Lotto Trouble: A Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy (Lotto Love Book 2)

by Ann Denton

  Danny's face turns tomato red. My hands fly to cover my nose and mouth. Luckily, this doesn’t seem to be one of those rotten egg, sulfur-mountain kinda farts. It’s just a goddamned bullfrog. Kenneth reaches out to smack Danny, but Alec holds up a hand. We all stop and look to him for direction. He closes his hand until a single finger is raised. And he points at the door.

  And suddenly, I’m wishing Danny’s ass was the silent-but-deadly type instead of a butt trumpet. Because the handle on the closet door turns.

  Chapter Two

  Heather

  I love sex by the pool. It’s all chill, watching the water. And I can climb into the water and wipe down after. Bonus, I think as I pop up and down on BJ’s dick like I’m riding a pogo stick. BJ's dick definitely isn't the biggest of the guys, but his hips are narrow and good for riding. And he likes it when I scratch down his pecs, unlike some of these weak fuckers. Maybe it’s the New Yorker in him. Stubborn. Anthony Drake is one of those weaker bitch boys. I hope that slimy asshole gets eaten by sharks. Selling my story to some online trash dump. He motherfucking deserves to be ripped limb from limb—I hit a good spot in my riding and lean into it, trying to wipe Drake from my mind and focus on the pulsing pleasure inside me. The guys are giving me ‘forget all your troubles’ sex after the three ‘forget all your troubles’ cocktails they made me. They’re fucking thoughtful, my harem wannabes. Booze and orgasms. The perfect forget-an-asshole combo.

  I can still taste the mojito on my tongue, and the ocean breeze brings in a delicious combo of salt and chlorine. I’m pretty sure those tastes and scents will be aphrodisiacs for me forever, now. When I’m eighty, sitting in my rocking chair, I’m gonna think back on the days I fucked my harem by the pool on the Spanish tile patio. There are landscape spotlights shooting up through the trees around us, lighting up the night and the pool is a pulse of colored lights beneath the water. Everything together makes me feel like I’m a fucking movie star right now. I bet movie stars have orgies like this. But probably not as good. They don’t have guys competing to give them orgasms, competing for a spot in their harem. I’m pretty sure my sex is better. I’m a little smug about that.

  I stop popping and start grinding, grabbing the top of BJ’s black hair and yanking. His blue eyes widen, but he takes it with a grin.

  “Yeah, baby, make yourself come.”

  I try. But BJ’s dick isn’t quite enough. It’s just a little too thin. I look up. Andrew’s on a lounge chair, stroking himself over his swimsuit, casually watching as he sips on bourbon. Jeremiah’s downing another shot of tequila—he loves the stuff—as he strokes his staff by the bar. He sets down the shot glass with a thump and wipes his hand across his beard. I’m not a huge fan of beards, but his is just right, long enough to be soft, short enough not to be like a fucking tumbleweed clinging to his face. His brown hair sweeps across his eyes, and he gives a gap-toothed grin when he sees me watching. He licks his lips and then lifts his free hand like a V, wiggling his tongue between his fingers in the universal pussy licking sign. It’s a decent offer, he’s but not what I want right now.

  I glance over at the twins as I sit back and ride a little harder, my toes curling into the deck tiles. All the guys love it when my tits bounce. Hell, even I love it. The sensation of them jiggling up and down makes me feel wanton. I fucking love letting go.

  I watch the twins as I do. Rubin and Reval are naked and they have the bodies of fucking gods. They’ve got huge biceps lined with veins I love to trace. Their long, thick fingers are a bonus, too. Their abs are chiseled perfection topped by pecs with perky dark nipples. I’m not normally a nipple sucker—but for them, I make an exception. R&R also have these chiseled, beyond amazing square jaw lines. I mean … it’s crazy hot. And their eyes. Fucking puppy dogs would kill for eyes like those. They slope down in this perfect pouty, give-it-to-me way that makes me just want to say “yes.” (And then YES! YES! YES!)

