Billionaire Brothers 01-04 The Complete Serial Box Set

by Meg Watson

  “Tell him, Margot,” Declan commanded.

  “And you,” I said to Declan, jamming my ass against his hard dick. “I want you in my mouth.”

  “Whoa, baby, yes, that’s hot,” he whispered, awe creeping into his voice.

  I kissed Jackson deeply, sucking on his lower lip, brushing my nipples against his chest. With a smile, I found his eyes and stared at him for a few seconds until I felt he understood, really understood how much I wanted him. I wanted him to feel our connection, to feel safe.

  Pushing up on my elbow, I looked down at the two of them. Naughty and Nice, side by side. They stared at me expectantly. Jackson’s hand lightly stroked my hip and waist. I smiled and pivoted, turning over and pushing my long hair out of the way, and lined my backside along Jackson’s front.

  “Oh hello there,” Declan purred, pulling me down to kiss his mouth as Jackson ran his hand along my side. His fingers slipped to the front of me and cupped my breast, and he bit lightly at the back of my shoulder.

  Declan’s hard on nosed eagerly at my belly, but that was not what I wanted. I pressed my backside toward Jackson and lifted my knee, opening my thighs. I heard him suck in his breath.

  Declan raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” he teased. “Jackson is going to get to fuck you?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t put the words together, but I could see the vision so brightly in my mind. I wanted them both. I wanted to be overwhelmed by them.

  Declan stroked my cheek, then his hand trailed down the front of my body and he tapped my swollen, honey-slick lips with his finger tips.

  “I’m not sure I can wait that long,” he murmured. I smiled and shrugged.

  “It’s not a race.”

  He nodded.

  I felt his hand moving. He was stroking himself, making himself harder. I could tell he liked this. He liked to be teased as much as he liked torturing me. I kissed his lower lip, biting it lightly, flicking my tongue back and forth. His eyes closed and he moaned into my mouth.

  The head of his cock touched my belly every time he stroked it. I was entranced watching his long, thick member swell and become more veiny as he pumped it. He was bigger than Jackson, sometimes too big, but he was gorgeous to watch. I was going to have to be very turned on to take him in my mouth without gagging, I knew.

  Behind me, Jackson was stroking himself too. I opened my thighs for him and he came closer, aiming his strokes right at my opening, brushing my thighs. I draped my leg back over his leg and pulled him closer to me. Declan bit his lip and pumped harder, watching Jackson’s cock nose ever closer to my entrance.

  When I felt Jackson line himself up with me, Declan leaned back to watch. His mouth opened as Jackson slowly plunged his head into me. I moaned, feeling myself stretch to take him.

  Declan sighed urgently and looked at me with the question in his eyes. I nodded, and he crawled up the bed, positioning himself even with my open mouth.

  I didn’t have to do anything else. Jackson’s breath started coming in short, harsh bursts against my neck as he stroked deeper and deeper. Declan worked his erection until it was almost ready to explode, then pressed the head into my open, waiting mouth.

  There were hands again everywhere, and I closed my eyes. Hands pulling my hair, hands pinching my waist, fingers flicking my clit back and forth. Declan filled my mouth and throat while Jackson filled me from behind. They worked in a smooth, strong rhythm, somehow in sync. I submitted entirely, allowing them to take over every void, to make me feel as stuffed and complete as possible.

  My belly burned bright, brighter, impossibly white and full. The fruit ripened as Jackson and Declan’s rhythm quickened. Jackson’s ardent fingers rubbed my clit in furious circles and I ground my hips against him. Declan’s fingers began pulling my hair, cutting off the breath from my lungs.

  Then suddenly, simultaneously, we all began to come. The fruit split in my mind just as Declan groaned and began to spurt down my throat. Jackson’s fingers dug into my hip as he buried himself in me up to the hilt, holding me immobile against spasm after spasm.

  The fruit burst white, juices rushing out in a torrent, sweetness flooding my whole body. We three were like one, all connected, all joined in passion, all complete.

