The Mermaid's Return_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Kellie McAllen

  I lower my body onto hers and slide inside her warm, wet channel, redefining home once again.

  Chapter 17

  Jude

  Click. Click. Click. Click click click click click. I hold my finger down and let the channels whiz by as fast as they can, seeing how long it takes to get back to the beginning. With this new premium package, I think there’s something like 3000. It would take me the better part of an hour to scroll through them all, looking for something interesting. By then, the show would be almost over, so I’d have to start over again. I give up and stop on the Food Network, like usual.

  I have enough money, I never have to work again. Heck, I could live comfortably the rest of my life off the interest. Sounds like every man’s dream, right? I live in an awesome house with three great guys and an incredible woman. I have a sports car, a pickup truck, a boat, a jet ski, and don’t forget the 3000 satellite channels. So why do I feel so… unsatisfied? What else could I possibly want out of life?

  Guy Fieri is dunking a chip in a bowl of guacamole on the television, and my stomach growls out an idea for how to satisfy my craving for something. I jump up and head for the kitchen.

  Coral must hear me banging around in here, because she wanders in a few minutes later. She snakes a hand around my waist and lays her head on my bicep. I can’t resist flexing it a little. “Hey Jude, what are you making?”

  “Only the best thing you can make in less than ten minutes — guacamole.”

  “Guacamole?” She wrinkles her nose as she tries to wrap her tongue around the syllables.

  “Yup, sounds disgusting, tastes amazing. Watch and learn, Princess.” I tap her on the nose.

  I slice open a couple avocados, showing how to get the giant seed out, then put her to work mashing them. She sticks the tip of her tongue out while she works, and it’s the cutest thing ever.

  My knife whacks the cutting board like the beat of a mariachi song while I dice some tomatoes, onions, and cilantro, filling the kitchen with their fresh, crisp scent. Coral tenses up when my knife hand moves so fast it starts to blur.

  “How can you do that so fast? Aren’t you afraid you’ll cut yourself?”

  “Nah, I’ve had a ton of practice. I know where to put my fingers.” I give her a cheesy grin as I run the fingers of one hand up her belly and swirl them around her boobs. Then I let one trail down her middle to that soft spot between her legs, pressing against the blue cotton of her dress. She moans and reaches for my most sensitive spot, proving she knows a thing or two about finger placement herself.

  I groan and press my hand over hers. “Maybe we should do this fingering somewhere more private.”

  She nods and whips around, heading out of the kitchen towards the stairs. I follow her like she’s a carrot on a stick. We go to her room, which is fine by me because mine is kind of a mess. I suppose I could kill some time cleaning it. Later.

  As soon as we’re inside, I kick the door shut and reach for her, showing her all the tricks I can do with my fingers. I pull her dress over her head, which messes up her hair, but I intend to mess it up even more. I like it when she looks a little wild, anyway. I like it when she acts wild, too, and I think she likes the freedom to take what she wants from me.

  I’m pretty sure Gio is just as domineering in bed as he is everywhere else, Liam is serious, and Avery probably likes to be gentle and romantic, but with me, Coral can do whatever she wants, and I’m totally okay with it. In fact, I like it when she lets herself go.

  She tugs my shirt up, but she’s not tall enough to pull it over my head, so I take the hint and do it for her. She doesn’t have any trouble undoing the button of my shorts, though. Her small fingers slide down my sides, pushing my shorts and boxers to the ground.

  She grabs for me, torturing me with her fingers, but I need to have my hands on her, too. I snag her waist and pull her to me, digging my fingers into her soft buns and pressing her against me. She rubs her lace-covered pelvis against mine, driving me wild. Her fingers stroke up and down my back, but when they curl around my sides, the little tease has the nerve to tickle me.

  I yelp and squirm then grab her and toss her on the bed so hard she bounces, giggling like a little girl. The aqua silk comforter shimmers under her body like water. Her bed is as big as an ocean, but I dive on top of her, holding out my arms to stop myself before I crush her.

  “You think you can tickle me and get away with it?”

