Double trouble, p.10
Double Trouble, page 10
But in the meantime, we went wide with publicity. I did an interview with Diane Sawyer, softening my brothers’ image and explaining how I’d forgiven them and how the public should too. Of course, the tragedy with Marygold shouldn’t be forgotten, but again, I played up the youth angle. My brothers had been twelve years old at the time, still juveniles themselves. They’d made a grievous mistake and didn’t deserve to be pay forever.
Moreover, we decided to double down. While on national TV, I announced that I was pregnant with my stepbrothers’ babies! That’s right, I’m pregnant with twins, a girl and a boy. Hopefully one is by Roman and the other by Ryder.
Diane almost fell over during the interview.
“But you’re siblings,” she gasped. “This is shocking.”
I corrected her. The twins and I are related by marriage in two ways – through our parents, and through the recent ceremony between Ryder and myself, joining us as husband and wife. Diane kept asking questions, and I went into the whole spiel about how my brothers and I are not biologically related, that we didn’t grow up together, and only met about a year ago.
The interview was only proof of the American public’s short attention span. The molestation scandal was almost immediately forgotten, and instead there were spreads of us in celebrity magazines profiling my burgeoning bump. There were pictures of my brothers cradling my belly lovingly as we smiled for the cameras. My guess is that it came down to money. The editors realized that they’d sell more magazines with sweet pictures of our marriage and pregnancy, while the Marygold tragedy was already losing steam.
Therefore, what my mom said came true – “this too shall pass.” It seems that the world has moved on, focusing on a new season, and the next juicy scandal. It’s fall now, and our babies are due any day now. I’m looking forward to changing nappies, holding my girl and my boy, and raising them with the full participation of their fathers. Because Ryder and Roman are over the moon about being fathers. They constantly make sure that I’m okay, and want to know that I have every comfort at my disposal.
“Can you feel the babies kick?” Ryder asked one night.
I took both their palms, placing one on each side of my belly.
“Both of them are kicking right now,” I murmured.
My stepbrothers were silent, their eyes wide and amazed as they felt the fluttering in my belly.
“Truly amazing,” breathed Ryder.
“You and the babies are miracles,” added Roman gratefully.
I smiled at them. We’d been burned by public opinion, but my twin stepbrothers had triumphed over the insidious pull of celebrity, becoming model husbands and dads-to-be. How did I get so fortunate? I’m grateful and ecstatic all at once, and only hope that everyone has our kind of luck.
* * *
THE END
Liked what you read?
Then sign up for my newsletter here and get a free book just for joining!
A Sneak Peek: Just One Night
The bitch’s lies took my breath away. My brother was on the verge of proposing, and yet at the first sign of a rich man with a big house, the tramp pretended that Caleb didn’t even exist? What the fuck? I was furious, but fought to mask my anger. This was no time to let on how angry I was.
“So you’re from around here then, aren’t you?” I asked, willing my voice to stay normal. “The catering company usually staffs its events with locals.”
“Yeah, I’m a townie,” Trina said with a flush. “I grew up all over,” she said softly, “but my sister and I settled here because of the beautiful neighborhood.”
“Well, let me show you around my place then,” I said. “It’s a historic estate, best known as the model for Jay Gatsby’s mansion in The Great Gatsby.”
I was surprised by the genuine look of awe and interest that dawned in the girl’s eyes.
“Really?” she breathed. “F. Scott Fitzgerald came to parties here? With Zelda?”
“Sure did, honey,” I said, reaching out a big hand. “I’ll even show you the guest room where they probably slept.” Her hand was small and warm in mine, fitting better than I liked in my big grasp. Down boy! I reminded myself. This conniving bitch made a living by seducing rich men, and I was playing right into her trap.
But she was about to be double-crossed because I intended to do some seducing of my own. After fucking the bitch, there was no way Caleb could look at her with the same eyes. The rose-rimmed glasses would be ripped off, and hopefully for good.
In the meantime, why not enjoy myself? I had a beautiful girl whom I wanted to taste, and I might as well savor the experience. A practiced smile crossed my face and the redhead melted a bit before my eyes. Good. Tonight was going to be fun.
“Come on,” I rumbled, “I’ll show you the ballroom first.”
I took her hand and led her to massive oak doors which creaked open when I thrust against them. She let out an audible gasp when I flicked on the light switch. Dozens of chandeliers glowed, the crystal refracting like diamonds as they cast the ballroom into a golden glow.
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, her voice hushed.
“No, you’re gorgeous,” I complimented. And it was true. The redhead was curvy, creamy, and one hundred percent female. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her.
Trina flushed beautifully and turned her head to the side, partially hiding her face, which was surprising. Most gold-diggers are vampy and obvious, eating up compliments like candy. But Trina seemed demure, and almost embarrassed by my compliment.
I grabbed her hand and led her upstairs, throwing the door open to an elegant suite. Inside was a genuine four-poster bed and an antique ladies’ vanity, complete with old-time perfume bottles, a hand mirror, and spritzes. Trina laughed with joy and wandered into the room, picking up the mirror and looking into it.
“Imagine,” she breathed. “Zelda Fitzgerald might have fixed her hair using this very mirror!”
