Her Cowboy Cousins: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Veronica Wade

  I have to agree with her.

  A few months ago, when Eva made a mess of telling Marshall he was Hayley’s father, it felt like everything had gone wrong. But sometimes, you can’t see the bigger picture. “Everything happens for a reason” is a common platitude, but it makes so much sense. Fate has a way of making things all work out.

  And for me, my life could not have worked out better. In Hayley, I’ve gained a little friend. She’s like a daughter to me, and by proxy, I’ve gained a friend in Eva.

  But most importantly, through the both of them I’ve learned that the men I’m in love with will make wonderful fathers. I’ve seen them show a brilliant amount of love not only for me but for Hayley as well. And seeing that in them has only strengthened our bond and made me completely sure that I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with them.

  I look around the room at all of them, and I am so filled with warmth and love.

  This is my unconventional happily ever after.

  Once the party is over and everyone’s gone home, Spencer comes up behind me and starts kissing my neck, sending tingles through my body and making me shiver. “We’re finally alone,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  “You’ve been waiting,” Morgan says, jumping up and coming toward us, “We all have!” His lips crash into mine as his hand reaches for my breast. He cups it and thumbs the nipple as his lips part and his tongue meets mine. “Sarah, baby,” he murmurs, “you taste so good. Like cake....”

  I feel almost complete enveloped between them, but I need Marshall here too. It’s not right we celebrate being alone together without him.

  “Marshall!” I call when I come up for air. “Come and play with us!”

  The boys drag me over to the bed, one working at undoing my belt while the other gently slides my blouse off.

  “Coming,” I hear from the door. It’s Marshall. He’s already got his shirt off and he’s got a container of whipped cream in his hand, left over from dessert. I grin as I step out of my jeans.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You’ll see!” he says with a sexy, crooked grin, and practically tackles me onto the bed. He sprays some whipped cream into his mouth before he kisses me, and then quickly squirts some onto my nipples. Morgan begins to lick that off as Marshall and I kiss, and then Spencer grabs the can. He spreads my legs and covers my pussy with it, spraying cream all the way to the back. Soon his tongue is everywhere, swiping over my clit and slit before he concentrates on my back hole, which makes me squeal and scream. From habit I almost stop myself from crying out, but then with pleasure I remember again we are alone, and I can be as loud and uninhibited as I want.

  They’re all licking me then, Marshall moving to my clit, Morgan biting and sucking my breasts, and Spencer going to town on my butthole. I am in heaven. I can’t believe how good it all feels when Marshall begins to slide two fingers in and out of me, pressing against my g-spot. I start to come, and when I do, Spencer also slides into me. But not his fingers. He maneuvers me so that his cock is at my back entrance and he begins to push his rigid cock into me. I am so ready for him from all the attention that I find myself pushing back against him as well until he’s plunging inside. I never knew how good this could feel, but before I know it, my pleasure is doubled as Marshall matches his thrusts into my pussy. I’m as full as can be, and their rhythm keeps my orgasm climbing until I’m in uncharted territory. But I need my other man in me, and I pull Morgan up and toward my mouth so he can fuck my face.

  He’s only too happy to oblige.

  They start to move in tandem and I moan against Morgan’s dick, making him shiver as he thrusts against me. It’s all so good, and so strange, and so perfect. My orgasm is so intense that it’s nearly constant, and at the same time, I feel so loved and taken care of.

  My pussy pulses hard against them, as they fill me and empty me, coming to me like waves. I feel like the moon, the gravity that brings them together, that brings us all together. I’m being cradled and rocked between them, but at the same time nearly split in two by our passion.

  It’s in that moment that I absolutely know that I am the luckiest woman in the world.

  When Marshall starts to come, they all do, and before long they are jerking their seed into me, and somewhere deep inside, I can tell that this time, I’ll get pregnant. As our breathing gradually returns to normal and we begin to cuddle, snuggling in with each other like puzzle pieces, I can’t wait: in around nine months we will have a baby, to make us a real family, with me and three of the best dads a kid could have.

  It’s the most beautiful start to our lives together. Love, marriage and family. It might not be the way other people would do it, but for us, it feels perfect.

  Excerpt from Her Biker Boys

  Jenn

  I pull at the bottom of my black dress in an attempt to straighten it out before I walk in. It’s too short for me, I know it, but it’s the only thing I have that I can wear. It’s what I wore to a distant aunt’s funeral when I was seventeen, and I was hoping it still would fit me. Evidently, it doesn’t.

  There just wasn’t time to get another dress. This tragedy was completely unexpected, and I’m still too stunned by it to be worried about things like shopping for the perfect funeral outfit.

  I steady my breath as I walk into the funeral home, my heels clicking against the concrete steps.

  I don’t exactly know what I was expecting to see when I stepped inside, but it wasn’t this. My father already planned his funeral in the event something unexpected happened to him. He wasn’t the most formal guy, but still… I thought I was going to walk into a quiet room and wait for the service to begin, but apparently there isn’t going to be a formal service.

