Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle
Rowen Jackson is a hot Broadway actor who doesn’t have to work for women. But he’ll work for the thing he really wants—a woman to share with his two best friends.
He seduces the lush, lovely, and all but innocent Annabelle Talbot. Defenseless against his efforts to awaken her simmering sexuality, she blossoms and basks in Rowen’s delicious loving. She trusts him with her heart and lets him push her sexual boundaries to pleasure them both.
Rowen’s friend Kevin Orcutt visits, and Annabelle realizes Rowen is offering to share more than just a room. Kevin joins them, also seducing his way into Annabelle’s heart.
She loves them both. Then handsome, stubborn Braeden Reese comes, and Annabelle falls once more. But Braeden refuses to share. Determined, Annabelle must prove her love is strong enough for three men.
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 46,910 words
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: ANNABELLE
Rachel Billings
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: ANNABELLE
Copyright © 2013 by Rachel Billings
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-176-3
First E-book Publication: January 2013
Cover design by Christine Kirchoff
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To Ton, my true believer, and our three remarkable children.
To my family: we may be bent but we ain’t broke.
To Karen, who didn’t laugh (at least not to my face) when she explained what POV meant.
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: ANNABELLE
RACHEL BILLINGS
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Rowen Jackson was doing one of his favorite things. From four floors up, he was looking out the window, watching and waiting for Annabelle. Just six blocks off Broadway, the street he looked out on was always busy, thronged with theater people. There were starving actors, barely-getting-by actors, and even a few, like he was fortunate enough to be, very nicely successful actors. There were writers, directors, stagehands, also starving, getting by, or finally, a few of them, succeeding. Traffic in the crowded street barely moved, but the pedestrians scurried by like they had places to go and were already late.
No matter how crowded the street was, he could always pick out Annie the second she rounded the corner from 46th. There was something about her that drew his attention like he was a homing missile and she his target. She wasn’t the tall, thin blonde of Wall Street, or even the statuesque, augmented babes typical of Broadway. She had shimmering sable hair and a lushly curved figure, just a bit shorter than average. She was an absolute turn on, and his dick stirred just waiting for her.
He’d met her five months before, at an after-theater party hosted by one of her employers. Annabelle was a talented botanical artist, producing beautiful, skillful paintings for gardens and nature centers, natural history museums, and the occasional private citizen who just loved his garden and could afford to indulge his every whim.
In this case, she was staying with and working in the swanky mansion of a major theater patron. She was very comfortable in the estate’s luxurious gardens, painting to her heart’s content, but she was entirely uncomfortable at this upscale, star-studded party. Rowen had picked her out the moment he’d walked in—a quiet gem that glowed from a light within, not needing the reflected light so necessary to generate all the glitter that surrounded her.
She was an intelligent, strong woman, but she’d been easy prey. She didn’t expect to be singled out of the crowd by a hot actor, one usually, a bit notoriously even, surrounded by smokin’ ladies. Like most successful actors, Rowen kept his body muscled and toned, and enhanced his gift of natural good looks with carefully tasteful if just a bit edgy grooming and tailoring. And he had a practiced skill at seduction that had come easily to him and brought many nice rewards.
Annie was different, though, and he knew it at once. Her bright intelligence was surprisingly appealing. IQ was not one of a woman’s measurements that Rowen typically noticed. But with Annabelle he enjoyed it. She saw things differently and through her artist’s eye. With him at the theater, she saw the beauty of sets and costumes with an appreciation that was unsullied by the jaded, even catty pretenses of most of the women he’d been with.
He loved those moments when he had her on his arm there. He could see it in the eyes of his friends and acquaintances. The women were subtly condescending, aloof to Annie’s warm overtures and innocent enthusiasm. She wasn’t one of them, they were thinking, not one of the golden beauties. They would flirt with him even in her presence, not seeing, he knew, how very seductive she was. The shameless hussies didn’t even consider her competition.
The men got it. They eyed her lush curves in a way that had Rowen curling his fingers into fists, a manifestation of jealousy that was entirely new to him. They b
asked, preening, damn them, in the glow of Annie’s natural radiance. Once she got over her basic shyness, she’d look up at them admiringly, in pure appreciation of their talent.
