Billionaires, Boarders, and Bastards: A Limited-Time Collection of Reverse Harem Romance Novellas

by C. M. Stunich

  “Get out,” I say, proud my voice comes out clear despite the mind-blowing orgasm I just had.

  “Is that any way to talk to your fiancé?” he asks, clearly baiting me. I clench my teeth and try not to respond. How am I going to pull this off? Five seconds in the same room with him and I already want to back out.

  “If my 'fiancé' is going to act like a petty jealous child,then yes.” I make air quotes around the word fiancé. He already has me so riled up, I forget that my nightshirt is unbuttoned. The fabric opens, exposing my bare chest to Gabriel. I pull the fabric together, closing the top button so that it at least sort of covers me up. “Now get out,” I say as sternly as I can.

  “No. They got a taste. I want mine.” He reaches up and loosens his tie. The motion is so disrespectful, I have to fight back the urge to slap him. I'm about to back out of our deal when Hudson speaks up.

  “You heard the lady—get out,” he says, tone serious. Gabe clenches his jaw and looks between the three of us.

  “Jack?” Gabe asks.

  “Go open a bottle of wine. We'll join you in few,” Jack says with a sigh.

  “No. She's just as much mine as she is yours,” he says through gritted teeth. That's the last straw.

  “I'm not an object you can fight over. This fucking bullshit is why I turned you down in the first place. All three of you do it but you, you prick,” I say, pointing at Gabriel, “are by far the worst.” My outburst must have shocked him because he doesn't respond. I keep going. “This charade is pointless. No one will ever believe anyone could ever love a heartless, soulless, self absorbed piece of—” Hudson taps me on the shoulder and shakes his head for me to stop.

  I look back at Gabriel.

  I might hate the guy, but the look on his face could break my heart. His stormy eyes are distant. Broken. Lost in thought. Jack and Hudson exchange a worried glance. Without looking at anyone, Gabe turns around and storms out, pausing at the door to the hallway.

  “Congratulations. One night and you've already taken the only family I have.” he says, giving me one last look. The weight of those sad eyes boring into the depths of my soul are something I will never forget. With that, he slams the door closed.

  I can't seem to get the image of Gabriel's haunted look out of my mind. There's so much pain and hurt and darkness in him. I mull over what Hudson and Jack told me after Gabriel stormed out.

  Lucia was right. Almost. Jack, Hudson, Whittaker, and Colden really were orphans. And Bishop Northington really did pull them from a life of hardship and poverty and give them every opportunity in the world by adopting them.

  The sadness and love in Jack's smoky voice as he told me about Gabriel plays on repeat in my mind.

  Gabe, he had it pretty rough. He lived in a broken down trailer, down the street from the group home the four of us were staying at, his only family an abusive drug addict mother and whatever scum she let stay with them. He was beaten, starved, unwanted, unloved, and some other things you'll have to ask him about. Anyway, when Bishop adopted us, that broke his heart.

  For months, Gabe stayed there without us for support. I can't imagine what it was like for him, being left alone like that. He's strong though. And smart. I don't know all the details of what happened, but one day, several months later, Dad came home and Gabriel was with him. He had a black eye and his arm was broken in three places. Years later, I found out that his mom sold him to our dad for five hundred dollars. I know sometimes he lashes out with anger and cruelty, but he's still hurting inside.

  As Jack told his story, I felt my heart shattering into pieces for Gabriel.

  The look he gave me before he walked out that door makes me feel sick to my stomach; I can practically see that wounded little boy hiding behind his eyes.

  My words opened old wounds. I'm not saying that it's okay for him to act like a jerk, but I was cruel. I could have put a stop to his disrespectful behavior without resorting to insults. I feel ashamed and I resolve to do better in the future. I don't think I'll be able to get the look of hurt out of my head unless I apologize.

  The four brothers who are in town are taking me out to dinner, so we can get to know each other a little better. Colden is already in Vail, so I wont be able to meet him until tomorrow. He's going to pick me up from the airport and take me to their chateau. I'll apologize to Gabriel tonight, otherwise I won't get another chance for a while; I don't think I'll be able to get through this if I don't do it before I leave.