I was taken aback. Most gold-diggers weren’t exactly well-read, so her genuine interest in the Fitzgeralds was jarring. But I shook myself again. This woman was a master manipulator who could feign interest in anything if it meant getting her paws on money. I needed to keep my guard up.
But her curvy figure was so close to the bed that I was tempted, I have to admit. The four poster was right behind her, and I almost threw her on the mattress right then and there, with an insatiable need to bury myself in her curves, and surround myself in her female essence.
But I clamped down on my raging libido and instead led her to another room. Throwing open the grand oak doors, she walked into a very different suite, this one masculine and stark, decorated with heavy wood furniture.
“Is this another Fitzgerald room?” she asked playfully. “I know husbands and wives often had their own adjoining rooms in the early twentieth century,” she said, trailing her hand over the bureau. “Maybe this is where Scott Fitzgerald slept. Maybe this is where he dreamed up Jay Gatsby.”
I put a stop to her dreaming immediately.
“No, it’s my bedroom,” I ground out. Trina came to a sudden halt, her eyes suddenly wide from across the room.
“Why am I here?” she asked softly. “Why are you showing me your private space?”
I was next to her in an instant, my big arms drawing her softness against me.
“Because, Little One, I intend on tasting you tonight,” I rumbled into her ear.
* * *
Grab the first volume of my serial Just One Night here for only 99 pennies!
A Sneak Peek: Their Secret
~An MMF Bisexual Secret Baby Romance~
* * *
Want to hear about our newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join our mailing lists at www.subscribepage.com/alphamalesontop and get a FREE book just for joining!
About This Book
Their Secret: An MMF Bisexual Secret Baby Romance
Rule One: Don’t date your therapist.
Rule Two: Don’t date the man of the house.
Rule Three: Definitely don’t date both at once.
Easy right?
Guess again.
I’ve always had a strange relationship with my stepdad Gray.
We don’t get each other.
Well, I get him.
I see that body, hard and muscular.
And my mom’s long gone, so why not?
But Gray’s moral. A good guy. He wants me, but he doesn’t.
So we go to therapy together.
Except the therapist is gorgeous.
Mason Channing, PhD, helps couples resolve their issues.
But Dr. Channing’s not interested in fixing things because he’s interested in something else.
My curves.
My wetness.
Making me pant … as Gray watches.
This is wrong.
So bad.
Totally taboo.
But it’s the best therapy I’ve ever had …
29
Mona
A loud sound startles me awake as I toss around on my fluffy bed. Sitting up, surrounded by a mountain of pillows, I listen intently until the sound reveals itself to be Gray’s shoes moving through the foyer. He’s home, are my thoughts as I roll over and bury my face in the pillows. Seems like that’s starting to happen more and more often nowadays.
Ever since my mom jetted right after their wedding, Gray has been working like a maniac and coming back really late. I don’t blame him. Kathy leaving so soon was a shock, and the way she did it was crazy too. No note. No nothing. Just one day … gone.
And at first, I wanted to talk with my new stepdad about what happened. But what is there to say? Kathy is the most irresponsible person on the planet. She’s never taken anything seriously – and unfortunately, her marriage was no exception.
So Gray and I have barely spoken since the disastrous wedding. And now that there’s only three months left to graduation, I’m not sure what’s going to happen next. I have no place to go. No job. No options. Really, Grayson Thorn is the only person I could lean on, even if our relationship isn’t close.
But it’s hard to blame Mom for this situation because her life hasn’t exactly been moonlight and rainbows. Kathy was around my age when boom! Pregnancy struck. Needless to say, my dad wasn’t in the picture. So the poor thing was all on her own, forced to grow up real fast suddenly.
And I guess that kind of explains it. I stole my mom’s teen years, and the minute it was possible, Kathy sought to reclaim her youth. The woman became a social butterfly to the max, dating like a whirlwind. At first, there were a string of lovers, a new guy every couple weeks. Let me tell you, the moans that came from her room were insane, especially to a shy virgin like myself.
But things get old fast, and when Kathy met Gray, it seemed like a dream come true. First, he was ten times better than anyone else she dated. Tall, handsome, and a billionaire to boot. What someone like that saw in Kathy was beyond me, but I wasn’t going to complain.
Second, Mr. Thorn gave her everything. Clothes, jewelry, and lavish vacations were all part of the picture. Of course, Kathy wasn’t above using him for his money.
“Mona, I just hope you’ll be happy for me,” Mom purred, standing in front of her mirror, admiring that figure in a designer gown. Kathy has always been beautiful, and I had to admit that she looked stunning in the exquisite lace creation, the fabric molded just so to her voluptuous form. “Someday, I’m sure you’ll find a man who will buy you stuff like this,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes in the mirror.
I’d doubted that. Even at sixteen, reality was already starkly clear. I’ve always been an ugly duckling: chubby, brunette, and far too shy to hold the interest of a real man. I’m nothing like my mother…and I have a feeling it’s always bothered her that we’re so different.
