Nine Marines' Shared Property: A Reverse Harem Romance (Love by Numbers Book 8)

by Nicole Casey

  When Holly, late riser, finally got up that Saturday morning, she was surprised to find me in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Not going to the cafe?”

  I shook my head. “Brunch at home with my roommate!”

  “Smells great. Do we have everything we need?”

  “I’m making French toast. We have fresh fruits, bacon, eggs, honey. All good.”

  “Orange juice?” she asked.

  “Check.”

  “Champagne?”

  I frowned. “No champagne, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s not brunch without mimosas,” she said. “I’ll run to the store. Do we need anything else?”

  I turned in circles, opened the refrigerator and took another look inside. “No, we’re all set.”

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  Her timing was perfect: twenty minutes on the dot. And in that time, I’d set the table on the balcony and had prepared all the food—too much food, perhaps. I was in the habit of getting carried away with the cooking when I was excited. And I was definitely very excited that morning.

  Holly poured the orange juice and champagne, and we raised our glasses. “To Gwen and Holly,” she said, “may their lives be easy and their men hard.”

  We clinked glasses. We drank and ate, drank some more and ate some more.

  “So have you made any progress with your trust concerns?” asked Holly.

  I chuckled. “Trust concerns is a generous way of putting it.”

  “Let me rephrase that then. Have you made any progress regarding your raging jealousy and paranoia-fueled anxiety issues with your Marines?”

  “That’s more like it,” I said. “And yes, I’m happy to report, I have, in fact, made progress.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Do tell.”

  “Well, they are heading off on a six-month deployment.”

  She frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s actually a good thing. We can have fun. And when they leave, well, that’s my ‘out’.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Do you want out?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. But that’s the good thing about their deployment, I don’t have a choice.”

  “And not having a choice is a good thing? I don’t follow.”

  “It will give me time to think. You know. We can have fun for the next few weeks, and then they’ll be gone, and I’ll have time to put things in perspective.”

  Holly didn’t look convinced.

  “Look,” I said in my matter of fact tone of voice, “I don’t know if I want a relationship; I don’t know if I can handle a relationship—with nine guys no less. This way, I won’t be able to rush into anything; I won’t be able to open my heart; I won’t be able to get too attached. It’s perfect.”

  Holly didn’t look any the more convinced. “I hope you’re right.”

  “What? You don’t see the logic?”

  “Oh, I see the logic,” she said, “But I know you. And I know it will take more than a little thing like a military conflict and a six-month deployment to keep you from opening your heart and getting attached.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I finished my mimosa and poured us two more. “Not to change the subject,” I said, “but I’m dying to see the costumes you’ve picked out for us.”

  Holly wagged a finger in the air. “No, you’re dying to see the costumes I’ve made for us.”

  “I stand corrected. When do I get to see them?”

  “As soon as you decide which one you want,” she said. “You can choose between fire and ice.”

  “Hmm, so if I pick one, you’re going to wear the other?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why don’t you pick?”

  She wagged a finger in the air. “It doesn’t work like that. You decide. But don’t worry, both costumes are sexy.”

  I smiled. “I think you should be fire.”

  She winked at me. “Good choice.”

  After the big brunch and several mimosas, I needed to take a nap. Unfortunately, I did not wake from the nap calm and rested; I woke anxious and nervous.

  But Holly’s presentation of our costumes helped calm me down.

  Holly, as fire, wrapped herself in tight strips of glimmering yellow, orange and red silk. She sprayed her hair yellow and orange and tied it in a bun atop her head with strands of hair falling in a cascade along the sides of her mask, a shimmering metallic red cut in the shape of a flame.

  “Hot, hot, hot!” I applauded as she turned and paraded her outfit for me in our living room.

  She walked over to the bags on the couch. “And now for something cool, cool, cool.”

  My costume, ice, was of a similar design: tight strips of soft blue, silver and white silk hugged my body. She sprayed my hair white and soft-blue, tied it in a bun for me and pulled strands to fall over the mask. It looked as if there was real ice encrusted in the mask. I was worried it would melt. Holly laughed and said that it was cured rubber. “You’re not going to melt. But you are going to melt some hearts.”

  We took a taxi to the ball held at an estate on the edge of Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. This was going to be an all-night affair. There was no turning back.

  The taxi let us out at the gate. “No cars allowed inside,” said the security agent who asked for our names, checked his register then opened a smaller gate to the side for us to enter. “Follow the torches,” he said. “And have a good evening.”

  Torches lined the long winding driveway. And while they did provide some heat, the evening air was cool, bordering on cold, and we hurried to get to the house.

  Large trees concealed much of the home from view. The branches blended with the vine-covered walls such that it was impossible in the dark night to get a true sense of its proportions.

  The Grim Reaper greeted us at the entrance. “Those who dare cross the line are beyond the reach of angels,” he said. And with his sickle he motioned to a line of, hopefully, fake blood traced before the threshold of the front doors.

  “We have no interest in angels,” said Holly.

  “Precisely,” said the Grim Reaper, and he stepped out of the way to grant us passage.