  I look around but see no chairs… at least, no chairs lined up in rows to watch a funeral service. Instead there are tables all around me where people are sitting and eating. And somehow, seeing all these people is weirder than seeing the informal setting. Nobody is dressed for the occasion at all—I’m looking at a room full of people in jeans, T-shirts, and leather jackets.

  For a moment, I think I may have stepped into the wrong event. This place has the look of a bar more than a funeral home. I can even see a few people with beers in their hands.

  I have to admit to myself that the men here are definitely not bad to look at. I glance over at one of them and our eyes make contact briefly before I chicken out and look in another direction. Apparently, the brief eye contact serves as an invitation for him. He walks over, and I see him push back his long, shaggy brown hair coolly with his hand as he smiles at me. It’s weird actually, because he’s considerably older than me. He has to be in his forties at least, but he’s kind of hot in a weird way.

  I mean, I know I’m attracted to older men. I always have been. But never before have I been attracted to an older man in a leather jacket and torn jeans. I never would have thought that was my style, but apparently, he’s an exception.

  “I know you,” he says when he reaches me.

  “Oh, uh… I don’t think you do. In fact, I’m not even sure I’m in the right place.” My eyes dart around the room as I search for some sign that this is in fact my father’s funeral.

  I don’t find one.

  “No, I do,” he insists. “I’ve seen you in a ton of pictures. You’re Big Ron’s daughter. Nice to meet you, I’m Randall.”

  My eyes widen. So I am in the right place.

  “Wait, you know my father?” I ask.

  “Yeah, of course. We all really respected and cared for Big Ron. He was part of the family. I’m so sorry for your loss. He really loved you, you know. He was always showing off your pictures and saying how proud he was of you.”

  Okay, so not only did my dad know this stranger, he knew him well enough to show him my photograph? And more than once?

  “Thanks, that’s… I really appreciate that.” I don’t know what to say in response. I’m just kind of in awe.

 
How the hell did my dad know this guy? He looks straight out of a biker gang. In fact, most of the men here do. In any other situation, I would probably complain less about being surrounded by a ton of super-masculine guys… but at my own father’s funeral, it’s a bit confusing.

  “Look, if you ever need anything, you come to me, okay? The gang will take care of you. You’re Big Ron’s daughter; you’ll always have protection with us. We’ll always take care of you.” He flashes me a smile.

  On the one hand, it’s kind of sweet to hear him talk about me in this protective way. I’m a total stranger to him, and yet here he is acting like a father figure. It’s a comforting vibe to a girl who just lost her dad.

  But on the other hand, I’m a bit caught up in his wording. The “gang” will take care of me? Is this group of leathered-up, tattooed men actually some kind of motorcycle gang? The thought crosses my mind, but then I figure I’m just stereotyping based on clothing. I can’t imagine that my dad actually knew so many people that were in a real biker gang.

  But that’s definitely what the guy meant, right? It doesn’t seem like he was using the term “gang” colloquially.

  “I’ll go ahead and leave you be for now. You should have some peace during your father’s funeral. But don’t forget—you need anything, you come to me, all right?” He slips a business card into my hand, clasps my fingers around it for a moment, then walks away. The brief contact sends a spark down my spine.

  I suppose saying it’s a business card is kind of overstating it. It’s really more like a piece of cardstock that has his name, phone number, and address on it. And not even an actual first and last name—the card says only, “Randall.”

  “Thank you,” I say to him with a smile.

  “You’re very welcome."

  Despite my confusion, I definitely manage to find a little comfort in Randall’s protective nature. He reminds me of my dad, actually. Except, not really, because my dad was older than him and obviously I had no attraction to my actual father. Randall is hot, though. Like… exceptionally sexy. It feels a little weird to be thinking that sort of thing at my father’s funeral, but what the hell. I can’t help the random thoughts that pop into my mind when I’m totally surrounded by a group of attractive guys.

  Besides, it’s a good distraction. I really was dreading this day. Dealing with the sudden death of my dad has not been easy.

  I can’t help but find myself dwelling about the time we lost. When I was a kid, my dad had sent me off to boarding schools. While I didn’t have any complaints about it since I always loved my schools and he sent me to the very best ones, that meant we didn’t get to spend that much time together.

  I saw him off and on during summer vacations and holiday breaks when I wasn’t at camp, but most of the year I was away at school with my friends. It never felt like a big deal to me back then because I figured I had all the time in the world to spend with my dad once I’d graduated, but then I got into college and the cycle continued. I’ve barely gotten to see him at all for the past couple of years… and now I’m full of regret.

  If I had known that my father was going to die so suddenly, I would have fought him on the boarding schools. I would not have tried to get a degree in economics and I wouldn’t have planned to spend two more years away from him.

  But I did most of that for him in the first place. My father insisted I go get a degree for a job that was going to pay well—one that would guarantee me a good life. So I agreed because I wanted to please him. I always have. I loved him, and despite the physical distance, I felt close to him emotionally.

  What good did it do me now to have sought that approval, though? Now I’m not ever going to get to spend actual time with him. That bonding I thought would begin once I finally graduated from college and could move back home is never going to happen.

