My 3 Rockstar Bosses

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 go

d, 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.

But no sweat. We’ve got a moneymaking machine, and medical bills aren’t gonna do us in. In fact, if anything, we’re doubling down. My brothers and I are contemplating a sizeable donation to the hospital, maybe to build a wing or something. That way, our dad will get the best treatment.

It’s not how we usually roll. We’re generally undercover and low pro, there’s no need for peeps to know that we roll in dough, money spouting from our ears. But this time, it’s for dear old Dad. So maybe we’ll throw off the cloak of anonymity and go for it. Maybe we’ll let the world know just how loaded the Morgan brothers are.

Shaking off my suit jacket, I take a deep breath, powerful chest expanding. Shit, they cut suits so tight these days, making us look like British dandies. But there’s an image to keep up, and I can’t roll into work wearing some baggy shit down to my knees.

So taking another deep breath, I breathe deep. At least the tie is gone, no longer a noose around my neck. But when I look up, a vision appears. A mirage, shimmery and magical. Is it the extra oxygen? Now that I can breathe, is the rush of extra air making me see things?

No, can’t be. Because what day nurse wears a t-shirt only? With no pants? That can’t be right. Plus, this curvy little angel has long, wet hair trailing down her back, with a freshly scrubbed look.

I do a double-take. Because yeah, the brunette’s literally wearing nothing but a man’s undershirt, baggy and oversize. But the thin material does nothing to hide those wide hips, the big, bouncy boobs, like juicy fruit to be savored.

Unbidden, my dick hardens. Shit, I’ve got needs. You don’t sit in front of computer banks all day without the sperm boiling in your balls. And damn, but this little girl is right up my alley. Those pink lips are full and luscious, her tongue unconsciously licking along the bottom one. Tantalizing. Like a kitten.

But it’s the girl’s eyes that give her away. They’re velvety and caramel, heavy-lidded in that I just got fucked kind of way.

Oh yeah, I know that look well. Girls fall onto my dick, it’s like they rain from the sky, seating their pussies on my cock. I don’t even need to lift a finger, it just happens. So that freshly fucked look was totally familiar.

Except … aw shit. Five of my brothers materialize behind the girl, giant forms looming. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Really, losers? You guys pounded this sweet thing until she couldn’t take it anymore? And then dressed her in a men’s t-shirt? What, you got pudding for brains? Worse than that, all five of you?

But they don’t care. As we pause in the hallway, eyeing one another, satisfied grins break out on their faces.

“Really?” I grunt. “Really?”

They nod like a bunch of fucking puppies. Damn them. Oh yeah, some level-two gangbang just went on, hot and heavy wherever they were. But this time it’s different. Because the five asshats actually look serious, even if their heads are about to pop off with happiness.

“Really?” I grunt again. “This one?”

And this time, they nod in unison, expressions pleased. Because oh yeah. If we’ve found “The One,” then hallelujah, praise be. The Lord giveth, and he taketh away. But this time, he giveth generously.

Because we’ve been looking for one woman. The holy grail of females. Sharing isn’t new to us, in fact. We shared toys. We shared books and sporting equipment. We shared all sorts of shit, there were seven of us, for crying out loud. And yes, as soon as our dicks started working properly, we shared girls.