  I'm currently at home with Lucia digging around in my closet, trying to figure out what I should wear to dinner. I haven't picked out my outfit yet, let alone gotten dressed. In true girlfriend style, I filled her in on every detail of this morning. I left out the part about Gabe's past though.

  She offered up some of her things to wear, but she's built like a supermodel and I'm short and curvy. There is just no way anything of hers would fit me. I'm starting to panic because I don't really have anything to wear to dinner.

  “What am I going to do? It's not like I can show up to a nice dinner with gorgeous, exquisitely dressed billionaires in jeans,” I say, dropping my face in my hands.

  “Don't worry. They saw you puking your guts out last night and still wanted to bang you. I doubt an old dress is gonna change their minds,” she says, a second before I hear a knock on my front door.

  I hope that isn't the car already.

  Lucia goes to answer it and comes back with half a dozen large silver bags and a big black box in her hands.

  “They're for you, and there's a note,” she says handing me a sealed envelope. “Open it.”

  Inside is a note handwritten in elegant script.

  I know you'll look ravishing in or out of whatever you wear.

  – Whit

  I hand the note to my sister and pull the top off the big black box. Wrapped in gold tissue paper are several dozen red and white long-stemmed roses. I feel myself smile at the thoughtful gesture. Pushing the box aside, I start pulling clothes out of the nearest bag. I'm not much of a fashionista, but some of these things look kinda pricy.

  “No way. I'm so jealous right now,” Lucia says, pulling stuff out of one of the other bags. “Some of this stuff costs a small fortune.” Her eyes are full of wonder, like a kid in a candy store. She opens a shoe box with a squeal. “They bought you freaking Louboutins.”

  “They are just trying to keep up appearances since we are going to be in public together,” I tell her. She looks at me skeptically with her eyebrows raised. Deep down, a little part of me finds this all romantic. And I can sort of imagine what it would be like if we were really engaged. No. This kind of thinking only leads to heartbreak. Keep your distance and get the job done. I open the last bag; this one has a jewelry box. Inside is a delicate little bracelet, stars etched into its shimmering gold surface.

  “Seems a little extravagant, don't you think. And these? Or are they for appearances too?” she says, holding up sexy black lingerie. My whole face goes red with embarrassment. I snatch them out of her hand, quickly choosing a red fit-and-flare dress and black Mary Jane Louboutin pumps to go with the bracelet, and lock myself in the bathroom to get ready.

  An hour later, I hear Lucia shout from the living room, “Your ride's here!”

  I stand back, running my hands down my new dress, and examine myself in the mirror. Not too bad.

  I'm a little surprised at how elegant, but festive I look. My long blond curls are in a waterfall braid style half-updo. The hairstyle is something I saw on Pinterest months ago and have been dying to try. I'm so glad I did. I freaking love it. There is something whimsical about it that adds to the Christmas-y feel of my look. I go classic with my makeup: a simple cat eye made a little more cheery with a gold shimmer shadow and a red lip for a pop of color. I give myself one last twirl in the mirror before heading out the door.

  Time to meet with those billionaire brothers … and hope my fragile heart doesn't get burned.

  Whittaker is sitting in the recessed shado
ws at the back of the limousine when I climb in. He absolutely commands the space. His lithe muscular frame is draped in the best money can buy. The thick fall of silken locks on his forehead and the light dusting of stubble are the prefect complement to his strong masculine features. And all six foot something of his magnificent body radiates sumptuousness and sexuality.

  He slowly blinks several times before tapping the seat on his right. Then he smiles, holding his hand out to me, palm up, a wordless invitation to come closer.

  He's magnificent, regal, like some ancient king lording over his domain. Enthralled, my body moves of its own volition.

  I slide onto the seat next to him, the supple leather caressing my thighs. I wish it were his strong hands and not the seat touching my thighs … or other things. The thought makes me blush.

  I hope the limo is dark enough to cover up the fact that I'm as red as Rudolph's nose. The spicy masculine scent of Scotch and cinnamon surrounds me. Shadowy eyes hungrily watch my every move.