Because whereas I’m frugal and serious, Kathy is fun and exciting, the girl invited to every party. And Gray’s money just enabled her. Sure enough, within two months of meeting her new beau, Mom developed an obsession with plastic surgery. At first, it was just small things. A nip here, a tuck there, nothing too obvious. But things escalated real fast. Her nose job was botched, calling for revision surgery. And then the revision surgery went off the rails, and a specialist had to be brought in to re-sculpt her entire face.
Did any of this get her down? No. Kathy was airy about the whole thing, proclaiming that she’d come out as beautiful as Angelina Jolie. And the thing is that my mom really is gorgeous, even if her face seems a little frozen. So long as you squint, the woman does look like a twenty five year-old bouncy blonde, albeit with uber-sculpted cheekbones that could never exist in real life.
But Kathy is Kathy, and she doesn’t know a good thing even if it smacks her in the face. Because a week after the wedding, the crazy woman disappeared. Can you believe it? Not many ladies get a shot at permanence with someone like Grayson Thorn. After all, the man is power and charisma come to life. Tall, dark, dominating, plus the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Why would she run off on someone like that?
Unfortunately, there are no easy answers. I’ve been wondering myself for two years, and still, nothing makes sense. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, and it’s better to move on and make the best out of my life. Maybe I don’t belong at Waverly Mansion, but at least no one’s kicked me out yet.
Because it took a while to warm up. With my mom gone, I wasn’t sure of my place anymore. What would Gray say? Would he ask me to leave? Where would I go? But after a couple weeks of not seeing him, I gave up. The man had to be devastated with his new wife leaving him in the dirt so soon after their nuptials. So I carried on as usual, tiptoeing from room to room, obediently going to school like a good girl.
And maybe six months after the wedding, my stepdad finally reappeared. One night I came down at 3 a.m. to drink some milk. Shockingly, Gray was in the kitchen, tall and ominous in a perfectly cut black suit.
“Um hi,” I stammered, flushing like crazy. My nightie was nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, almost see through with age. It was embarrassing, the short hem indecent.
But I hadn’t expected to see anyone at this time, so the vision of this massive male looming before the refrigerator took me by surprise. Where had he been? What was he going to say? Should I start packing my bags?
But Gray remained mum. Instead, he shot me an ominous look from under lowered brows before spinning on his heel and disappearing up the stairs. My lungs immediately filled with air, like I’d unwittingly been holding my breath. Oh god. Gray was here. He was back. Mentally, I prepared myself for the worst.
But that’s the thing. I didn’t see him again for another six months. Waverly Mansion was empty except for me and the help, and when I did see my stepdad, it was fleeting. Just a glimpse here or there, or the sound of footsteps late at night. The CEO was probably working himself to the bone to take his mind off his marital disaster.
And now, after two years, I finally feel kind of normal at Waverly. Gray is nothing but a ghost most of the time. So I’ve slowly adapted to my new existence, although the lavish lifestyle is definitely over the top. After all, who really needs a butler, a housekeeper, a slew of maids, a chef, a sous-chef, and god knows how many gardeners? I’m here on my own mostly, just one person. The marble sinks, crystal chandeliers, and golden fixtures are wonderful, but totally unnecessary. As a girl with working class roots, any small, humble place to call my own would be fine.
So yeah, I stared at myself in the mirror with wonder. It’s weird sometimes. A princess should be living here, but I’m just plain old me. Unruly brown curls. Big brown eyes. And curves that go on for days. With my palm pressed against my belly, I take a deep breath in, turning to the side to see my silhouette before exhaling and watching my curves reappear. Yep. I’m a big girl from every angle. Holding my breath does nothing.
Even worse, I’m a virgin without any prospects. Sure, there are the boys at school who gawk at my body, but they’re disgusting. Fifteen year-old perverts all, looking at stroke mags with sticky, crusted pages. No one like my stepdad, not even close.
And that’s the worst part. Because nothing turns me on more than thinking of Gray. There, I said it. It’s so wrong – he’s my stepfather after all. Plus, he’s probably still heartbroken over my mom. In the years since she left, he’s never dated, as far as I know. The man probably just works like a machine, minting money 24/7.
But lately, the alpha’s been around more often. Working in his office. Eating a meal at the dining table when I tiptoe by. His voice in the distance, ordering some lackey to do this or that.
And speaking of which, that low, sensual growl is tickling my ear right now. He must be at home, talking to someone on the phone. Maybe ordering Consuela to shine his shoes? I have no idea. Butterflies begin fluttering in my stomach as I creep closer to the sound, like a moth drawn to flame.
It shouldn’t be this way. He’s my stepfather for crying out loud. But recently, I’ve been having sexual urges I can’t explain or control – daydreams that are both embarrassing and inappropriate, making me flush wildly when I open my eyes. And confiding in Lydia, my best friend, just makes it worse. She blows my concerns off, saying that it’s normal. It’s part of growing up, is her breezy reply, the whole adolescent hormonal thing.
But what Lydia doesn’t know is that my fantasies are about my stepdad.
Yeah, these dirty fantasies are about Grayson Thorn doing the most disgusting, raunchy things to my body. Images of the billionaire keep me up at night, boobies heaving and little cunt moist. I dream of the alpha, envisioning those penetrating blue eyes and massive build making me his woman.
