by Roma James
CRAVE
A REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE
Roma James
Contents
1. Chapter 1 - Harlow
2. Chapter 2 - Ryker
3. Chapter 3 - Harlow
4. Chapter 4 - Axel
5. Chapter 5 - Harlow
6. Chapter 6 - Harlow
7. Chapter 7 - Diesel
8. Chapter 8 - Harlow
9. Chapter 9 - Ryker
10. Chapter 10 - Harlow
11. Chapter 11 - Diesel
12. Chapter 12 - Harlow
13. Chapter 13 - Axel
14. Chapter 14 - Harlow
15. Chapter 15 - Harlow
16. Chapter 16 - Ryker
17. Chapter 17 - Harlow
Epilogue - Harlow
Excerpt From Her Three Rangers - A Reverse Harem Romance
18. Grace
19. Ty
About the Author
Books By Roma James
CRAVE
A Reverse Harem Romance
Copyright 2018 by Roma James
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Cosmic Letterz
(This book is suitable for 18+ readers only. All situations are consensual.)
Chapter 1 - Harlow
I shifted in my pinching heels, as if moving my weight around was somehow going to lessen the pain of wearing them. It didn’t, of course, but it did remind me of how unbearably tight this red sheath dress was.
“Seriously, Liza, I can’t breathe,” I said, self-consciously smoothing a hand over my stomach as I tried not to make eye contact with any of the other people in line. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“You look fantastic, though.” She smiled at me. “It’ll be worth it.”
I wasn’t so sure.
It felt like everyone in this line was checking me out, sizing me up, and deciding—correctly—that I didn’t belong here.
This was about as far out of my element as I had ever been. I mean, seriously… a sex club?
What the hell was I going to do at a sex club?
I definitely wouldn’t be getting laid. This dress was hard enough to get into. Getting back out of it? In front of strangers?
Yeah, not happening.
Liza really wanted to come, though, and I knew she’d been having a hard time lately. At least she could have a little fun, and I could get in a little research.
Even if the research I usually did for my romance books wasn’t nearly this… thorough.
Or hands-on.
Still, if this was what she had her heart set on, I could suck it up—and suck it in—for one night. And it was always possible that I might get some inspiration for my next book, however unlikely that prospect seemed at the moment.
Maybe I’d feel better about it once we actually got inside.
But for now, just standing in this horribly long line in heels and a sprayed-on dress was a pain. When the ad for this dress claimed it would “take my breath away,” I didn’t think they meant literally.
It was definitely a far cry from my usual Friday nights spent writing, snuggled in with a cup of green tea.
Liza liked to call it boring, but I preferred to think of it as comfortable.
As in, the opposite of what we were currently doing.
Liza quirked an eyebrow as she looked me up and down. “You look miserable. I mean, you look really good. But I know you’d rather be at home in your sweatpants right now.”
I snorted. “No argument there. But no pain, no gain, right? I just didn’t think I’d be on my feet this much at a sex club.”
Liza laughed and hooked her arm with mine. “Yeah, screw this… we’re going to the front of this damn line.”
“What? No!” I hissed, trying to pull away but not wanting to make any more of a spectacle of myself than I already was.
“Yes, Harlow. I almost never get you to go out with me. And we’re both looking too damn good to waste half the night waiting outside this club. We’re going in.”
She dragged me forward before I could even think of a response. And really, she was right. We did look too good for all this waiting around.
Not to mention that she and I both knew that I’d topple over in these heels if I tried to resist too much.
There were plenty of grumbles as we began to pass people up. One guy even yelled, “Hey, no cutting!”
Their collective annoyance made me blush bright red, but Liza either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Judging from the easy smile on her face as she tossed her hair, she wasn’t bothered at all.
That didn’t surprise me, though. That was Liza.
She was adventurous, blunt, and didn’t give a single shit about anyone else’s opinion of her.
I, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. I loved her, but I wanted to hide in a hole when she got like this.
We reached the front of the line, and Liza worked her magic. She had a way with men and as soon as she nibbled at her lip and smiled at the bouncer, I knew he was wrapped around her finger.
He grinned back at her. “Name?” he asked.
“Liza and Harlow,” she said in a tone that could only be described as flirty.
He jotted our names down and then unhooked the red velvet rope that was chained between two metal poles at the front of the line.
“Go on in, ladies,” he said. “Have fun.”
“Oh, we plan on it,” Liza replied, tossing him a wink as we walked inside.
I could only marvel at her nerve. I was secretly praying we’d get sent to the back of the line, but I should have known that Liza wouldn’t let things like lines or rules or dirty looks from other people slow her down.
Once we were actually inside, I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse about the whole situation.
