“Unnnnh!” comes my inarticulate cry. “Oh oh oh!”
And like a slut, I double down. As my pussy and ass spasm, I pull the showerhead away so that the men can see everything, a full-on show. Oh yeah, the juice falling in torrents from my cunt. The hot clamping and clenching as both my holes go crazy, begging for dick, needing them so badly. With another scream, I throw my head back and this time, my pussy literally ejects juice, squirting like crazy, hitting the shower walls with clear streams of fluid.
“Unnnh!” is my shriek, body trembling wildly. “Ohhhh!”
And like a miracle, the men come as well. A chorus of groans fills the small space, rising hotly in the air.
“Fuck!” roars one.
“Godddamn,” grunts another.
And the sound of beating flesh, squishy slaps and hot mewling rings out heavily, all of us finding our ends.
Because oh god, the men have come hard, creaming their jeans, wet spots sticking to those heavy thighs. I pant, still trembling, gazing at my audience through my legs. Oh my god. I did that. I made these men lose it, releasing in their pants like pre-pubescent boys with no self-control.
And slowly, my body turns. With trembling fingers, I shut the water and open the glass door, still so wet and swollen, knees shaking, almost ready to collapse. And thank goodness for Ford. Because the big man recovers enough to hold out a heavy hand, bracing my arm so I can stumble out. And as he does, my skin goes hot once more, pussy still pulsing wildly.
Oh my god. Just from that much?
His hand on my arm, and I’m ready to juice once more?
Who would’ve known I’d be so easily stimulated?
But the Morgans aren’t done yet. They grab a towel or two and begin patting me down, using the soft terry to stroke my curves.
“Atta girl,” one low rumble comes. “You did good.”
“Like a boss,” comes another deep chuckle. “Our lady boss.”
I mewl sensuously, loving the attention.
“Thank you,” comes my whisper. “I’m glad I made you happy.”
The towels halt for a moment, five pairs of blue eyes blazing at me once more.
“That was more than happy, honey,” growls Ford. “That was fucking fantastic, over the moon and into space.”
A blush covers my cheeks, spreading down my breasts and tummy so that even my pussy is tinted slightly pink.
“Thank you,” come my soft words again. “I’m glad you liked it.”
And giving in, I indulge. That’s right, I give myself up to the alphas’ ministrations. They comb my wet hair. They pat me dry and then rub lotion over my sensitive spots, making me squeal with pleasure again. Oh god, one of them even fingers my nub a little before stroking my asshole and making the pleats pucker.
“Matt!” I gasp, whirling to look around. “Stop that!”
But the youngest brother is mischievous, popping his finger between his lips and sucking.
“No part of you is off-limits, baby girl,” comes his growl. “All of you tastes good.”
And I blush furiously again, entire body lighting with sensation. Because oh my god, he’d just touched my anus and then sucked his finger, tasting my dirty rim. Granted, I’d just showered, but still. Wasn’t that gross? Wasn’t that disgusting, like out of the dirtiest porn?
But the thing is, I just wanted more. No matter how nasty and depraved, I wanted to give myself to these men, to dive in and never look back. I wanted to experiment, to get on the roller coaster and see how far we could rise before falling in a whoosh. My heart beat furiously as I met the alphas’ eyes, chest rising and falling slowly, our connection deeply intimate in the small space. Because I’m the Morgans’ girl … and there’s no going back now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Smith
Road rage is a real thing, folks. It happens when some high-and-tight motherfucker thinks he can shove his big-ass diesel truck in front of my Maserati with only a foot of free space. And then hit his brakes like he’s surprised to find some other car in front of him.
I swear to the heavenly angels that if I see that meathead again I will personally shove my foot up his ass and my pocketknife into his gas line. Yeah motherfuckers, that’s how Smith Morgan rolls.
And now that I’m home? Well shit. First, let me take off this fucking tie and this fucking monkey suit. My brothers wear shorts and t-shirts while they play with computers, racking up their millions. But me? I get to worry about the stock market and our investment structure. I get to worry if we lose money or make money. Usually it’s the latter, the cash rolls in waves. But right now, as I’m seeing my dad’s medical bills come in, it feels like there’s a tide in the other direction, a dangerous undercurrent.