  The entryway was pitch black, save a neon sign off to the left that read ‘Dare’.

  Naturally, that was where we headed.

  We arrived at a velvet curtain. Holly opened it, and we stepped in.

  The room was dimly lit. The walls and ceiling were painted a dark scarlet. With plush sofas and antique chairs strewn in a seemingly orderless fashion, we were quickly disoriented.

  A woman, dressed as a black cat, crawled along the floor on all fours. A chain hung from her collar and ran to a sofa where a man, wearing a black bikini bottom and a wolf mask and nothing else, lay, the end of the chain resting loosely in his hand.

  Farther down, a woman draped in leopard skin held two leashes in her hand, each attached to a man on all fours on either side of her feet. The men were wrapped in a loincloth and had bags over their heads.

  We walked past them into another room whose walls and ceiling were painted navy blue. On our right a magician, painted ghostly white, occupied a small stage. His right arm was extended straight, and perched on top of it were four doves. The magician waved his cape over his arm, and the doves vanished. He took his cape in his other hand, waved it to reveal now his left arm extended to the other side, and perched on top of it were three doves. He repeated this motion until all the doves had vanished then he let his cape fall to a puddle at his feet. He clapped his hands, and four doves flew to him from four directions to perch atop his outstretched arms.

  The chairs that faced the stage were empty, aside from one where a woman straddled a man, her back to the stage. She was kissing and grinding on the man seated there. A small group of people stood around the chair and seemed more interested in that show than the one on the stage.

  We continued to walk, heading for a curta
in at the far end of the room which I suspected led to another room. As we approached the curtain, I saw, to my left, a man with chains running from his nose and eyebrow piercings to his exposed nipples. Instead of a mask, his eyes and forehead were wrapped in what looked like barbed wire with streaks of what I hoped was fake blood running down his cheeks. Grotesque yet fascinating.

  Holly saw him, too. She stood still, looking at him mesmerized.

  From my right, what at first I thought was a painting of a wolf hung on the wall, moved and began coming toward me. Its fur was mangy and crusted with dried blood. Its long arms ended with sharp claws that caught the little light in the room and sparkled.

  In a low, raspy voice, the wolf said, “My, what a shapely body you have.”

  Despite the disguised voice, from his tall figure and naked chin, I recognized the wolf to be Manny—at least I was almost sure it was Manny.

  “Be careful,” I said. “Ice can burn.”

  Slowly, he reached for me.

  I did not step away.

  The tip of his claws touched my cheek then ran down my jaw.

  I rolled my head back so that I could feel the claws against my neck.

  He ran his paw around to the back of my neck. The fur of his hand tickled, while his sharp claws lightly pricked.

  I closed my eyes. And suddenly his other paw was at my waist and he pulled me to him.

  I opened my eyes. His head was arched back, and I was staring at his neck. His paw squeezed my ass and pulled me closer to him still. I felt his hard cock press against my belly.

  “Manny,” I whispered, somewhere between a confirmation and a question.

  His teeth met the top of my head. “I devoured Manny,” he grumbled. “And, I’ll do the same to you.”

  I slapped his arms off of me and pulled away. I did, however, let my hand fall to his crotch and I brushed his cock while I spun away from him.

  His paw was on my shoulder.

  I slipped through the curtain into the next room.

  The relative brightness of the emerald green walls was in stark contrast to the room I’d just left and further contributed to my disorientation. I turned in circles only realizing then that I’d been separated from Holly.

  The wolf came through the curtains.

  I took a few hurried steps forward. Sofas and tables were scattered about the room, partially hidden under tented veils and drapes of beads and cloth. I caught a glimpse of someone, half man half lizard, slithering over the body of a bride laid out on a table, her arms strapped to the legs of the table.

  I gasped.

  “See something you like?”

  I spun around to see the wolf walking slowly toward me. I was less sure, now, that it was Manny. I stepped back and bumped into a table. Beads hung from the ceiling, preventing me from seeing it clearly. But I heard the sound of faint moans, so I pulled the beads to the side and dared a look inside.

  A man, his head covered in a bag, lay on the table. Bunches of grapes, berries and litchi covered his body. At least three women—or men, it was hard to see clearly—feasted on the fruits that covered him.

  I skirted around the table. The room opened to what might have been a dance floor, but there was no music playing. Yet, people moved together as if following a clear rhythm, rocking and swaying; women and men draped in colorful garments, their faces all hidden behind masks.

  I hesitated making my way through the crowd when, to my left, I saw them: Taylor, Tristan and Travis. Their faces were hidden, but there was no mistaking them. Dressed in identical black smoking gowns with dark-green collars and cuffs, white Venetian masks, fastened to their faces with white ribbons, covered their eyes and noses.

  I felt tremendous relief in seeing them. I started to run to them, but I collected myself and slowed my pace.

  They made no movements as I approached. They might not have seen me; they might not have even been looking. Their mouths and chins, the only part of them not covered, remained still like statues.