In some ways, it was like being in any other club—pulsing music and flashing neon lights that didn’t do much to illuminate the dark corners of the room. But even though it wasn’t as intimidating—or as sexy—as what I had imagined, there was still a certain vibe that made it unlike any other place I’d been before.
The music was a little too loud.
The corners a little too dark.
The large dance floor—complete with a shimmering disco ball—was mostly empty. Instead, there were shadowy forms draped across the black leather couches that lined the room.
I tilted my head upward to find a balcony and could vaguely see images of half-naked people making out against the walls and lounging on more dark couches, their bodies entangled in one another.
“So, what do you think?” Eliza had to practically shout to be heard.
“I think it’s time for me to go home to my computer,” I yelled back.
“Hell no! Come on, let’s go see what’s going on upstairs!” She grabbed my arm and began to drag me forward again.
My heart pounded at the thought of going up there, where people might actually be having sex right in front of me. My anxiety kept me from moving, and just as I expected the first time Liza tried to drag me somewhere tonight, I stumbled a bit in my heels. But I didn’t fall completely, thank God.
“Maybe we could start with something a little more, um… t-tame?” I fumbled over the words as I tried to keep my balance. “Can we just… go sit at the bar area or something?”
<
br /> Liza rolled her eyes. “Harlow, you’re here for research, remember? How are you going to do research if you don’t go check out what this club is actually like? We can go to any club in town and just sit at a bar.”
That didn’t sound like such a bad thing to me.
She sighed as I still resisted going upstairs. “Okay, fine. Maybe a drink will loosen you up,” she said, changing course to head toward the bar area.
I didn’t plan on drinking, though. I had every intention of walking up to that bar and ordering myself a nice cold glass of water.
I wasn’t trying to rain on Liza’s parade. The only reason I was out here at all was to support her and let her have some fun. But this was just not my scene at all.
And now that we were actually inside, it was a lot more difficult to fool myself into thinking I’d be able to do any real research. I mean, seriously… the last thing I was thinking of at the moment was my writing.
We walked over to the bar area, and it was impossible not to notice that every single person we passed seemed to stop what they were doing to watch us walk by. My dress and my shoes felt tighter than ever as those feelings of insecurity I’d had outside in the line returned with full force.
I collapsed onto one of the couches once we finally reached the bar area. At least sitting down, I could blend in a little easier. Or I liked to imagine I could.
The black leather felt cold against my bare thighs, and a shiver went up my spine as I considered the fact that people might have… y’know…right on this very couch.
I did my best to focus on other things—anything else, really—as a cheery cocktail waitress walked over to us. She was wearing a button-down white blouse and a black miniskirt that barely covered her ass. I looked down at her black heels and tried to imagine how the hell she could actually work while walking in those things.
“What can I get for you girls?” she asked, perfectly balancing the tray in her hands.
“I’ll just have a water with lemon, please,” I told her with a timid smile. I’d pretend it was actually hot tea with lemon, and that instead of sitting on these leather couches, I was curled up in my bed at home.
Liza scoffed, of course. I knew she would. But I was hoping she’d let it go.
“No, no, no. We didn’t come to the bar for water,” she said emphatically.
“Liza, come on…” I mumbled, but she ignored me.
She smiled up sweetly at the waitress. “Yeah, can we actually get two mojitos instead? Forget the water entirely.”
The waitress nodded without giving me a second glance. “Perfect, I’ll be right back with that,” she said, before turning around and dropping off drinks to a man and a woman on the next couch over.
Liza flashed me a look of annoyance.
“What?” I asked.
“You seriously thought you were going to get away with a water? Come on, Harlow. Why is it so hard to get you to just come out and enjoy yourself? You act like it might actually be physically painful to have a good time.”
“It is physically painful,” I argued, pointedly glancing down at my pinched feet. “This just isn’t how I enjoy myself. You know that.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’d rather be home with your books. I get it. But you’re not going to find a man if you’re stuck at home every weekend typing away at your computer.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t realize that finding me a guy was on the agenda tonight. I thought we were here for you.”
“Well, when was the last time you’ve even been on a date?” she asked.
I wasn’t even sure how to answer that. It had definitely been… a while.
“It doesn’t matter because I’ve got no interest in dating right now,” I told her. “I’m busy. I’ve got plenty of work and… and other things to keep myself preoccupied.”
“Like reading. Writing. More reading.” The sarcasm in her tone was impossible to miss.
“Yes, exactly. All of those things. It’s my job. And it really is what I want to do.” I didn’t need to necessarily admit that reading and writing seemed to take up all my free time lately. But even if that wasn’t the case, I didn’t want to bring a man into my life who would take away from my focus.
