ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories)

by Donovan, Astrid Lee

  “Because if anyone has me ‘over the moon,’” she mused, rolling her eyes at her own apologetic, out and out corniness, “It’s these two wondrous men who managed to take a bite right out of my life.”

  THE END

  HARD ROCKING LOVER

  BAD BOY ROMANCE

  Chapter One

  “Spyder? My new student’s name is friggin’ Spyder?”

  Some days, Nicole Moore figured, were better than others.

  “So before the tutoring session, am I going to have to confiscate his graphic novels—or his illegal weapons and/or controlled substances?”

  This day, the 22-year-old figured further, was not one of those mythical better days.

  Still she knew that she had to honor her commitment as a tutor intern at Fitzgerald State College; a position that, if successfully completed, could be her key to a lucrative assistant professorship at this same university.

  “So there will only be a few more Spyders, Jeds or Brittnis to navigate through to achieve a B plus before I’m outta here,” she reminded herself, adding more warmly, “Along, of course, with a number of genuine, hardworking students who—because of either tough home lives or substantial learning challenges—just need a little extra help and guidance. It’s always my pleasure to help these kids. Why do I get the distinct feeling, though, that Spyder belongs more to the former category than the latter?”

  Shaking off the feeling of cold, hard dread that threatened to overwhelm her, Nicole adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and settled her rubenesque form in the straight wicker chair that sat behind her work station at the Fitzgerald school library; a basic wooden table that formed a far corner of the basic one story library.

  “Show no fear,” she reminded herself, adding as she raised her gaze to behold the young man who currently approached her work station, “or out and out wonder, amazement or good ol’ fashioned covetous desire.”

  Indeed, the man who now approached her table probably qualified as the most beautiful male she’d ever seen—if not the most beautiful blasted human being, overall.

  Standing tall and statuesque above her desk, the olive eyed brunette regarded her with a dazzling white toothed smile; one that shone forth from a bronzed, chiseled face that also boasted carved cheekbones, full, moist lips and a genuine cleft chin.

  “Criminy, I didn’t think that anyone actually had a cleft chin these days, outside of Hollywood,” she mused, arching her eyebrows at this disturbing realization.

  Beyond being symmetrically arranged to the point of near flawlessness (OK then, complete and total flawlessness, if she was to be brutally honest), all of these downright fascinating features came framed in a long, silken mane of ebony hair that fell across his muscled shoulders and down his planed back.

  “OK dude, so thanks for just triggering my hair fetish,” she gritted her teeth, her gaze lingering for a moment on those luscious, silky locks as she added, “Big time.”

  Forcing her gaze away from that luscious mane did little to help this situation, as her eyes ended up travelling down the length of his tall, lean muscled form; a body adorned today in a pair of sinful tight blue jeans and a T-shirt that came emblazoned with his own hand painted image—along with the name “Spyder” printed above in a bold flash of scarlet red calligraphy.

  “Well if I was that cute, I wager I’d wear my own picture on some random article of clothing as well,” she mused—realizing too late that she’d mused aloud.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” she asked the god before her, biting her lip hard as her worst fears were confirmed by way of a nod and a smile.

  “Indeed you did, Miss,” he confirmed, accenting his words with a playful wink.

  Nicole nodded.

  “Yikes, I was afraid of that,” she grinned, adding as she offered her hand, “If you’re not already prepared to turn tail and race headfirst for the nearest exit, Spyder, then do allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new tutor, Nicole Moore. That’s N-i-c-o-l-e and Moore as in Mary Tyler, just in case you need a verified spelling to submit as part of your harassment complaint.”

  Spyder guffawed outright.

  “Are you kidding, Miss Moore? I am so relieved that the person I’ll be studying with all semester has a sense of humor,” he told her, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “You’ll probably need it, once you start helping me with my reports.”

  Nicole shook her head.

