But evidently, my bros think this is the one. They think this sweet brunette could be “The One,” mystical and magical.
I squint at the teen. She can’t be more than eighteen, which is good. Because we need someone fertile for sure, ready to be bred. And sure, the female fits the bill with those wide hips and succulent tits. I can picture it already, that curvy form pregnant with our baby, her long hair loose, boobs ready to explode with milk. I’d have her sit that cunt right on my cock and let her ride me, ripe belly rocking back and forth. I’d pull her hair and suckle those tits, showing her just how much I appreciate her gift to us. A child. A Morgan heir. The Morgan heir.
Because yeah, we want a kid.
Just one kid.
Not a million.
We’re selfish bastards, did I mention that?
With a fortune worth billions, we don’t want it split thirty ways. Because if the seven of us had families, we’d have children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, the progeny endless. And a billion dollars split a billion ways means very little in the end.
So yeah, we’ve decided on only one child.
With one woman.
To keep the fortune intact.
Weird? Maybe.
Fucked up? Probably.
But it’s our choice. And we’ve decided that we’re gonna have one female, shared, to bear our child.
So if this is the little lady … well, then, hot damn.
I’m ready to go.
Grunting, I introduce myself.
“Hey,” I say, casually enough. “I’m Smith.”
But she hasn’t woken from dream world yet. Balancing on wobbly legs, the brunette looks my way, caramel eyes dazed.
“Macy,” she says slowly in a whisper.
Shit, is this Macy from next door? I don’t remember anything but a baby in her mom’s arms, swaddled like an Eskimo. I don’t remember any faces, anything except seeing our Mom coo at a nondescript bundle.
But Ford grinds into motion then. Stalking past the other guys, he opens the refrigerator, before closing it with a whoof. Of all of us, he’s the biggest, and his sheer size alone might be enough to scare off a little bunny like this.
But no, this little bunny is here and not hopping away. She’s ready to play again and again and again. Which is just exactly what we need.
Ford opens a bottle of water for Macy, and hands it to her gently.
“You’re dehydrated honey,” he growls. “Take a sip.”
Still moving in slow motion, Macy takes the bottle and opens it, raising it to her lips. And then, oh shit, but she drinks, pink lips pouting, a tiny trickle of clear liquid running down her throat. We stare, rapt, imagining her sipping us like that.
Shit.
This is so wrong.
No woman should be subjected to this.
Seven guys? It’s a nightmare … or a fantasy come true.
Because yeah, our thoughts are dirty. I’m imagining the sweet brunette spread out, taking us every which way. And by the looks on my brothers’ faces, they’re thinking the same thing. Exactly the same thing, to be precise.
But right now, the little filly is unperturbed. She’s drinking away, face still flushed, boobies pressing out against that men’s t-shirt.
And shit, but that’s perfect. Because what kind of woman can stay calm when there are six erections pointing in your direction? What kind of woman is relaxed enough to handle all of us simultaneously?
I’ll tell you.
My kind of woman.
Our kind of woman.
The kind of woman who can help us keep our family fortune intact.
This little girl is going to be our personal cream-puff, full of juices and creamy goodness, ready to be devoured whenever we’re hungry.
I wander forwards a few steps, right up into her space. Those pink lips purse as she appraises me.
“You all look alike,” comes a soft whisper. Damn, I can smell her from this close. Clean, pure, with an underlying tangy scent. And oh yeah, there’s that wet cunt smell, a hallmark of the best.
But I’m not gonna let on, not so early.
“It’s a good thing,” comes my drawl. “A lot of women like that we look alike.”
It’s true. They got hot and needy, anticipating a couple Morgan boys in the sack at once.
The brunette flushes then.
“It is good,” she confirms, not able to meet my direct gaze. “Overwhelming, but good.”
“You know it,” Matt growls. He’s come into the kitchen too, and a big hand snakes to her bare ass, squeezing that delectable rump.
But does the little girl back away?
Oh no.
She likes it.
Instead, the brunette closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, holding still so that Matt can massage her sweet butt.
“Yes,” comes her breathy whisper. “Yes.”
Aw shit, she is perfect. And at this moment, watching her quiver, I want nothing more than to dip two fingers into what I suspect is a highly responsive and equally wet pussy. I’d give anything for it right now, after the crap day I’ve had.
But the time’s not right. We said if we did it, we’d do it together. So I shoot Matt a warning look, telling him to back down.