“Seriously, Harlow, you’re going to have to live a little. Life is about more than just work.”
I might have agreed with her, in theory. But right now, my work was my life and I saw no reason to add a man to it. “I’m happy just the way things are,” I told her.
She looked at me skeptically. “Are you? Or are you just trying to avoid getting hurt again?”
I shifted uncomfortably on the leather couch. I knew what she was talking about, of course. Things hadn’t gone so well in my last relationship.
I couldn’t say she was wrong, really. My last relationship had been difficult. Had it turned me off from seeking a new one?
Yeah, maybe.
Probably.
And not only because it failed miserably, but also because… it hadn’t ever really been that great. I was a hard woman to please—that was what my last relationship had taught me.
Maybe it was the writer in me that made me so difficult to satisfy. I spent most of my days stuck in my head, writing these steamy romance stories with amazing heroines and Prince Charming heroes. No man ever seemed to live up to the characters in my imagination. No man had even come close, really.
“I’m never going to find a guy I truly like, Liza,” I said, huffing out a short breath. “There’s really no point in debating it—especially not here.”
“Fine, fine,” she shrugged, pretending not to care even though I knew for sure she could happily go on arguing for hours if I’d let her. “If you want to hole up in your apartment with your books and your imaginary characters, far be it from me to stop you.”
“Great. Perfect. Glad that’s settled.” My reply was curt. It was a friendly annoyance, though. She knew I loved her, and even though I didn’t love her prying, it was actually nice to have a friend who cared this deeply about me.
She may have been totally misguided about my life and where I wanted it to go, but at least she cared. I needed someone who cared, even if they were going to give me advice that didn’t really align with the things I wanted in life.
“You know I’m only trying to help,” she said, giving me A Look that felt like she might be getting ready for round two.
“I know, I know. And I love you for that. But seriously, keep your nosy ass out of my love life. I’m perfectly content to imagine other peoples’ love lives on paper,” I responded, hoping that answer would be forceful enough to shut down this conversation completely.
“Well, you’re good at that. For someone who wants zero romance in their life, you are great at writing about it.”
I had to smile at that. I loved when anyone complimented my ability to write. It was the thing that I was most proud of. I doubted a lot of my other life skills, especially the ones that involved socializing.
Or wearing dresses. Or damned high heels.
But I never doubted my ability to tell a story. I’d been doing it since I was a young child, and I had become quite good at it.
Our cocktail waitress came back with the mojitos. She handed me the ice-cold glass garnished with mint.
“Thank you.” I smiled at her.
“Of course. Let me know if you ladies need anything else.”
Liza grinned at me, holding her glass up. “Here’s to finally getting you to go out with me! And to research, of course.”
“Right. Cheers.” I clinked my glass against hers and sighed.
I was glad she was happy… but it was going to go be a long night.
Chapter 2 - Ryker
I walked back and forth slowly as I surveyed the club behind a large, one-way window.
I was on the third floor of the building—a floor that was not accessible by the guests of Crave. Only authorized personnel could be in here, which mostly consisted of the other club owners and those working s
ecurity. We had a room that was full of small computer screens that were all connected to different security cameras across the club, so at any given time, we could see exactly what was going on. We had someone whose entire job it was just to sit here and stare at the security cameras. They made sure that we had no major incidents.
Running a fairly raunchy sex club was not easy, and we’ve had our fair share of seedy characters try to come through our doors. It was important to me—to all of the owners—that we had a club where people felt safe. So we had many security measures put into place.
It wasn’t just the cameras, though. We had our bouncers keep an eye out and deny anyone they deemed suspicious for any reason, without explanation. We had bartenders and cocktail waitresses who were taught to keep an eye on peoples’ drinks if they ever left them unattended to avoid any unpleasant mishaps.
We had security everywhere.
Among our clientele, our image mattered.
It was everything, really.
We did a damn good job. Crave was well known as one of the safest clubs in town, including the clubs that were not sex-oriented. I really prided myself on that fact. Although some might look down on my business as being taboo, I took great pride in running it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling my attention from the dance floor. It was a text from Tyson, the bouncer.
Got about ten new unlisted people tonight so far.
Part of Tyson’s job was to let me know when we had new people arrive at Crave. See, we took down all names and added them to our member list. We had a bunch of regulars, and we gave our regulars preferential treatment in getting into the club on busy nights.
But it was also important to keep track of people who had never been to Crave and were arriving for the first time. To keep a club like Crave thriving, we needed a steady stream of fresh, good-looking visitors. Part of the appeal of Crave was to meet brand new, anonymous strangers to potentially hook up with. If we only had the same old people turning up all the time, it would ruin the entire vibe of the club.