  “Oh nonsense, the thought never even occurred to me,” she countered, simultaneously waving away his concerns as she also waved him in to the chair nearest her own. To her immediate left, as a matter of fact. “As long as you make it to each of our weekly sessions along with all of your classes, we’ll get you through this semester of English comp—and with flying, or at the very least passing, colors.”

  Spyder nodded.

  “Well I hope so,” he told her, adding with a deep sigh, “I really don’t mean to be such a screw up in class, Miss Moore—I mean, Nicole—but my night job takes up most of my evenings and I get very little sleep. It seems like I have very little energy or concentration left over for school.”

  Nicole arched her eyebrows.

  “Your night job, ay?” she asked, adding silently this time, “Is he a stripper, maybe? One of those male companions, like I hear about on the talk shows? A gal always can hope.”

  Seemingly oblivious to the train of thought that was quickly turning obscene in nature, Spyder told her, “I’m a rock star. Well, not a star exactly, at least not yet; but rest assured that I’m not wearing a T-shirt with my own name and picture because I’m a complete egomaniac,” he paused here, adding with a teasing wink, “Or even because I’m cute.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes.

  “Something tells me that my earlier assessment of your masculine beauty is bound to follow me around for the duration of my association,” she muttered.

  Spyder laughed.

  “I love the way you talk, Miss,” he praised her, adding as he pinned her with a pensive stare, “It’s so, I dunno, smart. And I just know that you can help a struggling speed metal musician pass English comp.”

  Nicole nodded.

  “Yes, I do believe I can,” she told him, adding as she stroked her chin in a show of thoughtfulness, “So you say that you’re a musician. Do you happen to write your own songs?”

  Spyder nodded.

  “I sure do,” he said with a proud smile. “As a matter of fact, I write all of the songs for my band, the Lightning Rods.”

  Nicole smiled.

  “Well that’s great!” she affirmed, adding with a broad gesture, “If you can write a song, then surely you can write a composition.”

  Spyder gritted his teeth.

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he told her, adding as he averted his gaze to the table beneath them, “The last two grand compositions that I happened to pen were titled ‘Saturday Night Party, Sunday Morning Hangover’ and ‘Sexy Sally’.”

  Nicole chuckled.

  “Well now let’s take a closer look at these two titles,” she suggested, adding as she leaned across the desk, “The phrase ‘Saturday Night Party, Sunday Morning Hangover’ shows a strong grasp of cause and effect concepts. And the title ‘Sexy Sally’ has a nice lyrical flow—provided, of course, that the song accompanying said title is not overly sexist or vulgar in terms of its lyrical content.”

  Spyder shook his head.

  “Oh no, not at all,” he assured her, adding as he raised a finger for emphasis, “Rest assured, Nicole, that I have the upmost respect for chicks—that is, ladies—that is, people of the female persuasion…” he broke off here, showing by the way he shuffled his sneaker clad feet beneath the table that he still wasn’t sure he had it right.

  Nicole chuckled.

  “Look, I can tell already that you’re an intelligent, well-spoken dude with a sense of humor and a creative spark,” she assured him, adding as she inclined her head in his direction, “Now all
we have to do is take all of that mental clay and form it into some strong, cohesive compositions.”

  Spyder thought a moment, then grinned.

  “You know, until today I wasn’t even aware that I had mental clay,” he told her, voice tinged with awe as he thrust a triumphant fist in the air. “That rocks! And so do you, Nicole. I have to say that, for once in my life, I’m actually looking forward to studying.”

  Nicole nodded.

  “Well that, my good man, is a pretty high compliment,” she told him, meeting him high above the desk in a celebratory high five. “As a matter of fact, I’d say it rocks. Now let’s get to work!”

  Chapter Two

  One week later

  Once again Nicole sat tall and proud behind her neat, basic work station at the Fitzgerald State College library; though this time she was in no way fearing or dreading the student she was due to meet here in less than ten minutes.

  Indeed, she only feared and dreaded the grade he may have gotten on the first composition he was due to complete under her expert tutelage.