  The twins watch me ride as they jerk themselves and I wave them over. "Come join in, guys, my titties need some tongue.” As usual, they jump at the command. The twins are always up for anything sexual. I watch them walk over. Damn. You’d think abs would get old. But they don’t. They fucking don’t. Just watching them makes BJ’s dick get a bit more soaked. The twins are so fine. I love their long eyelashes. Gah! Everything about them revs me up. R&R—my Russian nesting dolls. They like to be inside other guys just as much as they like getting inside me, which can be hot to watch. There is a bit of a language barrier sometimes. But … I’m not sure I want to knock them out of the harem yet. Their bedside manner definitely makes up for the lack of manners in other areas.

  The twins put pool towels under their knees as they kneel beside me. I can't blame them, the pool deck isn't exactly soft. Which is why I made BJ take bottom. I think about asking if I’m hurting his back, but then he sticks a finger in my ass.

  “Yeah, take it,” BJ’s Brooklyn accent spurs me on.

  Sensation shoots all the way up my spine.

  “Ohh,” I moan as he twists his finger. He didn’t lube up, so the sensation is a little sharp. But I like a little bit of rough. I like to ride that edge. I sink down deeper on his finger, letting that little spike of pain mingle with my pleasure. Mmm.

  I figure BJ must not be too bothered by the hard tile floor if he’s thinking dirty like that. I start to writhe on him again, my breasts flopping as I grind harder. I love being on top. I love telling these fuckers what to do. I love that buzzing energy in my pussy that makes my senses light up.

  I glance over at Jeremiah Bible, who’s moved over to the “pool bag” we keep full of swimming supplies. And by swimming supplies, I mean the boxes of condoms, lube, and sexy swim time toys I need to keep a group of guys entertained. Jeremiah tosses aside a rubber duck vibrator, a triple stimulator, and the giant rope of silicone anal beads. (That right there is a party toy. There is a main line with at least four sets of beads coming up off it. Everybody gets to play.) He finds what he’s looking for and comes up holding a bottle of lube in his hand the way a little boy clutches his prize toy car. He’s not the prettiest guy. But something about him is homey. Maybe because he grew up all backwoods. Some of these other fuckers are so … prim. Sometimes you just need a down-home boy. I nod at Jeremiah, signaling he needs to lube up. He tosses on a condom, then pops the lid on that lube tube and starts squirting jelly onto his staff fast as can be.

  The twins lean in like synchronized sex machines. Their tongues lave my nipples and my rhythm falters. "Mmm," is all I can get out. They alternate flicks. I have no fucking idea how they can time it so well, but it’s perfect. Quick little flicks. One tongue then another. It never gets to be too much. My nipples can get oversensitive during sex, but never with them. They tease until the sensations overwhelm me.

  "Clit," I order. Again my sexpot twins respond. They each reach a hand down and start rubbing a finger sideways in opposite directions. Their fingers slide past one another’s. My neck starts to roll. And Jeremiah hasn’t even joined in yet. He’s behind me, but he’s waiting until I give him the go-ahead.

  I rake my nails down BJ’s chest and lean toward him, forcing the twins’ mouths to back away. I yank his head up for a kiss and then break it to say, “Jeremiah.” BJ’s finger slips out of my ass and I groan as Jeremiah fills that void. It’s intense. Maybe as intense as the time I saw that coyote, the night I was stumbling home from a drunken bonfire. My heart certainly feels like it’s pounding as hard as that night. But nothing about that coyote made my nipples pebble. It might have made my thighs quiver, but never with the expectation of pleasure. It might rank the same on the intensity scale, but damn, this intensity is leading me to a chart-topping orgasm. Not many things in life do that to you. Bring intensity and pleasure together. Orgies are one of the few.

  With the added sensation, BJ’s dick isn’t lacking anymore. I use my hands to brace myself on the pool tiles. “Clit!” I order the twins as Jeremiah pushes in another inch. Their fingers saw back an
d forth faster and bring me back to the brink.

  As my body starts to shudder, my eyes seek out Andrew. He only participates in group sex if I absolutely make him. But alone, he's a beast between the sheets. He uses all those premed anatomy classes to his benefit. He knows where it’s at. And he’s thoughtful, too. Far more than my loser of an ex-husband.

  Andrew’s in the final three for sure. He knows it. I know it. Even as I fuck other guys, I seek him out. Andrew might not be big on participation. He likes to watch, however. His eyes lock onto mine and he commands, "Say it, Heather."

  Normally, I like giving the orders. But not with Andrew. For some reason, it is so fucking hot when Andrew tells me what to do during sex. Especially when he's not even touching me.