  He licks his lips.

  At the simple motion, my skin flushes with arousal instead of embarrassment and I swallow involuntarily. Whit's eyes crinkle slightly and his lips twist in a sinful, decadent smirk.

  I thought the other Northington men exuded power, but damn. Whittaker is enthralling. He's got this tall, dark, and handsome quality that is absolutely panty melting. Pair that with the scorching looks he's throwing my way and the quiet electricity his silence brings to the air … god. In that moment, I want nothing more than to succumb under each careful thrust of his powerful hips.

  “H-hey,” I stutter out. Wow. Good one Natalie. Way to charm the guy. He bows his head slightly in response. I don't mean to act so nervous, but there is just something about him that scrambles my brain and makes me all tongue-tied.

  Whittaker is an enigma—a calm, confident, mysterious lord of opulence and luxury. Whatever I say or do, he just watches me like I'm some scrumptious delicacy. I resist the urge to squirm under the bold sensuality of his authoritative presence. I react in the only way I know how: by just blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Do you always watch people so intensely … because it's kind of distracting.”

  He smiles at me then slowly shakes his head no.

  Just you, he says with his body language.

  How can someone say so much without saying anything at all? I laugh nervously at his response. God, I'm embarrassing myself. I switch into business mode as my only form of defense against my attraction.

  “Maybe I should take this time to go over my thoughts on the Christmas eve party?”

  He shakes his head no again, this time just as suggestively as last time. I hope I'm not going to spend the next couple of weeks in a state of perpetual arousal.

  “Um. What should I talk about?” I ask. He shrugs his shoulders.

  I start rambling in an attempt to fill the silence. He lets me just go on and on. He listens attentively, occasionally acknowledging my jokes and stories with a smile or a nod of his head. His attentiveness is a real turn-on. Never once does he look bored or disinterested—quite the contrary. He silently watches me as though there's nothing more fascinating in the entire world. The longer he does it, the faster my heart seems to beat.

  At some point, he closes the distance between us and reaches up, trailing his fingertips along my chin.

  “I—” I try to pull my face away in embarrassment. Whit catches my chin with his fingertips, tilting my face towards him. The dark depths of his eyes take in every inch of my face as though he is searching for something. My lips gently part. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and I swear, I have never felt anything so subtle yet so arousing. The connection I feel with him—any of them—is too strong to be real. Passion this explosive doesn't exist outside of books and movies.

  I lean forward; this is all the invitation he needs.

  Whit wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me onto his lap so that I am straddling him. I can feel the harness of his shaft through the luxurious fabric of his perfectly tailored slacks. He doesn't hold me there though—at least not physically. His commanding presence and the almost palpable desire in the air tell me to stay put. The force of authority in his gaze is almost a tangible thing. Powerless to resist, I stay. Maybe if I give into this, slake my thirst here and now, my loins will stop controlling my actions.

  I relax against his firm chest. Time slows, trapping us in a universe of our own. I know that it is a mistake, that I shouldn't do it. Have sex with Whittaker. But it just feels so damn good.

  His hands have found their way under my dress and are possessively squeezing my hips. Without thinking, I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. It's so soft. He releases my hip and cups the back of my neck, guiding my face to his. His kiss is sweet but forceful. I close my eyes, letting him take control. My ardor reaches new heights. I try to increase the tempo of the kiss, but he doesn't let me. His kisses instead grow slower, deeper. Leisurely, he memorizes the taste of my mouth on his and I love every second of it. I rock my hips against the hardness in his pants.

  All of a sudden, something has changed. The mood shifts and everywhere he touches sets my skin aflame. My body is now in feverish state of lust. Why can't I resist him? A fervor takes over and his kisses get greedier, more desperate. I moan and writhe in response.