  For long moments after we remained attached, then slowly began to disassemble the unit we had formed. Declan crawled down and kissed my forehead and cheeks over and over. Jackson pressed his face to my back and breathed in short, panting gasps, shuddering and thrusting every few moments as aftershocks wracked him.

  I sighed, totally content. During my orgasm I had seen a painting in my mind. Huge, white, and so important. I saw all the lines and shapes, and how to make it all work. I held the image in my thoughts and marvelled at it. This was a gift from my men. It was so beautiful, I wanted to weep.

  ***

  After my heart stopped pounding, I realized how thirsty I was. Even better, the image of the painting I had envisioned was still vivid and urgent in my mind.

  Declan’s eyes were half-translucent in sleep, and Jackson snored lightly behind me. We were all so sticky, I wasn’t sure how I could ever get up again. Carefully, I pushed up on my elbow, then scooted to the end of the bed.

  They looked so adorable laying there together, napping, I wanted to snap a picture and send it to Bridget. Only the remaining sliver of sanity in my head kept me from doing it.

  Back in my shorts and tank top, I tried to remember if I had a linen panel the right size for the painting. I could probably get to the studio and sketch it out before it faded. It seemed like the best one yet, and I didn’t want it to slip away before I had time to get down the important bits.

  My hair looked crazy, I could tell, and I pushed it around with my hands. But after being pulled on and thoroughly mussed, it was going to take some work. I padded to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping quietly against the slate tiles.

  The dishes were still out from lunch. I grabbed them and stacked them, pushing them to the other side of the counter by the sink. Something white caught my eye, and I spotted my panties on the floor. Chuckling, I dove and snatched them up, stuffing them into my pocket. When I stood, Declan was leaning against the stainless steel fridge.

  “Hey, I thought you were sleeping,” I said, rinsing my hands under the tap. “I just had the best idea… something awesome. I want to get it down before I lose it.”

  “I just had the best idea too,” he said.

  Putting the zucchini and tomatoes back in their bags, I motioned him aside so I could get in the fridge.

  “Can’t you give a girl a little time to recover?” I teased.

  “Come to Amsterdam,” he said abruptly.

  I stopped in my tracks and looked at him.

  “Why would I do that?” I said cautiously.

  “Because I know people… People who should know you… I think you would do very well there.”

  He crossed his arms over his pecs in that Powerful Billionaire stance I had seen him do a few times. I knew he was making me an offer.

  The light from the garden lit him all up from behind, casting him in a silhouette. I couldn’t entirely read his expression, but I knew it wasn’t the same tender outpouring of emotion that Jackson had shared with me earlier.

  This was a business deal. He was offering to buy me.

  “Declan, I don’t--”

  “Now, think about it,” he interrupted. “The career you always wanted. The respect, the prestige… A real presence in the best markets in Europe. I can do that. Just say the word.”

  “But, this is my home.”

  He shrugged. “Keep it. It will be here if you ever want to come back.”

  “But…” I had to say it. I watched him carefully. “Jackson--”

  “Jackson will be fine,” he said.

  I winced a little. Would he? Come to think of it - was he ever really fine with this? I was beginning to think Declan had bullied him, or at least pressured him into acting like he was.

  “Say yes,
” he demanded.

  “I can’t just say yes,” I said, shaking my head. My thoughts were whirling. “Why can’t we just leave things how they are?”

  He chuckled. “Things never stay the same for long,” he said with a finality that made my heart ache.

  “Are you… breaking up with me?” I said with as much strength as I could.

  He made some kind of sighing, groaning, wishy-washy noise. “I don’t know if breaking up is a word I would use. This has been awesome, truly. But everything has to evolve, doesn’t it? Evolve or perish.”

  Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck. He is totally breaking up with me.

  I stared at him with my mouth literally hanging open, groping helplessly for something to say. I felt like something I held in my arms was turning to sand and slipping away from me faster than I could gather it back up.