  “You can tickle me back if you want.” She gives me a naughty grin.

  “Oh, I intend to show you exactly what my fingers can do.” I take one hand and run it down her side so lightly she squirms, then I switch hands and do the other side. I stroke her whole body like this, except for the spots she wants me to touch the most.

  She panting and clawing at my chest by the time I’m finished. Her hips are bucking up and down, begging for more. I snag the edges of her panties and pull them off. “Now that you know how skilled my fingers are, let me show you what I can do with my tongue.”

  I grin at her and dip my head right where she wants it. She cries out and writhes under me, digging her fingers into my curls. I lap at her till she shudders and goes limp.

  As soon as I lift myself off her, she sits up and pushes me down then climbs on top of me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “My turn.”

  The girl has mouth skills, let me tell you that. She sucks and bites every inch of me with her hot, little mouth till I’m the one writhing. Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, she climbs on top and takes me for a ride. I hold on tight, gripping her thighs, her hips, her breasts, whatever I can get my hands on, till we both go spinning off, dizzy and giddy.

  Afterwards, she flops on the bed next to me and sighs. When her tummy grumbles she smiles at me. “I think I’d like to try some guacamole now.”

  We head back to the kitchen where the ingredients are still sitting on the counter, waiting for us like we took a bathroom break, not a sex break. If anybody came in here and noticed the half-made food, they must’ve figured we’d be back later. Us guys have figured out not to ask too many questions if we don’t want to hear the answers.

  Sharing Coral isn’t nearly as complicated as it seems like it would be, especially when we’re at home where nobody’s watching us. If one of us wants to touch her, we do, even if one of the others is around. Sometimes she’ll sit between us and let two of us touch her at the same time. We haven’t gone any further than that in front of each other, but we’re getting more comfortable with the idea. Maybe one of these days we’ll all get in that big hot tub in the master bathroom or the even-bigger bed.

  Coral and I get back to making the guacamole. I dump everything into the bowl with the mashed avocado, stir it all together, and season it with salt, pepper, cumin, garlic, cayenne, and a healthy squeeze of fresh lime juice. Once it’s done, I dig some tortilla chips out of the pantry, tear them open, and scoop up a big glob of the guacamole.

  “Here, try it.” I hold it out to Coral, and she wraps her lips around it and smiles as she chews.

  Okay, I feel a little bit better now. Maybe my purpose in life is to feed her and keep her satisfied, cuz I’m feel very fulfilled at the moment.

  She grabs a chip and takes another big scoop. “This is yummy, Jude. Are we going to share this with the others?”

  I sigh and grin. “I suppose.”

  I pile the guac, chips, some fresh salsa I made yesterday, and some plates on a tray, then Coral and I head off to find everybody. It doesn’t take long because they’re all chilling in the living room now, spread out around the huge, white sectional. Guy Fieri is still yapping on the TV, his spiky hair like porcupine quills on the giant screen, but nobody’s watching him.

  “Hey guys, I made guacamole. Anybody want some?”

  Liam’s got his nose in a thick textbook, highlighting every other sentence with a squeaky, yellow marker. Ever since he decided to get his doctorate in veterinary medicine so he can play Doctor Dolittle to the mermaids, he’s
been studying nonstop. Goddamn overachiever wants to squeeze four more years of school into two. Plus, he’s always taking off with Coral to “study her anatomy.” I told him the rest of us want a chance to study her anatomy, too. He barely looks up from his book when I put the tray in front of him, so I move on to Gio. He’s always interested in eating.

  Gio’s clicking away on his laptop, researching shipwrecks. He gets such a rush out of finding them, he’s decided to start a charter service so other wannabe treasure divers can have the same fun.

  “I got your treasure right here, dude. Green gold.”

  Gio glances up at the bowl of guac. “Oh yeah.” He takes a plate, grabs a handful of chips, then dumps enormous scoops of salsa and guacamole on top of them. He balances the plate on one of the serape-striped throw pillows and starts shoveling food into his mouth with one hand while tapping at the laptop with the other. I doubt he even tastes it.