The idiots would take that as a sign of interest and come on to her. Annabelle seemed naively oblivious to it, her attention entirely centered on Rowen.
That was a hot thrill. She would be surrounded by exceedingly attractive men and still would see only him. Each night they spent with theater people, in his head he was pumping his fist in absolute male satisfaction.
In her favored settings she was even more a pleasure to be with. She opened his eyes to natural beauty in a way he’d never experienced. It was a delight to watch her as they walked through Central Park’s Shakespeare Garden or wandered around the New York Botanical Garden.
In pure simplicity, the effects of light and shadow, the glitter of a water droplet, or the soft blush of a perfect new bloom could move her profoundly. It was a sensual appreciation that stoked his desire for her.
She was a strong, independent woman. She very competently managed the business as well as the artistic facets of her career. Ever practical, when she was busy with a deadline, she’d politely but firmly turn down every play he made for her time.
That took him aback initially. In his experience women broke dates and any other commitments in order to spend time with him. Eventually, left without a choice, he humbled himself enough to accept it.
Apparently, he didn’t want a climbing, greedy, self-centered, bitchy actress for his woman. He wanted Annie, innocent, committed, self-reliant. Pain in the ass that it was.
So he didn’t seduce her that first night, or even that first month. He freaking courted her, a concept foreign to him in real life, but for which he’d had some stage experience to draw from. And it paid off in a hugely satisfying way. When he finally got his hand down her bra and his fingers past her panties, he knew he’d found a barrel of hot, suppressed sexuality just waiting to explode.
Lucky he was the man to light the fuse.
He’d spent the second month fucking her brains out every chance he got. Well, she wouldn’t think of it so crudely, and neither did he, in fact. The truth was during that month of courtship he’d fallen in love, just has she had. And when he kissed her, touched her, and, finally, buried himself deep in her hot pussy, no matter how rough and rowdy it was, he was making love.
He could only fall on his knees in profound gratitude that she had a sexual appetite to match his own.
She hadn’t known it, would never have guessed it. Bringing her to awareness of her own highly sexual nature was like watching a pale, delicate bud blossom into a vibrant, flaming-red, big fat rose. No one could be more surprised than the bud itself.
He’d brought her along, pushing her boundaries. They’d had gentle sex, urgent sex, and even a little bit rough sex. He’d done oral and she’d done it back. They’d dabbled a little in public, well, not sex—yet—but groping.
And it wasn’t just her willingness to have hot, rowdy sex in any position or setting he desired that he adored. It turned out his Annie, competent, independent, self-determining little soul that she was, had a bit of the submissive in her.
Rowen had always enjoyed the little edge he got from expressing his domination tendencies. During a fuck session he’d give a good spank or use his hands to direct a woman’s mouth to his cock. He’d never gone over the top with it, but he liked the bit of wicked tension it added.
He wouldn’t have thought to go there with Annabelle. Though he fucked her wildly, it was about love, too. She wasn’t his sex toy, but his woman. And for sure, she wasn’t someone who would accept his dominance in day-to-day life. More by far than any woman had ever been to him, she was his partner.
Nonetheless, one night when he’d been fucking her hard from behind, he’d lost it. In the wickedly powerful moment it was, he slapped her ass. He’d paused, meaning to soothe her, to apologize if needed. But she’d pushed back on him, needy and crying for more.
He wasn’t sure if she was asking for more spanking or more fucking. But he took and chance and spanked her again and then he knew. “Yes!” she’d cried. “Yes, yes, yes!”
He’d given her what she wanted that time and then others. Nights he bade her to get on her knees and suck him. Mornings when he’d instruct her to open her legs and play with herself so he could watch as he dressed. He’d be fully clothed in his suit and tie, entirely covered except for leaving his hard, pulsing cock out. He’d use it then, when she was already almost there, to fuck a hard, fast come into her.
He’d felt his way about it gently. They hadn’t really talked about it and it was clear that any dom-sub facet of their relationship applied only during sex.