  “Declan, I just… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  “I don’t want things to change.”

  “Everything changes,” he said with a growing coldness. Then he walked toward me and kissed my hair sweetly. “We’re leaving in the morning, babe,” he said, with more tenderness, “and I hope you’re coming with us.”

  As he turned away to walk down the hall, I looked out over the pool and toward the bedroom. The water cast light back up to the house and I could see Jackson in the window, his arms crossed over his belly. As I watched, he raised a hand slowly, and held it palm-out in a wave. Then he looked over his shoulder as Declan entered the room, and I couldn’t see him anymore.

  ###

  BELOVED

  Billionaire Brothers - Book 4

  Meg Watson

  CHAPTER 1

  I SAT IN THE SAAB in the driveway with the motor idling for way too long, my hands mangling the steering wheel, my heart clawing at the inside of my chest like it wanted to be let out. More than anything, I was desperate to rush back into the house. I wanted everything settled and determined, either way.

  What did Declan mean? He seemed so cold. I could feel a door closing, closing, closing in slow motion and there was nothing I could do about it. Or was there? I didn’t know.

  And what did Jackson mean? What about us? Was there an “us?”

  But I couldn’t go back in there. I needed space. Or maybe I thought they needed space to work it out between them. Were they talking about me? Did they know about each other’s plans?

  I felt like the little M on the diamond pendant they had given me, only both sides of the chain were being jerked in opposite directions. I could feel myself being torn down the middle.

  “Just go, Margot. Go somewhere,” I muttered angrily and threw the car into drive. As I edged down toward the street, I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, just in case. But nobody came after me. I was on my own.

  The painting in the back seat was carefully crated so when I stopped at the stop sign, I opened the clips and jerked the convertible top back. The sun came down like a hammer, instantly heating the leather seats to dangerous, flesh-frying levels.

  I didn’t mind. A little pain would be good for me, I thought. Singe off the frayed ends.

  On a whim, I took the next right and found myself in front of Edna’s house. Raul stood atop a ladder with shears, shaving a precise layer of new growth from the artful hedges. My stomach churned as I remembered her rejection of me.

  But she was right, I reminded myself sagely. And look at you now. You’re better for it.

  But I couldn’t feel grateful about it. Maybe her blinking, what-can-I-do stare when she called my work “superfluous” had helped me dig through to the bubbling source of what was inspiring my new paintings, the ones I was so in love with, but still. My feelings were hurt and I planned on pouting about that for as long as it took.

  ***

  Bridget was standing behind Melissa sighing and cough-gasping in frustration as the poor, drug-addled assistant tried to hang a porcelain bas-relief sculpture single-handedly on hooks suspended on wires. Melissa’s hair stuck out like an old stuffed animal and she grunted and whimpered as Bridget asked her to make minute, probably irrelevant adjustments.

  “It’s crooked,” I called out as I walked up. Well, what can I say? Sometimes I like to throw blood in the water too.

  “Wha…?” Melissa gasped, reaching out to the far end to push it up.

  “To the left,” Bridget insisted for no real reason.

  “That thing weighs like sixty pounds, doesn’t it?” I muttered, below Melissa’s hearing.

  Bridget nodded and sucked her teeth.

  “Oh yeah, at least,” she agreed. “And it actually goes on the other wall, over there.”

  I turned my back so only Bridget could see my face.

  “So she’s not off punishment yet?”

  She shrugged. “Practice makes perfect. Did you bring me goodies?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Can we, uh… Go to the front?”

  “Sure. Hey, Melissa? You know what…. I’m thinking this should really go over there.”

  Melissa let her forehead thump against the wall, her upper arms visibly jiggling from the strain of holding the piece up.

  “OK, Bridget,” she called out meekly as we walked to the front gallery.

  “I’m surprised you’re still torturing her,” I said.

  “Yeah… It’s losing its zing, but whatever. So what’s in the box?”