  Suddenly but gracefully, Whit flips us over and drops us to the floor. I'm on my back and he is above me, panting heavily. Every muscle in is body is tensed and his eyes are open wide, staring at my shock at his actions. Like he isn't used to getting so riled up. Of losing control. My damp is skin is hypersensitive. Raw. Alive. Hovering above, me he reaches down and starts unbuttoning his pants. My whole body throbs with need, responds to him. Panting, I can do nothing but lie there pliant and wanting.

  Briefly, my mind flickers to thoughts of birth control and protection … Thank god I have an IUD.

  “Have you been tested?” I ask, my voice breathy and weak with desire. “I'm clean, but …” I trail off as he shakes his head yes. I know I should ask for more, a condom or test results, but … I'm swept up in a wave of passion and ardor. I'm not thinking clearly. How can I? With a man as beautiful as this above me.

  The hunger in his eyes is insatiable. The moment can't seem to come fast enough—for either of us. He doesn't hesitate. Whit gets in position and in one swift motion, he pushes the delicate lace of my panties aside and thrusts the length of his hard shaft deep inside my tight pussy. I scream, but I spread my legs wider, giving his powerful hips room to settle against me. He is so large, it takes my body several moments to adjust. He can tell the size of his cock is almost too much for me. Holding completely still, he waits for me to relax. My entire body quivers with unrestrained pleasure and I can hardly breathe. I want him to move so badly I could scream.

  I can't speak, so I give him the slightest of nods. He adjusts our position slightly, giving himself better access. Whit starts slow and fluid, but I can tell it's for me. There is a primal, wild spark in his eyes. The look he gives me is so feral. And hungry. He wants to go fast and hard and deep, but he doesn't let the frenzy take over. A lesser man would have lost control under the flood of violent unrelenting need. But Whittaker, he keeps a steady pace through sheer strength will. My sex can't seem to get enough.

  With each thrust, Whit stimulates the most sensitive places of my molten core and rubs my swollen clit at the same time. The insistent pulse of unbearable desire reaches unimagined heights. Fucking him is pure ecstasy.

  My moans change to screams and after only a few minutes under his practiced hips, I can feel the white-hot pressure of release in the most mind-blowing orgasm I've ever had. Whittaker doesn't finish inside; instead he pulls out and sits back, looking down at me like the cat that got the cream. His exposed shaft slick with my juices. I sit up and reach for it. But he stops me by sliding his hand behind my neck and lowering his mouth to my own. This kiss is anything but gentle or controlled. His lips crash into mi
ne, like he's channeling all of his want into me. The kiss is violent, possessive and decadently rough, leaving my swollen lips bruised and tender.

  He pulls back and shakes his head no. The wicked smirk says it all. He's teasing me, making me desperate for another taste. And the worst part is I want it. I crave seeing the look of pleasure on his face as he spills himself inside me. With that, he tucks his cock back inside his slacks and helps me off the floor and back onto the seat next to him. As we pull to a stop, one question runs through my mind.

  Now that I've felt the pleasure of his magnificent body in mine how will anyone ever measure up ever again?

  Neither Jack nor Hudson mention my swollen lips or mussy hair when they get in the limo. Thank god for small miracles, I guess. I think I might have died of embarrassment if they had. I just did something I never thought I would ever do. I fucked a guy I don't even really know on the floor of a limousine. Wait till Lucia hears about this.

  Whit has his hand possessively resting on my knee and both Jack's and Hudson’s eyes keep flicking to it. I push his hand off and scoot down the seat, putting some distance between me and Whittaker. He smiles and raises his eyebrows at me, but makes no move to close the distance. I try to ignore the smug look of satisfaction he throws my way. He signs something to the other guys, and Hudson coughs.

  “Did you really just fuck Whit on the floor?” he asks with a laugh. My cheeks turn bright red and I drop my face to my hands. I leave them there and shake my head yes. I can't look up. I don't want to see their faces. I feel a warm hand rubbing my back in circles. Jack's tobacco and peppermint scent surrounds me.

  “What's wrong? Is he that bad?” Jack asks, a flirty smile on his face. The question makes me laugh. I'm still blushing, but I look up at him.

  “No. It was great. I just haven't seen two different guys … you know in one day before,” I blurt out. It's Hudson's turn to laugh.