He’d driven her sexually, and she’d been open and responsive. She hadn’t said no to anything he’d asked.
Now, he had her here. He’d found them this condo, a corner space with a great light for her painting and three big bedrooms. It was a huge amount of square footage for the city, and she couldn’t understand why he wanted it. Needed it.
Rowen had his reasons.
His last couple years of college, he’d shared a house with his two best buddies. They were also theater majors and the house had pretty much become the department’s party place. Kevin was destined to become a director and Braeden a screenwriter, but like him, they had toned, muscular bodies and hot good looks. At the house, there were always plenty of appealing chicks willing to put out. Sometimes they’d have three or more and party all together, getting it on with whatever pussy or mouth was within reach. Sometimes, they’d have only a couple, and they’d figured out ways to share.
And two or three times, they had just one. They each found a way to get happy, and they kept the girl very happy, too.
Rowen had loved that. It was totally hot, seeing his buddies fuck a woman while he was fucking her, too, watching as she screamed out her multiple orgasms. Each of them finishing off in her at the same time, while she was nearly comatose with the overstimulation of a triple fuck. It was fucking over the top. Literally. He’d never had anything like it since. And he wanted it.
If things went according to plan, he was going to get it.
Annabelle didn’t know it, but Kev was coming to town today. If she didn’t get home soon, he wasn’t going to have a chance to get her warmed up to the idea. To, ah, prime her pump, so to speak.
There. He stroked himself a little, anticipating. Annie was coming down the street.
And he had a couple more boundaries to push.
* * * *
Annabelle Talbot ran up the four flights to the condo she’d shared with Rowen for two months now. She still couldn’t believe he’d taken the property. It was huge, way more space than just the two of them needed, and way more cost than she could ever manage alone. But he was paying for most of it, even though her income was entirely decent—looking up, even, after today’s meeting at the botanical garden. So she didn’t really complain or try to stop him when the time came to sign on the dotted line. The place had such great light with its windows to the north and east giving perfect illumination for painting. Most days she was at work by sunrise, taking advantage of the early morning light. She loved it.
She loved the space, and she loved Rowen.
She’d been so intimidated she could hardly form a coherent response when he’d first approached her at that garden party. He’d been gentle, though, teasing in a smiling way, aware of his effect on her and easing her past it.
He was a wolf donning sheep’s clothing, and they both knew it.
The fact that he’d bothered was what counted.
He’d done nothing more than touch her hand that night, or her arm to guide her through a crowd. He’d charmed her, no doubt, but he’d been entirely self-aware about it. Somehow, he’d communicated that he was as surprised by his behavior as she was.
In the next weeks, he’d shown her that his charm was not just superficial polish. He’d enfolded her into his
life, taking her on his arm into his theater crowd as though he was proud to show her off. He made not the least effort to disguise his attraction to her. If he looked at the glamorous women who approached them, it was with amusement that they should think they could draw his interest.
He was hers. He conveyed it with every word and touch.
Even before the two of them had ascertained that she was his.
Rowen made no effort at all to disguise his intent in that regard. He wanted her and took advantage of every opportunity to secure her. Still, he was honest about it.
He’d come to appreciate and enjoy the natural beauty of the gardens and preserves she studied. Well, it might be more accurate to say he appreciated her enjoyment of them. Nonetheless, the feeling was sincere. But his eyes would glaze after a few minutes if she rambled on out loud about how to capture the play of light in a particular scene, how to achieve the correct mix of color, or brush technique.
Whatever they did together, a garden stroll, a night at the theater, a meal shared at home, or dinner out, he put his full attention on her. She knew he was aware of her response to a play, her reaction to a wine he had her try, or her enthusiasm for crème brûlée.
He had a sharp mind, a wicked sense of humor, and an unveiled desire for her, Annabelle.
He’d approached her so gently when they first met, moved so slowly with her. By the time he finally touched her, she’d been ready to explode. Somehow, his measured, gradual seduction had kindled a fire in her she hadn’t known was there.
Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 1