  It breaks my heart. I’m doing my best to stay strong, I really am. But it’s difficult, to say the least.

  And it’s getting more difficult as I get more confused. Seriously, who are all these people? I always made the assumption that my father didn’t have many friends. We didn’t have any extended family, that’s for sure. It was just me and Dad. I never heard him mention anyone else aside from my mom, but I never really knew her, either. She died when I was young.

  I hear more clicks behind me—the sound of heels on tile—and I turn around to see my best friend, Millie.

  Relief washes over me. Finally, someone else I know is here. Someone who can I can vent all these thoughts to.

  I lean in and hug her with a tight squeeze. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Of course!” She pats my back softly. “You know I’m here to support you in any way I can, babe. How are you doing?”

  “Not so good,” I admit.

  “Aw, sweetheart.” She pushes my hair out of my face. “It’s okay. Nobody does well on funeral day. But you’re strong. You’re going to get through this.”

  I give her a skeptical eye. “Millie, have you had a chance to… look around?” I ask.

  Before I tell her what I’m thinking, I want her opinion. Millie is a smart girl; I have no doubt she’s going to see what I see. She pretty much always figures things out before I do.

  That’s always been our dynamic. I met her at boarding school when we were young kids, and we became fast friends. Even when we were little, she had something of the “mom friend” attitude about her.

  “Uh, okay, so… what’s with all the bikers?” she says immediately.

  “So they are bikers, right?” I ask. "I mean, this is definitely like… a biker gang.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know a biker when I see one. My brother was mixed up with Cabróns for a while.”

  “The Cabróns?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you’ve never heard of them? They’re the biggest biker gang in my city.”

  Despite meeting at an all-girls boarding school that’s a few hours from here, Millie and I don’t actually live very far apart. Her hometown is only thirty minutes away.

  “Why would I have heard of them? I don’t even know the biker gangs in my own city!”

  She laughs. “Uh, I beg to differ. It seems like you do.”

  I sigh. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? How do you think my dad knew these people?”

  Millie shrugs. “Honestly, Jenn, I don’t have a clue. Is there a chance maybe your dad was… you know?”

  I look at her skeptically. “No, I don’t know. What?”

  “Like… in a biker gang?”

  I have to laugh at that. “Millie, be real! This is my dad we’re talking about! You’ve met him. I mean, he might have looked like a big burly guy, but he was a teddy bear! You think the man who watched Barbie’s Dream House and baked cookies with us was in a motorcycle gang?”

  “He did have a bike,” Millie points out.

  “Uh, so? I barely saw him ride that thing. He only bought it because he was having a midlife crisis."

  She looks at me skeptically. “He had a midlife crisis before you were even born?"

  I roll my eyes. “Millie, he wasn’t in a biker gang. There’s just no way!”

  She shrugs. “I’m just saying it’s suspicious, Jenn. You should just consider the possibility that it’s true. Do some investigating, ask around about him. I’m sure you’re right, though. It’s hard to imagine your dad being involved in any motorcycle gang. But don’t you think the events surrounding his death are kind of suspicious? I mean, he got killed in an accident on that bike you claim he never rides.”

  “Well, yeah, but that makes sense, doesn’t it? He never rode it and he wasn’t too experienced on it.”

  Millie isn’t convinced in the slightest; I can read her face like a book.

  “Let's not turn this into some mysterious soap opera drama, Millie. I know how much you like them, but there’s enough confusion for me already without you throwing out conspiracy theories on top of my dad’s death.”

  She puts her arm around me and squeezes a little.
"I'm sorry, Jenn. I really am. I’m not trying to make things worse. I'm just looking out for you. But if he were in some biker gang, you’d want to know… for your own safety. Like I said, I know what my brother was involved with. I’m just worrying about you. You know how I do that.”

  I nod. I’m glad someone is thinking about me. “I know, and I appreciate your concern. But I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for how my father knew all these people. Maybe he did business with one of the members and they all came to pay their respects?”

  My father was a small-business owner, and he had always instilled in me the power of networking. He was a very charismatic guy. Everyone always said so.

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” Millie says, but I can’t tell if she is agreeing just to avoid stressing me out or if she really believes that’s the most likely scenario.

  ***

  I didn’t stay long at the funeral. I couldn’t. I felt oddly out of place there, and it was a harsh reminder of just how little I knew about my father’s life. I paid my respects, I spoke to a few people who apologized for my loss, and then I had Millie take me home.

  She asked me if I wanted her to stay the night, but I told her no—that I’d be fine, that I wanted to be alone. Truthfully, I was scared that as soon as I walked through the doors of my father’s home I was going to burst into a sobbing, broken mess. Millie’s my best friend, but I don’t like crying in front of anyone. I’m very private about my emotions.

  But now when I step through the front door, I’m surprised that the waterworks don’t come.

  It’s definitely weird being here. I look around at the pictures hung on the wall, and almost all of them are of me and my dad. I stare over at the couch where we used to watch horror movies and eat popcorn. I look into the kitchen and imagine him standing over the stove, talking about what he was cooking for dinner.