  Oh, she knew that Spyder McKenzie was smart enough to pull off a winning composition. She only hoped that he had taken the time and initiative to complete, edit and polish his essay—which concerned the romantic themes and undercurrents prevalent in the works of The Bard, William Shakespeare—and in accordance with the deadline set by Ms. Hart, his English comp teacher—a particularly prickly instructor who’d even once threatened to give her a failing grade.

  “During the entire course of my four year term of undergraduate study here at Fitzgerald, my affectionate, heartfelt nickname for her was Ms. Hart-less,” she mused, adding with a shudder, “Hey, I was an overly stressed undergrad. Cut me a break.”

  She only hoped that the finicky old professor would cut her newest pupil a bit of a break; for aside from showing a great deal of creativity and more than a little writing talent, Spyder expressed a genuine willingness to learn. And while he sometimes stumbled in a few minutes late for their weekly tutoring sessions, at times even arriving in a semi-conscious state that had to be corrected via a handy dandy ‘coffee IV’ (translation, a pint of Starbucks premium blend retrieved in a frenzy en route to the library), he always did manage to make the sessions; arriving with a bright smile and—mostly—prepared to learn.

  “Although it seems that today, he happens to be running a few minutes later than usual,” she noted, biting her lip as she took a cautionary look at a clock that adorned a nearby wall. “I sure hope everything went OK with his first big composition.”

  She cringed in spite of herself moments later, as her usually beaming pupil walked into the library with a deep, pronounced frown; approaching their table with slow, trudging steps as he averted his eyes to the ground below them.

  “Hey Nic,” he greeted her, tone low and dispirited.

  “Hi Spyder,” she returned, adding as she pinned him with a gaze of keen concern, “Is everything all right?”

  Spyder sighed.

  “Everything’s OK, I guess,” he assured her, tone vague and unconvincing. “I only wish that I had done a bit better on my first big compositions for Ms. Hart.”

  With these words he withdrew a neatly folded paper from the zippered pocket of his smart pleather jacket; holding it between them as he told her, “I was so hoping I could tell you, Nicole, that I had earned an A plus on my first big report. Guess I should have known better; I was aiming too high.” He paused here, flipping open the paper with a dramatic snap to reveal his mysterious hidden letter grade. “After all the excellent help you gave me, I guess this is the best I could do, Chief. Sorry.”

  Nicole’s eyes flew wide as they regarded the phantom letter grade; one emblazoned across the top of his typewritten cover page in a brilliant flash of scarlet red ink.

  “A minus,” she said the words in a low, hushed tone that conveyed an expression of pure and complete disbelief. “I know that the show has been off the air for years, Spyder, but I still feel I must ask. Am I being Punked?”

  Spyder guffawed outright.

  “What, you find it that incredibly impossible to believe that I could earn a grade of A on any given report?” he asked. “Even an A minus?”

  Nicole shook her head.

  “No, no, you misunderstand,” she countered, raising her hands before her in a defensive stance. “For any mere mortal, the act of earning a grade of A minus from Miss Hartless would be akin to earning an honors diploma from just about any other instructor. The woman would give Jane Austen a grade that’s on the dark side of a C minus, on her best day.” She paused here, adding as she clapped Spyder’s planed back with a warm, affirming clap, “Excellent show, Spyder. I’m so proud of you.”

  She took in her breath as her newly smiling student took the hand that rested on his back and drew her closer to him; staring into her eyes as he swept her up in his muscled arms for a warm, tender embrace.

  She released this breath the moment she felt the hot press of his hard muscled body tight against hers; a sensation characterized by the alluring bulge of his defined chest muscles as they strained the fabric of his tight pleather jacket, by the gentle brush of his soft hair across her breasts, and the subtle hoist of his hard, trim hips against her buxom, rounded ones.

  The experience was completed when she caught a whiff of his light, citrus tinged cologne, and when the deep, smooth voice she’d come to love resounded deep in her ear.