  “I’ve found you,” I said. And I reached out and touched one of them on the chin. I smiled, nearly laughed, for I could not tell who was who. Since I’d failed, in our first encounter, to tell them apart, since then, I’d prided myself in being able to tell at a glance, at a touch, how Travis’s earlobe dipped slightly more than his brothers’; how Taylor’s eyes were slightly rounder; how the crease in Tristan’s forehead angled a bit to the left. But as they stood in a row, dressed identically, their faces covered in masks, I was again unable to tell them apart.

  I looked over my shoulder then back to the triplets. I touched them, partially to convince myself that they weren’t statues, but mostly because I longed to. “The wolf is after me,” I said.

  As if on cue, they folded in around me, protecting me—so I thought.

  One of the triplets took me by the arm. “Come with us,” he said.

  They escorted me out of the room and down a winding staircase. Torches with dim flames were mounted along the stone wall, creating occasional splashes of light and shifting shadows.

  The sound of the lashing of whips followed by muffled cries reverberated off the stone walls. As I was surrounded by the triplets, I couldn’t see much in front of or behind me. I held onto the waist of my escort in front of me.

  When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the triplets led me down a dark corridor with smooth stone walls, wet like those of a cave. We veered into a gallery where hooded figures lurked in the shadows. A lone torch hung in the center of the wall. On either side of it were metal shackles.

  I gasped, spun around and smacked right into the wolf. From behind the wide, toothy grin of his mask, he said, “You’ve kept us waiting. That wasn’t nice of you.”

  Before I could react, two hooded figures closed in on me from the sides. They lifted me and carried me back against the far wall. I saw Taylor, Travis and Tristan disappear into the shadows. “Wait,” I said.

  The hooded figures set me down. “More waiting?” said one of them. Though his voice was low and affected, I recognized it as J.P.’s, and I was relieved.

  I reached out and tried to grab his hood, but he was faster. He snatched my arm and pinned it against the wall. The other hooded figure grabbed my other arm, and in a blink I was shackled to the wall.

  One of the triplets approached. He reached out. I thought he was going to remove my mask. I didn’t want him to. But instead, he pulled the torch off the wall, turned and walked away.

  As he left, so did the light, replaced now by flickering slashes that danced on the walls.

  The hooded figures closed in around me. In unison, they slipped off their robes to reveal their naked bodies: hardened muscles glistening with sweat.

  14

  Axel

  The hours of planning, of setting up our dungeon, of picking out the costumes and the tools, further fanned the flames of desire that consumed me. By the time the ball had started and the first guests arrived, I thought I was going to go mad with anticipation. I distracted myself the best way I knew how: working out. I did pull-ups, push-ups and curls. The distraction lasted only minutes. When I finished, I was left with my muscles more fully awakened and eager to be put to use.

  Elijah signaled that she’d arrived.

  Manny, dressed in a horrific wolf costume, was deployed first.

  It was nearly impossible to tell which way she would run, so we had Nolan and Santiago stationed on one side of the room and the triplets stationed on the other.

  She fell into the arms of the triplets.

  When Manny sent word that she was descending the stairs, I, like the others, donned my robe. Only minutes away; the anticipation was too much to bear. I balled my hands into fists and gritted my teeth then relaxed, took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Hurry up Gwen, I need you now.

  Gwen appeared dressed as a goddess trapped in ice. But instead of presenting me with a cooling image, quelling my desire, the sight of her left me burning and aching to touch her, grab her, hold her a
nd take her.

  Her body was wrapped in slivers of silk: white, soft-blue and silver. Her shoulders and hips were framed in what looked like blocks of ice.

  I’m going to melt the ice off of her, set her free, peel the slivers of cold fabric imprisoning her body.

  Nolan and Santiago chained her to the wall.

  Her lips trembled and quivered.

  I grabbed her by the sides of her head. She uttered a sound, but I closed my mouth against hers. God, her lips are spectacular!

  I let go of her head and reached for her chest. She arched her back and her heaving breasts met my open hands. I pulled at the strips of silk like an impatient kid tearing through the wrapping of his anticipated gift. Her nipples exposed, I ran my thumbs over and around them.

  Then I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward me. The chains of her shackles creaked and snapped. “Lock her,” I said, and my colleagues fastened the chains so that she was left suspended, falling forward, arms extended to her sides.

  I stepped back, and my colleagues closed in around her pulling the strips of silk and exposing strips of her flesh which they closed their mouths on.

  I took the whip off the wall and walked behind her. A block of fake ice hid her ass from me. This angered me, and I lashed the whip to her back. She let out a muffled cry that married with the other cries and lashes reverberating from the other chambers in the dungeon.

  “You cover your ass with a block of ice!” I shouted. “That ass is mine!” I whipped her again then I rummaged my hand over the block searching for a strap or a buckle. I felt the frustration in my cock, eager to penetrate her. “Where’s the fucking strap?”

  I whipped her again.

  “You can’t find it,” she said and she laughed.

  But I did find the buckle. I unfastened it and the block of ice-looking rubber fell from her hips. I kicked it to the side, pulled her panties to the side and rammed my cock into her snatch.

  She cried out.

  “I found the buckle, didn’t I?” I thrust and whipped then I tossed the whip to the ground in order to free my hands and grab her hips.