My 3 Rockstar Bosses

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.

And with a disappointed grunt, he does. That big hand drops away, leaving her wide, white expanse bare, the t-shirt pulled up.

Hot damn, it’s so perfect. But still, introductions need to be made.

“So you said your name is Macy?” I ask, looking over at my brothers for confirmation.

She nods. “Macy Jones.”