  “This isn’t about me,” he assured her, wrapping his strong arms around her buxom waist and pulling her closer still, “It’s all you, Nicole. It was you that encouraged me to approach my compositions in much the same way I would my songs. It was you that taught me to have fun with my writing, and you know me—if I’m not havin’ fun in life, then why bother? You, my dear, are a miracle worker.”

  Nicole smiled.

  “Why thank you Spyder,” she told him, her rebellious arms wrapping around his muscled shoulders as she fought to steady her quivering voice—along with her pounding heart. “I myself have a lot of fun working with you.”

  Pulling back with a broad smile, Spyder fixed her with an intense olive eyed stare as he agreed, “We do have a lot of fun working together; so I’ve been thinking, Nicole, why not do more than just work?”

  Nicole froze.

  “Well what did you have in mind?” she asked.

  Spyder shrugged.

  “Well I dunno, we seem to get along pretty well,” he allowed, adding as he graced her with a white toothed smile that made her heart beat faster still, “I thought that maybe we could hang out or something—you know, like friends.”

  “Oh,” Nicole replied, trying to hide the disappointment in her tones as she pulled away from him. “Well, I suppose that we could grab some lunch sometime, or maybe take in a movie.”

  Spyder shook his head.

  “I have an even better idea,” he told her, adding as he took his usual seat at Nicole’s study station, “Listen, my band, the Lightning Rods, will be playing tonight at the Rock Pile—you know, that cool night club just off Fourth?”

  Nicole shrugged.

  “Well I can’t say that I’ve ever actually attended a show at that club,” she admitted, adding as she shifted her feet beneath her in something of a self-conscious stance, “I only know of its general location because the building shares an office complex with my grandma’s foot doctor.” She paused here, adding through pursed lips, “There, I now have said the least cool, least sexy thing humanly possible. Are you still sure that you want me at your show?”

  Spyder guffawed outright.

  “More than ever,” he assured her, “and I hope you enjoy it. We go on stage at 8 p.m. sharp—so do us both a favor and be there!”

  Chapter Three

  That evening Nicole found herself driving her basic teal compact car down an all familiar route; the crowded two lane downtown street that generally took her directly to the front entrance of the Something’s Afoot foot care clinic.

  “O
f course when I’m carting Granny around to the foot doctor’s, I’m generally not dressed like the misbegotten star of a BBW fetish video,” she reminded herself, then wished fervently that she hadn’t when she took a look down the length of her short, fully made form. “Why in the ever lovin’ livin’ daylights did I do this to myself?”

  Like most things in life, it was all Jodi Halston’s fault. Her ever-meddling best friend had talked her out of the perfectly sensible T-shirt and jeans that she’d planned to wear today in favor of the classic ‘little black dress.’

  “OK, let’s be honest here Folks,” she mused, rolling her eyes heavenward. “There’s no way in Dante’s Hades that I ever could fit in to a little black dress—so I guess a sexy black dress will have to do.”

  Indeed, the knee length black velvet number that adorned her curvaceous form easily qualified as sexy; as did the rarely worn sheen of ruby red lipstick that adorned her lips and the inky black mascara that now lined and surrounded her wide dark eyes.

  “Criminy, I never dress up like this—or, depending on how you look at it, dress down,” she shook her head from side to side. “What is this man doing to me?”

  He almost made her miss her turn, that’s what; and now Nicole swore softly as she jerked her turning wheel sideways to detour into the parking lot of the Rock Pile; a distinctive single level building with stark ebony walls, shaded windows and a cast iron fence surrounding—one that came complete with a swinging door that she now passed through as she made her way into the club.

  “Always did wonder what went on in this place,” she mused, a strange trickle of excitement coursing her spine as she stepped into the dark, musty lobby of the Rock Pile and purchased a ticket at a small admissions table. “Guess I’ll find out tonight.”

  Her thoughts suspended when she came face to face with a promotional poster for that night’s featured performers at the club; a glossy, high definition image that showed her a beautiful Spyder in all his glory.