My hands tremble. Can he smell it? Can he smell the wet pussy scent, my personal musk?
Oh god, oh god.
Please, just let the earth open up and swallow me whole.
Because sure enough, those masculine nostrils flare, blue eyes growing brighter. And my traitorous body responds.
A deep tingle starts in my belly, growing as it becomes an ache in my womb. I’d beg if I had to, get down on my knees and do whatever they wanted. Whatever this man wants.
But first things first. I finish wrapping his hand but make no immediate move to step away. Because where would I go? He has me pinned between the wall and the sink, there’s no space in this tiny upstairs bathroom.
So I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say. My words come out like a croak.
“Hey,” I manage. “Hope that’s okay.”
Oh god. Why do I always come off as nervous and inexperienced? Maybe it’s because I am nervous and inexperienced, and a slow grin covers the dark man’s face, those eyes flashing dangerously.
But talk about bad timing. Because as we stare at each other in the bathroom, the air electric, who materializes but Matt, Tim, Will, and Trent, four looming forms in the hallway.
“Yo man,” Tim growls. “What’s going on in here?”
“How’d you get your hands on our girl so quick?” adds Will with a frown. “Goddamn bro, talk about moving at light speed.”
And finally, Trent claps the strange man on his back.
“I see you’ve met our neighbor Macy. Welcome to the club, Ford.”
Ah ha, so his name is Ford. I steal another glance at the dark man. Sure enough, he’s weathered around the edges, older than his brothers, but just as good-looking in a worn-in, mature kind of way.
And in reply, Ford grunts, never taking his eyes off me.
“Yo,” is all he says. Clearly, not a talker, even if that hot gaze is crawling all over my form, making me heat up from the inside. Oh god, is this the girl I’ve become? Or maybe I was always like this. Maybe these huge, dark-haired gods woke something inside that was asleep before. But unfortunately, the “real me” is a chubby, shy, nerd-girl who likes to cook and can’t hold a conversation, especially not with gorgeous men.
So I stammer again.
“Hi,” comes my murmur. “Good morning.”
And it’s a good morning too because my nips point straight at the men, fluid beginning to seep down my thighs. Oh god! Why do I have to be creaming right now, with five guys staring at my bod? Why, why, why? I should be taken to jail and put there until I learn to control my responses.
But the brothers don’t look disturbed at all.
“Hey honey,” drawls Matt, eyes appreciative. “Think you forgot something.”
I’ve forgotten my name, my age, where I live, and all my important stats. But no matter.
A blush creeps over my cheeks.
“I know, your brother was bleeding so I just ran out of the house,” comes my stammer. “It was an emergency.”
Trent smiles lazily then.
“No worries, Ford’s in good hands now. I’m a doctor, I can take over.”
I nod gratefully.
“I’ll just be going then,” are my soft words, trying to make for the door, clearing out some personal space. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
But not one of the men budges.
“Baby,” says Trent again, that deep voice sensuous. “You have blood on you now. Don’t you see?”
And gasping, I look down. Because oh no, there’s red everywhere. It’s smeared on Joe Jonas’s cheek, on my knee, even a bit on the inside of my thigh.
And woozily, my head begins to spin again. Taking a deep breath, I grab onto the edge of the sink.
“No worries,” comes my breathy pant. “If you’ll just give me a minute to get changed, I can take this off and get some new clothes and ….”
But the world is crowding me in, all five brothers coming closer now. As if in a dream, we squeeze into the tiny space, the door shutting softly behind Matt. And then one man reaches out to stroke the curve of my ass. Who, I’m not even sure. But the feel of a firm, male touch on my butt makes me jump, eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” comes my gasp. “Who did that?”
The men chuckle, five sets of blazing blue eyes on my body.
“It doesn’t matter,” growls Ford gently, that voice rough yet soft at once. “But you’re dirty honey, from bandaging my wound. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
And at that moment, another set of big male hands reaches forwards and lifts the hem of my nightie, the soft material covering my vision for a moment before being torn off.
I gasp, my breath hitching, now standing before them in only sopping panties, boobies out and at attention. God, is this really happening? Am I living in a dream that will never stop? Is this summer going to be one encounter after another, the Morgan boys my personal harem?