I’ve never had anything up there before, so does that mean I’ll be shaped especially for them? Like I was created for this set of men? The thought is so dirty and I want it bad, giving in then.

  “Yes,” comes my breathy pant. “Yes, yes please.”

  Seven pairs of eyes gleam bright.

  “Take off your clothes, Macy,” Trent growls slowly. “Start with that dress. That purple dress that made me think of a plum. Your plum, so ripe and juicy and ready to be eaten.”

  “We love that you’re a cook, Macy,” Tim adds. “We love that you like to eat, because we like to eat, too.”

  “You gave us a sample,” Will finishes. “But a sample’s not enough. We’re here now, all of us, and it’s time to get real. What do you think of that?”

  My breath is coming in short bursts. I’m not afraid, not at all. But I am nervous. What will it mean if I do this?

  But there’s only one path. I want to do w
hat I want for a change. My parents have tried to control me for my whole life, tried to mold me into someone I’m not. And no one I’ve ever dated before has made me feel this awake. Alive even. It’s a whole new world, like what was previously gray and brown and drab is now sparkling with color.

  So I pull my dress over my head in a smooth motion, letting it drop limply to the soft carpet near my feet.

  “Come here boys,” is my soft entreaty. “Come and get what’s yours.”

  And with that, the men descend. As for me? I can’t wait, shivering with anticipation because vistas are going to open tonight, making me into a real woman who’s cherished and adored … at the hands of seven men.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Macy

  The males surround me, eyes hot, big forms looming. But instead of feeling intimidated, my insides go soft and loose, liquefying under their gaze. Because yes, it’s the new Macy. No more wallflower at the back of the school gym, unwanted and unseen. My virginity’s going out with a bang, and that means at the hands of seven men.

  Reading my mind, Sam’s eyes burn.

  “Touch yourself,” is his low, throaty command.

  He’s the only one who hasn’t stroked me in some way yet. I wonder what Sam thinks of me. Does he like me? Does he think I’m a decent person, or the next-door whore? Because Sam’s a god, commanding and charismatic, the oldest of the brotherhood. I need him to want me like his siblings do, and a small gasp escapes my chest.

  But obediently, my hand wanders down, lightly stroking through my panties. Sam nods approvingly, those blue eyes so bright they’re like diamonds, icy hot with internal fire.

  My hand finds my nipples, gone hard in the cool air of the basement, and I rub against the pebbled nubs, ever so lightly. Raking fingernails softly over the skin of my shapely belly, the men moan in a chorus, eliciting goosebumps all over my body.

  Throwing my head back, my curvy form goes crazy. Because I want to put on a show they’ll never forget. It’s my first time after all, to be remembered and cherished.

  So slowly, I turn, bending over to show them my rump. The men are ravenous, their gazes hot, skimming and caressing every inch of me. Oh god, I can feel it and let out a purr like a sensuous cat. The men growl even louder, entranced.