  “Hornets,” I answered.

  “Ooooh!” she cooed, clapping her hands together under her chin. “Let’s see them!”

  I snapped open the clips on the crate and pulled out the piece, handling it carefully because it was nowhere near dry.

  “OK, OK…” she breathed excitedly, walking carefully toward it on her too-high lucite platform heels and bending at the waist. She peered at it and nodded vigorously, shaking loose a fistful of amethyst curls that looked like they had been candy-coated.

  “I like your hair, by the way,” I offered.

  “Shh!” she hissed, waving me back with her thickly lacquered nails. “I’m absorbing!”

  “OK, OK, absorb all you want,” I muttered and backed away, taking in the whole wall of other works. Though they were mostly highly textured abstracts with some twigs and chicken wire and crap embedded in the troweled surfaces, there was a collection of highly detailed portraits of imaginary monsters to the left, painted in monochrome like Victorian photographs. It was a clever and compelling sort of humanity: the weepy cyclops, the overly excited ghost no one could hear, the grotesquely grinning troll with the lopsided horns sprouting from his forehead. Each character smiled from behind the domed glass as though proudly sitting for a school portrait. They made me wistful. Did they even know they were monsters?

  “I love it,” Bridget was saying over and over.

  “I’m glad,” I said loudly, trying to see the portrait of the troll a little closer, but my reflection in the glass kept getting in the way. The mid-afternoon sun was bouncing all around the gallery like a rubber ball.

  “You see how you interlock now?” she said, squinting at me then back to the painting with her head cocked. I tilted my head to the side and backed up. Taken altogether, yes, I thought I could see what she meant. Though my work was different, it “worked” with the others. We were all distinct, clearly singing out notes that seemed to harmonize in a group.

  “Huh,” I responded. “And I didn’t interlock before?”

  “No, not really. There wasn’t enough there, there. If you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” I lied. Actually I knew exactly. I was just a little tired of hearing it.

  She reached out and poked a corner, flicking at a barely-there hornet that seemed to hover above the painting’s surface.

  “There’s something really... menacing about this, Mar,” she breathed.

  “Well, hornets are fucking scary,” I responded.

  “Yeah, but… Whew. You know?”

  She looked at me, her kohl-black eyes blinking meaningfully. I shru
gged.

  “Like,” she continued, searching for more words, “like a goddamn threat, you know? Like a warning.”

  “I guess,” I said, but inside I was both thrilled and a little put off. Was it so easy to read me now? On the one hand, that would be amazing: to assemble seemingly unrelated images to create a clear emotional message. On the other hand, those were my private thoughts and I couldn’t help feeling a little invaded.

  “Where did it come from?” she asked, knuckling her chin, careful not to disturb her thick layer of purple lip gloss.

  “A dream, I guess.”

  “Aw fuck, please, god no,” she drawled.

  I winced. “What?”

  “Please don’t give me any art-school I saw it in a dream crap…”

  “Well, it’s a dream of a real thing though,” I sulked, offended that she would conflate me with those wanna-be imposters. “I think it is, anyway. I don’t know. I sort of remember a party, like a cookout. My mom was there, so I must have been pretty young. Everything seemed totally fine. Everybody was laughing, you know. And at first I remember seeing one or two hornets, no big deal… The party just kept going.”

  “Yeah, OK,” she said. “Go on…”

  “Well, I don’t know. It doesn’t all make sense, and probably the details like the wind and the noises is just dream stuff, not really real. But suddenly there were hornets, like, everywhere… Like, they were in the food, under the patio umbrella, so close you could feel their wings. Dozens of them… Hundreds. Like they were smart. Like they hated us.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Everybody went running, and that was it. The whole day just came down to that crazy, random thing. Everything was ruined. And it started with just a couple bugs, like you might see any day of the week. Like at any time, everything could go just that way. Crazy.”

  “I see,” she said, nodding, staring into the painting. “So these are like the fucking harbingers. They’re the premonition.”