  Avery’s got a pile of paint chips and flooring samples on the table in front of him, and he’s comparing two identical shades of beige like the fashion police are ready to shut him down if he picks the wrong one.

  I can understand why the other guys are so into their work. Liam’s fascinated by marine life and passionate about providing healthcare to needy merfolk, and Gio loves the thrill of the hunt, but I don’t know why Avery cares so much about this salon. He doesn’t need the money, and it’s not like people are dying from bad haircuts. If he loves cutting hair that much, he could get a job at somebody else’s salon.

  Maybe he just wants to prove that he can be successful at it. I guess I can understand that. I still think about culinary school sometimes and wonder if I could make it through. Since I don’t need to work, I figure there’s no point, but it would be nice to do it just to prove I could. But as much as Coral and the guys all rave about my cooking, I’m not sure I’ve got what it takes to be a pro. I guess I’ll just stick to feeding the guys and teaching Coral a few things.

  Avery puts down his paint chips when I hold the tray out to him. “Looks great, Jude. Thanks.” He scoops out a serving and leans back, taking a break to enjoy the snack.

  He takes one bite, and his eyes pop open. “Jude, this is the best guacamole I’ve ever tasted. Did you make this salsa, too?”

  Finally, somebody who really appreciates it! I smile and puff up my chest a little. “Yeah, Coral helped me.”

  Coral shakes her head. “I didn’t do anything but mash the green stuff.”

  Avery stares at the guacamole a little longer than a normal person would, rolling a bite around in his mouth like he’s making love to it. I’m about to make fun of him when he turns and looks at me weird. “Hey, I was thinking about having a grand opening party at the salon, but I would need food. How do you feel about catering?”

  I glance down at my South Park tee shirt and wrinkly cargo shorts and raise an eyebrow at him. “You want me to cater a fancy party at your froufrou salon?”

  He winces. “I know that’s not your scene, but your food is so good, and I really want to have the best.”

  Huh. “Well, yeah, I mean, if you think my stuff would be okay. That sounds fun. What kinds of food do you have in mind?”

  We spend the next half hour talking about hors d'oeuvres, deciding on a seafood theme when Coral offers to catch us anything we want. By the time we have the menu planned out, I’m actually excited about something besides sex for the first time in forever.

  I spend the next two weeks testing recipes and stuffing myself with finger foods. At this rate, I’m not going to be able to fit into my suit. Avery was not amused when I told him I was gonna wear a tee shirt with a tuxedo design on it. Does nobody have a sense of humor around here? Of course, he’s stressed to the max, worrying about every little detail.

  The night of the party, everybody helps me transport the food over to the salon and set everything up. Except for Avery who’s busy wiping stray fingerprints off mirrors, making sure all the stylist’s chairs are perfectly aligned, and combing his hair over and over again. Oh, and messing with his tie so much you’d think it was his pecker.

  When he heads over to check out the food, I tense, wondering if he’s going to freak out about something being less than perfect. I straighten the tray of oysters DuPont, wipe a smudge off the silver platter holding the bluefish pâte, and brush away crumbs that fell on the black satin tablecloth from the smoked salmon crostini. Still, Avery zeros in on a champagne flute that’s one millimeter off-center.

  Liam puts a hand on his arm to stop him. “Avery, everything’s fine. Quit worrying about it.”

  Avery yanks on that damn tie again. “You really think so? I’ve never thrown a party like this before. I don’t want people to think I’m a dumb redneck trying to put on the ritz.”

  Suddenly, I’m feeling just as much like an imposter. Who do I think I am trying to cater a fancy party? I’m just a dude with a big appetite who watches too much of the Food Network! What if everyone hates the food, and the party is ruined because of me?

  Liam brushes invisible dust off Avery’s suit coat. “Well, I’ve been to plenty of fancy parties, and I think you’ve done a great job here.”

