Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
But I can’t help it. My insides are already burning hot, despite Sam’s cool reception, and I let Matt’s hand wander up beneath my skirt, scrunching the material around my hips. Oh god, oh god, so soon? But like a woman in a daze, I can’t help it. I’m caught in a dream, and it’s the best dream ever.
So Matt continues. His brothers watch intently as those big fingers press ever so lightly against the thin satin of my panties. They’re a pale pink, and sure enough, his fingers come away damp, making the alpha chuckle. He spreads my legs wider for everyone to see, and there’s a wet spot at my crotch, a tell-tale sign of arousal.
A low, throaty moan rises in the room, seven pairs of eyes on my steaming cunt. The brothers tense, like coils ready to pop, as Matt rubs my clit through my underwear, his other hand moving into the V of my dress, splaying against the skin of my breast.
“Let’s get this off you, hmm?” he rumbles low. “Will, get her jacket.”
In a flash, Will’s by our side, helping me struggle out of the blazer. And then it’s just me in this too-tight dress, sitting in the lap of a handsome man with six brothers watching ravenously.
I’m nervous. Real nervous. The men are so intense, and with our parents just one room away, a thrill runs down my spine. Because it’s playing with fire. If before, we’d taken risks in the kitchen and shower, this time we’re asking for it. Literally, Maddy, Ted, Jim, and Marsha are mere feet away, talking like nothing’s wrong. I can hear their voices even, a low murmur punctuated by the occasional chuckle.
But the Morgans can’t be stopped.
“So Macy,” Sam drawls, “I hear you’re quite the budding chef.”
What? Why is he asking me this when I’m literally draped all over his brother, legs spread, panties wet?
But I nod, trying to keep my voice unaffected, even as Matt’s hands do a number on my body.
“I love to cook,” comes my soft mewl. “It makes me happy.”
Sam nods approvingly, eyes still sharp.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Sam says. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
What? What kind of question is that? Now, of all times?
“No of course not,” comes my sputter, sitting up slightly. “No, definitely not.”
Sam moves on, expression suddenly hot.
“Do you like what my brother is doing to you right now?” he asks quietly, that voice a low rumble. His head is tilted. I’d say he looks like a lion crouched in the grass, focused on its prey. That posture is curiously relaxed, but his gaze follows every move of Matt’s hand, weighing every answer carefully.
And unbidden, a whimper escapes my lips, a precursor to what I suspect will be a four-alarm wail. Because I can’t resist. The sensations are building like a tsunami, magnificent tension pooling in my belly. I don’t want to let go here, with our parents so close. Yet, I do. I want it, and I can feel it rumbling, the steady build like a storm drawing close.
“Yes,” comes my breathy pant, my eyes dazed already. “Yes, I like it.”
“Good,” he says, eyes bright.
For sure, I’m gonna explode now. For sure, it’s gonna happen, Matt’s rubbing my clit smooth and steady, driving me to a peak. But suddenly Maddy Morgan’s voice pierces my dream.
“Dinner’s ready! Boys!” she calls. “Dinner’s ready! Please escort our guests into the dining room.”
Like a startled rabbit, I jump off Matt’s lap. Oh my god! Seven pairs of eyes are still taking me in, appreciating the wetness between my thighs, the big boobies bouncing as I struggle.
Because I need to get dressed. In a rush, I push myself back into the purple wrap, struggling to whip those creamy curves into shape.
And like a gentleman, Sam steps up with my blazer in hand.
“Missing this?” he says, one eyebrow quirked.
“Oh god,” I rush breathlessly, struggling into the fabric. “Oh god.”
And just like that, I’m covered up again, like nothing’s wrong. Nothing except for the fact that the atmosphere in the room is still heavy with lust, the boys smiling lazily, adjusting themselves.
“Come on,” comes my breathless whisper. “We gotta go.”
And those big forms unfurl, stretching long legs to wander into the dining room like nothing’s wrong. Oh my god, oh my god. Did we really come so close? It’s impossible, my parents are right here.
Yet it really did happen, and I try to catch my breath, hoping the flush on my face is mistaken as just being hot, and not aroused.
Fortunately, Mrs. Morgan has made quite a spread, and everyone’s attention turns to the food. Two pans of gooey lasagna on the table along with a huge bowl of salad, a mound of garlic bread, a platter of green bean almondine, and some stuffed mushrooms. Color me impressed that she managed to pull all of this together on her own.