  The twins’ fingers change to circles and pleasure shoots throughout my body. But I don't close my eyes. Because Andrew wants to hear his words. My gaze stays locked on him as my entire body convulses and I say, "You motherfucking made me come, Andrew!”

  Before my eyelids flutter closed, he gets the damned cutest cocky grin on his face. When I do close my eyes, I reach my hands up and shove the twins’ faces back onto my breasts. They bite at my nipples, intensifying the sensation. And I almost bliss out into a second mind-numbing orgasm.

  But some motherfucking server ruins it by knocking over a table. I’m startled out of my orgasm. Didn’t Katie tell the damned staff about us? We’ve been here for a damn week and a half, almost two! Don’t fucking interrupt! My eyes shoot open and my lips part. I’m ready to spit fire at whoever just cut off my O.

  But as I look across the pool courtyard, I see it’s not a staff member. There are two tall guys standing by the arched entryway to the pool. I might have thought that they were replacement harem members. Consolation prizes from Katie for picking out some goddamned slime-balls. But no. They aren’t consolation prizes. I can tell because they hold guns pointed right at us.

  My asshole tightens around Jeremiah’s dick. And not in a good way. He stops moving. And so do I.

  The twins’ mouths pop off my breasts and they turn to look at what’s causing the hang up.

  One of the armed men—the one wearing a suit, with reddish brown hair—smiles at them and says in a broken accent, “So, this is why you do not call us, Reval? Rubin?”

  Before I can think, my hand’s lashed out and smacked the right-side twin across the face.

  That’s a mistake. Because, suddenly, the guy in the suit is right in front of me, his gun barrel aimed at my chest.

  Chapter Three

  Katie

  Gunmetal George is back, his voice calling out, “Did you hear that?” as he stomps into the closet.

  This time my eyes are open when he comes in, and I see the gun enter the closet first. Keeping my eyes open was a mistake. Because now I can't close them. All I can do is stare at the barrel as the man holding it violently shoves aside the extra suit jackets I have hanging on the opposite rack.

  Just as I'm certain I'm about to join the pathetic, piss-your-pants-scared league of losers, another guy calls out from the other side of the villa in a thick accent, “Look at here! There must be six boxes full of sexy lube!”

  The man in the closet turns. And I notice his face for the first time. He’s massive. His shoulders alone are bigger than my face. He has a long Roman nose, the kind with a bump in it. He’s got dark hair with frosted tips that Heather would hate, and I can see his muscles straining his shirt under his formal jacket. My brain weighs the possibilities, trying to calculate if Alec could take him down. But before I finish my mental assessment, Gunmetal George calls out in a deep, rumbling, undefinable European accent, "No way! You are serious? I thought the article was full of bull. The sexy times are true?” He strides out of the closet, slamming the door behind him. Apparently, boxes of lube are something he needs to verify for himself.

  Oh my stars in heaven. I have never been more thankful for Heather's ass sex proclivities. Thank you god of the back door. And to the person who invented lube—please appear in a dream and tell me your name. I'll build a shrine to you. I sag against Alec’s chest. His arms wrap around me slowly, careful not to rustle the plastic. Near the wall, one of Kenneth's hands reaches out and strokes down my arm, comforting me as my knees shake in relief.

  Danny's arms fly around all of us, plastic noises be damned, enveloping us in a group hug. “Fucking sorry, guys,” he whispers.

  "I’d punch you in the sac if I didn't think it would make you yelp right now and call that motherfucker back in here," Kenneth growls.

  "Shut up,” Alec orders. His voice brooks no argument. And despite the fact that he's full-on naked, or maybe because of the fact that he's full-on naked and has scars from two bullet wounds on one side of his torso, he radiates authority. Kenneth and Danny shut the fuck up like naughty little children do when Daddy says, “Five, four...”

  Alec pushes Danny back and unwinds the tennis pro’s arms from around us all. Alec shoves through the gowns and puts his ear to the door, right by the hinge. When the tension releases from his body, I know what he’s gonna say before he says it. He turns to us, "They're gone."

  "Thank fuck." Kenneth leaves our cramped hiding space as Alec moves sideways and yanks on the racks of clothing on the other side of the room. Alec finds a suit that's close enough to his size and starts to pull on the pants sans underwear.

