Immediately, I’m on my knees next to her, grabbing one small fist in my own. My brothers gather close, forming a protective circle.
“Will you, Macy Jones?” comes my urgent rumble. “Will you be our woman, the light of our lives, the mother of our child?”
And for the first time all night, happy tears come to the brunette’s eyes instead of sad. She manages a tremulous smile, clasping my hand in her own and squeezing tightly.
“I- I’ll try,” she stammers. But then the new Macy takes hold because she seizes my hand tighter and looks me straight in the eye before turning to include my brothers. “Yes, I’ll be yours. All of yours.”
And a low rumble rises from the Morgan boys, a growl of approval and ownership. Because this is the most important acquisition we’ve ever had in our lives. The brunette’s worth more than her weight in gold. Even if Macy doesn’t realize it yet, her presence, her goodness and light, are crucial to a peaceful, stable future for our family, and we’re overjoyed that she’ll be the linchpin that holds us together. Crowding in close, we kiss the beautiful girl, showering her with love, appreciating everything the brunette has to give.
“We adore you, Macy Jones,” comes our low rumble. “Always.”
And the girl writhes and twists beneath our lips and hands, moaning, yet filled with love, light and renewal. Because with these revelations, our future together is sealed, our heir assured … or so we think.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Macy
Six months later …
I’ve missed my period again. That’s two in a row.
Not that pregnancy should be surprising. After I left my parents’ home, the Morgan brothers took me to a fancy hotel. I was too out of it then to appreciate the luxurious surroundings, but we weren’t gonna stay there forever. With my new lovers, it’s all about stability and permanence, and hotel living is the opposite of that.
So within a week, the eight of us moved into a giant house on the outskirts of the city. It has nine bedrooms. Count ‘em, nine! What does anyone do with nine bedrooms? You’d think that each brother would have their own, and then one for me, plus an extra for guests.
But that’s not how it is at all. Instead, all eight of us are in the master suite most of the time, going at it hot and heavy. They’re either enjoying my body, taking turns enjoying my body, or watching others enjoy my body.
Depraved right? But it works great, and I’ve never been so fulfilled and satisfied. Caring, in the Morgan world, means making love constantly. And we’ve done a lot of it, it’s just how they communicate.
Of course, the brothers show their adoration in other ways as well. Like this giant chef’s kitchen that’s custom-designed and perfect in every way. It has a sub-zero fridge, a gorgeous temperature-controlled wine cooler, two convection ovens, and even a full set of Le Creuset fancy cast-iron pots, in case I want to go crazy. It’s pretty much straight out of a decorator’s magazine.
But the Morgans have taken it one step further because they installed special lights and mounts, and there are cameras everywhere, controlled via iPad. You can guess where this is going. That’s right, it’s a perfect set for a cooking show, every tool at my disposal, every single utensil you can think of to create perfect-looking food that’s camera-friendly and delicious.
Of course, I use it for other things as well. Just this afternoon, I filmed myself making a cherry pie. It started out innocently enough, me in a frilly blue apron, hair down, happily mixing flour and water.
But pretty soon it turned into a full-on show. Oh yeah, I’m a cam girl for the ages, humping utensils on the marble counter, sticking them deep up my snatch and screaming wildly as my pussy explodes in front of the live stream.
Because what could be better? I’m performing for the audience of my dreams, a direct feed going to my seven lovers at work, and I’m sure they get off too. Oh yeah, these guys are probably stroking their dicks, milking the cum out as they grunt, hungrily devouring my wetly creaming body while staring at their computers.
But I have to admit that it’s not all fun and games. Because what am I doing, really? Am I getting ahead in life? Making something of myself? Call it the remnants of childhood, but Jim and Marsha instilled a value system long ago, and it’s hard to completely forget it all. So how can I leave that all behind?
Because it’s not like I’m some super-successful Food Network host. No, it’s just me in a fancy kitchen, doing amateur porn for my boys. Is that an accomplishment? Can I add that to my resume? Sure, I cook them dinner each night, but there’s been no progress made on my book, and school is long since gone. So what am I doing, really? Hanging around, waiting to get pregnant? Is that my goal in life?