One Bride for Five Mountain Men: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “I do see,” I agree. “Does that help you to feel better? To know that you were right all along?”

  “No!” she scoffs. “It makes me feel worse. I wasted years living in a sort of fantasy. I was just a toy to her and really, I was a toy to everyone. It could be dozens of people, King. It could be thousands of people!”

  I nod solemnly, trying just to listen to her. I already decided that whatever she wants to do, I will support her. I just need to wait for her to tell me what that is.

  “And do you know what? She gave her parents nothing,” she exclaims. “I mean… what kind of person gives their parents nothing? That's so evil, I just don't even know—I mean, it's like she—”

  She stops, flinching, her fingers pressed against her lips in horror.

  Gently, I take her hand from her mouth and hold it between my hands.

  “Jordan, I want you to listen to me,” I begin. “This is over now. What you need is a new start. You take whatever money she gave you —”

  “—I don't want it!”

  “All right, that's fine too. You don't have to take it. You can give it away. You can burn it and scatter the ashes on the river Seine in Paris.”

  She takes a deep breath and lets it out through her nose. “I don't think this is a really good time to be making jokes,” she scolds me.

  Finally seeing a break in the tension, I draw her fingers up to my mouth and press them against my lips.

  “I'm not joking,” I inform her. “I don't joke about money.”

  Though she doesn't want to, I can feel her relaxing. I am filled with such a sense of relief. I’m so happy to see her misery alleviated, even just a little bit.

  “Let's go back to Paris,” I suggest. “Let's start a new life there, Jordan. You can put everything behind you.”

  “I can't go back to Paris,” she whispers. “I don't know what I would do there. Everything is so complicated right now. What would I do?”

  “You'd be with me,” I say, sliding closer to her. She lets me gather her into my arms, creeping up almost onto my lap and nestling against me. Her fingertips brush the skin of my chest absentmindedly and I want to laugh at how good that feels.

  “Why would we do that?” she says in a small voice. I put one finger under her chin and tip her head back, waiting for her eyes to flicker up to meet mine. She blinks twice.

  “Because I’m falling in love with you, Jordan, and I don't want to be anywhere if you're not there. We could build a life there. Just us. We could start again.”

  It takes a moment for the words to register in her expression, and when they do, it's not what I want. Not at all.

  She pulls farther away, sliding back to the corner of the couch and drawing her knees up protectively.

  “Oh, King, I don't know,” she breathes, shaking her head tightly. “Everything is so… How can you say that? Falling in love? I mean —”

  I hold my hands up. “It's all right,” I interrupt her. “It's okay. Calm down.”

  “No, I'm the one who’s sorry!” she pleads. I can tell she really is sorry, but now I am wishing I had not said anything. “King, love is just so… I can't. I just can't!”

  “Of course you can't,” I nod. My voice is insistent and confident, much more so than I'm really feeling. But she softens under my direction, waiting patiently for what I'll say next. “You don't have to love me, Jordan. Not yet. But you do need a fresh start. How about this... Don't spend Kelsey's money. Let's go back to Paris and find a new place, just for us. New furniture. New clothes. A brand new Jordan. How does that sound?”

  She chews on her thumb knuckle thoughtfully. “Oh, I don't know,” she says in a small voice.

  “You know.”

  Her eyes meet mine and I hold her gaze, letting her search me for clues, letting her seek me out for comfort.

  “All right,” she finally answers. “Let's go back to Paris.”

  Chapter 15

  Jordan

  I wasn't sure that I wanted to go back to Paris with R, but what else was I going to do? My life had never really been mine anyway, and so when it shattered, what was it? Pieces of something that wasn't even real?

  He was right. I really had no choice but to start from scratch.

  I didn't take me long to start to like it, to be honest. He found a beautiful apartment near the Eiffel Tower with parquet floors. It had a Juliet balcony where I could go out every morning and fling open the doors (French doors, of course) and greet the pigeons and the sound of traffic jams in the beautiful Parisian morning in my lacy nightgown, like a proper French mistress.

  Nearly every day, it seemed like there were more pieces of furniture being delivered. I never even had to wish for anything. Everything just sort of appeared. The grand piano. The paintings. The bed so tall I had to step on a small ladder to get into it. Someone even picked out all the sheets and towels and linens and everything else. It was all just sort of done. I didn’t have to do anything.

  And every day when R came back it felt strange, but I started to like it. I started to call it “home” in my head. I waited for him to arrive. Tidying up in preparation, I got in the habit of making myself pretty as I anticipated his return.

  Every day when King came home, he want to know what new furniture had arrived. I got to take him on a tour of the new Bavarian clock or enamelled Asian sideboard, or whatever. He'd act like he had never seen it before, though I figured he had probably picked it out. In any case, he always acted so pleased, so proud.

  “Do you like it?” he asks me when the carved room divider arrives.

  I try not to wrinkle my nose. It looks like one of those things prostitutes fling their clothes over when they change into their knickers in a Western.

  “Well, do you like it?” I reply.

  “Oh, ho, Little Girl,” he chuckles. He tugs the strap of my dress down and bites a tender line across the top of my shoulder. “I think that means you do not like it.”