  I know he’s not talking to me, but hopefully his comments extend to the food, as well. Everything tastes great to me, but what do I know? I’ve never even had most of these foods before. I think about asking him to taste everything real quick, but it’s not like I have time to make anything different if he says it sucks. I remind myself that he liked everything when I was testing recipes last week. If anything was terrible he would’ve told me then, right?

  “What about the balloons? Are they tacky?” Avery tugs on the ribbon dangling from a bouquet of helium balloons in what the lady at the party store called, “elegant shades of vanilla, champagne, and eggshell.” They all look like beige to me, but so did the paint chips Avery was agonizing over.

  Liam doesn’t get a chance to answer him, though, before the bell above the front door tinkles and a couple potential customers walk in. They’re the first real guests, but the party looks like it’s going already with just us here.

  Gio is behind the food table with me, helping keep everything stocked, Bella is in the corner talking with a friend she brought, Liam is mingling, and Coral is hanging on Avery’s arm, playing girlfriend.

  That totally sucks because she looks amazing in a little, black dress with a pearl necklace — a real one, not the kind I’d like to give her, and bright red lipstick I’m dying to kiss off of her. I wish she was standing back here with me tonight. She’d say the perfect thing to make me feel better about myself. And people would think the food was amazing just because a gorgeous woman handed it to them instead of a chubby, dopey-looking dude.

  My belly starts flip-flopping like I swallowed a live fish when the first guests fill their plates with food. They don’t gag at the sight of it, so I guess that’s a good sign. I watch them as they eat, trying not to stare like a weirdo.

  I calm down a little when nobody barfs or spits anything out. When they start coming back for seconds, telling me how great everything is, I let out a shaky breath and give them a big smile. I didn’t realize I was clenching every single muscle in my whole body.

  Now that I’m looser, I feel like joking around and having a good time. But I know Avery won’t appreciate my sense of humor tonight, so I force myself to act all proper and shit, resisting the urge to whisper my funny comments to Gio because I know we’ll both end up cackling.

  People seem to be impressed by the salon; they’re gobbling up the food and alcohol and scheduling appointments for haircuts and highlights and whatever else kind of stuff Avery offers. I lose count of how many people compliment the food and ask me what company catered it. I have to admit it’s an ego boost.

  Avery relaxes after a while, too, and his smile looks real instead of forced until the moment his family walks in. I’ve never met them before, but his kid sister looks just like him, his mom kind of too, and they look totally out of place i
n this environment. His dad digs a finger into the too-tight neck of his yellowed dress shirt, and his mom tugs on her clingy, polyester dress. His brother eyes Coral.

  Avery excuses himself from the group he’s chatting with and heads for the front door, dragging Coral with him. Liam notices and watches them, and I nudge Gio who tenses, ready to jump in like he expects a fight.

  But Avery’s got a big smile on his face, and his parents give him one back as he walks towards them. He hugs his mom and sister, and his dad shakes his hand and pats him on the shoulder. He introduces his brother to Coral and doesn’t even flinch when his brother checks her out. I’d want to slug him for that, but I guess Avery’s flying so high tonight, he doesn’t feel threatened by the guy who’s a bigger, badder version of the pretty boy.

  Avery leads them around, showing off the space. Eventually, they head my way, and Avery introduces us. “These are my friends, Jude and Gio. Jude’s a great chef. He made all the food.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Gio takes Stag’s hand in a grip so strong I swear I can hear his knuckles cracking. I guess Gio noticed him looking at Coral.

  They all start nibbling on stuff, but Avery’s little sister makes a face. “This food looks kind of weird, Bucky.”

  I choke on a laugh at the name and hand her the most kid-friendly item on the table. “Try this, kiddo, it’s my favorite.”

  I guess it doesn’t look too weird, because she sticks it in her mouth. Her eyes get bigger the longer she chews. “That’s yummy! What is that?”

  “It’s a sesame seed cracker with brie and pineapple mango salsa.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and gives the rest of the food on the table a once-over. “What else do you think I’d like?”

  I hand her what looks like a chicken nugget, and she shoves it in her mouth. Her eyes get wide again, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “That’s not chicken!”