  Danny wraps his arm around my waist and leads me out to the middle of the closet. I just let him. The touch feels good right now. It proves to me that I’m still alive. It helps ground me because my mind cannot believe what we just went through. Twice. Danny and I both stare at Alec for a second.

  "What are you doing?" Danny asks. “You have clothes in the bedroom.”

  "If I want to be able to get close enough to take them out, I need to look enough like them to trick them…" Alec trails off as the shirt he tries to pull on doesn't close over his massive pecs. He tosses it to the ground of my closet in disgust and grabs a different one. Same problem.

  I might be a little giddy from the fact that we didn't actually bite the bullet. But for some reason the fact that Alec’s amazing pecs are too big for a shirt is hilarious to me. I start to giggle. When the third shirt doesn't fit, I have to smack my hands over my lips so that I do not full-on belly laugh and end up calling those scary armed men back over here.

  Alec just rolls his eyes at me and tells me to get dressed. I go to turn the knob to exit the closet and find something reasonable to wear, but Danny grabs my hand and stops me. "There could still be someone out there. They could be in the hall outside your bedroom. They could still be going through boxes in your living room. Or they could be just outside. There could be a guard at the door …"

  My hand freezes on the doorknob. I release it slowly, blinking like a dumb-ass koala at the zoo. God, Katie. My survival instincts suck. Another imperfection my mother could critique. I shake off the image of her that comes to mind. Thinking of her might make me cry. And not out of resentment for once. Fuck. Focus. Focus.

  I glance around the closet. It has some of my business suits. And those skirts are way too fucking tight for any run-for-your-life scenario. Because, apparently, I was an idiot who didn’t plan to be attacked by men with guns when I planned a tropical vacation. Note to future self, if such a self gets to exist: always have a run-for-your-life outfit. I need a bad-ass, stretchy black outfit that will help me blend with the shadows and somehow contort my body in ways I’ve never done as I dodge bullets, Matrix-style. My eyes flick quickly over my clothes. They won’t work. But the rest of the space is taken up by Heather’s fru-fru dresses or extra outfits for the harem guys. “But ... what am I supposed to wear?" I whisper.

  Danny yanks at his shorts, drawing my attention to the fact that he dressed so fast that he’s actually gone commando. Why the fuck do I have to be in a life-or-death situation with guys so hot that they’re distracting? He brushes his blond hair to the side as he points to the awful collection of Heather’s fashion.
“We can rip off the sparkly stuff. Just grab one.”

  I start to protest the utter impracticality of wearing big-boob Heather’s clothes. They’ll just fall off me. “I can’t—”

  Alec shushes me as he pulls on a dinner jacket, his abs still deliciously on display. If I thought “Commando Ken” was dreamy, Alec is a walking wet dream. All he needs is a stripper pole and he’ll be richer than Heather in no time.

  All eyes swivel to me.

  "I used to be a stripper," Danny says.

  It takes me a minute to realize that I made the comment about Alec out loud. Then it takes another second for me to process what Danny said. I turn to him and smack him on the shoulder. "Liar."

  “Shh!” Kenneth reminds me.

  Danny rubs his shoulder as if I actually hurt him and I just roll my eyes in response.

  "Well …I could've been a stripper,” he says defensively. In all honesty, he could still be a stripper and make a ton of money. But that’s beside the point.

  Kenneth leans his ear against the closet door for a minute and says, “I think they might be going through more boxes in your living room. Something about strobe lights and cats or something.”

  “You can hear that?” Danny asks.

  “All of my senses are very acute,” Kenneth responds. “I have to listen for steam—”

  Danny holds up a hand, “Never mind. Okay. You’re Superman. Got it. Can I be Batman?”

  “How about you just be quiet?” Alec grumbles as he studies the contents of the closet.

  Danny mutters under his breath but complies.

  Kenneth puts his hands on my waist and guides me towards the gowns as Alec starts yanking apart metal hangers and twisting them into long, pointed skewers. My head turns and I watch Alec as Kenneth starts quietly and quickly rifling through Heather's dress collection. I tilt my head as I try and figure out what our pilot is doing. He bunches twenty or so hangers together, long jagged points roughly aligned. And then he starts to bundle them by wrapping another hanger around them.