  “Well, it is your stuff. Is it really important that I like it?”

  He pulls back, his features clouding briefly. “It's our stuff,” he corrects me.

  “Is it?” I answer automatically, then wonder where that came from. “If it was our stuff, wouldn’t I be picking some of it out?”

  “What would you like to pick out?” he counters.

  I shrug, turning in a half circle and surveying the room. Actually, there isn't really a whole lot left to be done, is there?

  “It's just that, you know, I wouldn't mind having a little more to do. Oh! Which reminds me. I’ve started to think about what I'd like to do with the money.”

  He pivots behind me, running his hands down the front of my dress and hiking it up over my knees. I can feel he's already hard against my the small of my back and my body asks me to please shut up now, because there is something much more fun I could be doing with my mouth.

  “What you are going to do with the money?” he growls as his hands wander over my hips and then cup my ass, squeezing firmly, pulling me open from behind.

  “Yes, the money,” I sigh vaguely, letting my head tip back toward his shoulder.

  “I thought you decided not to do anything with the money.”

  “Yes, but it is my money,” I say. “I just hadn’t decided yet, is all…”

  “Okay, no more talking now,” he growls, sliding a finger into me from behind and making me gasp.

  My breath hitches in my throat. I want to say something to continue the conversation, but my physical need blows that all away. I wonder for just a moment if I'm letting go of control again, letting someone else tell me what to do with my life. Even if he has my best interest at heart, shouldn't I be in control of my own destiny?

  But that thought dissolves under the swarm of kisses that he places against my neck and he's turning me, pulling me to him, dragging us both down onto the carpet. And then I can only think of one thing, just one thing as he pushes my knees apart and he's back inside me, owning me, making me beg him to crush the
breath out of me.

  Just one thought.

  King.

  Chapter 16

  Raleigh

  When I arrive back at our flat, she is standing just beyond the foyer wearing the dress I had delivered. It cascades from her shoulders in a waterfall of crystals and shimmering silver mesh. She pivots slightly to the left and the right, her elbows held out from her sides.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, we won't leave the flat,” I warn her.

  “It's beautiful,” she sighs. “I almost couldn't believe it when I opened the box. How did you find this? Did you have it made for me or something?”

  I glide toward her, already imagining pulling the dress off. I can almost feel the crystals under my fingertips, the way that they would nip at my skin as I undressed her. I could have her naked in four seconds. I would be a shame to shred a $12,000 dress, but some things are worth doing.

  “Remember that little shop? The Rodarte?”

  She nods slowly. A small curl of hair dislodges itself from her updo and bounces prettily against her forehead.

  “Are you saying they remembered me? My size and everything?”

  “You made quite an impression on them.”

  As she's breathing, I can see the pale shadow under her nipples as they move beneath the fabric. It's extremely distracting.

  “We should be going,” I grunt, aware that it's early but afraid of what I will do if we delay anymore.

  She picks up a beaded handbag off the side table. “Where are we going?”

  She turns her back to me so that I can fasten the vintage mink stole over her creamy, narrow shoulders. The scent of her perfume wafts into my mouth and again I feel that surge of ravenous hunger building inside me. I vow to get her through the event as quickly as possible and then get her somewhere we can be alone.

  “Just a work thing, darling.”

  Her shoulders slump slightly beneath my hands. “A work thing?”

  She pivots to face me and raises her eyes toward mine. What was she expecting?

  “Yes, Little Girl, a work thing. That's what I do. I work. Promise me to be on your best behavior.”

  She smirks, sucking her lower lip between her teeth and biting it because she's knows I'm enchanted by her. By now she knows everything: how I watch her. How I want her. How everything in my life has been reorganized to revolve around her.

  “One day, I'll be taking you to my ‘work thing,’” she says with a frown. “I’ll keep you on a leash and trot you around the outside like a little pony. Will that be all right with you?”

  “Oh really, is that so?” I counter. “Mr. King is nobody's pony.”

  “No?” she pouts, her lower lip gleaming with wetness. “Not even for me?”

  “All right, all right, that's enough of that,” I chide her gently. She allows me to direct her with my fingertips toward the door and I adjust my still-throbbing cock in my pants, silently promising it that we will have satisfaction before the night is over.

  But she is pleased, I can tell, when the car lets us out in front of the glass pyramid of the Louvre. The entire patio glitters, lit from within by a million tiny lights. Being Paris, of course everyone is decked out like a fairytale. And yet, I've got the fairytale Princess right here on my arm, so what could go wrong?

  She didn't talk much on the way over, though, so I'm grateful to see that her eyes are alight with curiosity and expectation. I feel all eyes upon us as we slowly promenade around the perimeter of the gathering, taking its measure before diving in for the few business contacts I have to communicate with before we can leave.

  The ladies are fine and beautiful, of course, and the gentlemen all in natty, bespoke suits and the occasional conversation piece like a walking cane or cigarette on a long, tortoiseshell holder. Jordan grips my hand tightly, walking with a graceful, practiced gait but allowing just that bit of tension in her fingers to let me know how excited she really is.

  It pleases me so much to see that she is ready and able to hold court here now. There were weeks where she flinched as soon as anyone turned around, expecting them to do the worst thing, to say something vulgar. After what Kelsey did to her, how could I blame her? But she's finally starting to blossom and come into her own personality. The confident, courageous beauty I know she really is. The side that Kelsey stole from her.

  “King,” comes a voice. I turn to locate the origin and see a face I don't immediately recognize. Then I realize I had encountered him briefly during a deal that went sideways. Well, it went sideways for him. I got the best of it, of course. That's business.

  I hold out my hand and he shakes it, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary. “Mr. Maillot, isn't it?” I ask.

  He nods curtly, apparently annoyed that I'm pretending not to remember him.

  “Nice to see you again,” he practically snarls. The reddening folds of his jowls shake over the top of his starched collar. His eyes flicker toward Jordan blandly then spark with interest. I see his lips part slightly, his breath rancid as his mouth curls into a sneer.

  “What have we here?” he asks, his voice oily and impertinent.

  I want to take Jordan by the hand and drag her behind me to shield her from the implication that is plain in his expression. He knows her. But by the way she stiffens and draws herself even more regal and upright, I could tell she already knows it too. She knows, and she's prepared to do battle.

  “Ma cheri, would you mind getting me a glass of champagne?” I murmur, turning so that she has to look up at me. I want her attention on me, not on him, and not dwelling in the past.

  “We have met before,” Maillot says, his upper lip retracting to display his narrow, widely spaced teeth.

  “I'm sure we haven't,” Jordan says smoothly.

  While I'm proud of her grace under pressure, I can't fight the urge to protect her any longer. My hand circles just above her elbow and I begin to draw her away.

  “Pardon us, Maillot, I see someone we need to talk with —”

  “— of course you do!” Maillot blurts triumphantly. “And I must say, congratulations on your… acquisition! I'll be seeing you, my dear.”

  I doubt that very much, I promise him silently as I drag Jordan away. Her tiny kitten heels scrape along the slate tiles.

  “King, wait,” she objects. “I can't run that fast… What are you doing?”

  I find a barrier and I pull her behind it. Then to cover my outburst, I lace my fingers behind her neck and pull her up, pressing her tight against me, perhaps tightly enough she can't breathe.

  But her mouth is pliant and welcoming, her taste as sweet as ever as my tongue traces the seam of her lips.

  “There is something I have to tell you, darling,” I whisper against her mouth.

  I have to. I know that I have to tell her.

  “Tell me anything,” she sighs into my mouth, yielding to me utterly.

  But the need is too great. The feeling of her long, supple limbs under the thin fabric of the dress is too much for me. I can feel pre-cum dribbling from the tip of my cock as I hold her there, and I'm going to ruin my slacks if I don't take care of that.

  “Just a moment,” I grunt and circle her in my arms.

  Along the shadowed back wall is a small bathroom, probably reserved for docents and other knowledgeable personnel. I find the door unlocked and fling it open, dragging us both inside. It's a single stall with a porcelain sink and small commode. But it will do.

  I don't even turn on the light switch, just lean down to tug the hem of her dress over her hips and then grab her ass in both hands and lift her onto the edge of the sink.

  “You're not wearing any panties,” I growl into her neck as my fingers slide against her shaved, slick furrow. She's already swollen and open for me, wanting me.

  “I was hoping we would do this,” she moans as her hands fumble against the front of my trousers. As soon as those long, soft fingers wrap around my heavy, throbbing cock, I can feel it pulse. I am seconds
away from coming already as she tugs at my length, letting her palm slide along the slippery pre-come that covers the head.

  “I need to fuck you, Jordan. I need you right now!”

  She nods in the darkness, biting and licking a hot trail along the side of my neck. My trousers fall to the floor and tangle around my ankles as I enter her quickly, taking her all at once, bottoming out against her soft, shaved pussy. Immediately I am hammering into her as her wet sheath clasps against me like a mouth, sucking the life out of me, drawing the orgasm right out of me.

  I was right. I begin to come immediately in bouts. It splashes against the porcelain as it flows back out of her with every wet, overflowing thrust. She mewls and bites my neck, shuddering hard as she climaxes, her fingers clawing against my shoulders.

  Moments later, we emerge from the small bathroom, adjusting our black-tie finery around us. A few of the partygoers are standing outside the door and give us sidelong, knowing glances. But nobody judges. This is Paris, after all.

  Chapter 17

  Jordan

  Leaning over the wrought iron balcony railing, I rest my chin on my fingers and stare into the crowd below. People walk by in a hurry or slowly, smoking or not smoking, holding hands or not holding hands. It seems like gigantic dogs are the new trend this year. Everyone has to have one: malamutes, huskies, chows with their alien-blue tongues curling out to cover their smiles.

  I could get a dog, I think. I think a dog would really enjoy some of our finer furnishings. But just to be different, I'll get a little one. A Chihuahua… no, a miniature pinscher. Min-pins are just the cutest little things, like the elf version of Dobermans.

  The corner bakery is situated just so that the updraft brings me a delightful waft of yeasty smells every few minutes. I wish I could eat bread all day. That would definitely be a way to pass the hours.