My 3 Rockstar Bosses

Damn.

This is one special girl.

My interest’s piqued, for sure.

But Smith’s got more to share.

“So yeah. And then the next day, Ford hurt himself working on that heap-of-shit bike. The girl runs out in some tiny t-shirt and her panties, playing Florence Nightingale. Gets blood all over herself. And then these assholes convince her to take a shower. In front of them. Nude and steamy. Damn,” Smith continues, eyes faraway. “Wish I’d been there. Matt says she put on a helluva show, coming like a champ under the water. Real squirter, he says.”

I tally the count in my mind. That’s Matt, Tim, Will, Trent and Ford. Okay, five out of seven. Doing well.

“What about you?” comes my rumble. “You get a taste yet?”

Smith nods slowly.

“I’m a lucky man, dude. After the shower, she comes floating down the stairs in only Tim’s t-shirt, and lets me pet her sweet, wet cunt while we talk. In front of everyone.”

Hot damn. I’m hard just hearing all of this. Adjusting my cock, a long, slow breath escapes.

“Well, shit. I’ve gotta to meet this Macy Jones then.”

Scrunching my brow, I try to think back. But nada. I don’t remember this little girl next door. Maybe my mom told me the neighbor had a baby, but fuck, I was a little bastard then, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four at the time, dabbling with working girls. Why would I care about some neighbor’s baby?

Now, though? I care. I care so much that my dick is stretching out from its slumber. I banged the stewardess on my flight from the city, but that was hours ago, a brief interlude in the Mile High Club.

And this is completely different. This woman could be the mother of our child, the answer to our hopes. My cock knows how important this is.

Smith’s still in his reverie though.

“You should see the girlie,” he says. Shit, his boner’s growing as well, long and thick under his pants. “Long, curly hair. Big, brown eyes. Full breasts, luscious mouth. Small waist but thick around the midsection and even thicker in the rump. She’s a dream.”

I groan.

“Stop, man,” I say, putting up a hand. “Unless you want to watch me jack off right here and now.”

Smith shrugs.

“Do whatever you want,” he says. “Whip that shit out. But I’m telling you, you might want to save that load. Macy’s responsive and sexy, but also shy. Slutty but subservient. Smart as whip, and a good cook too. Fucking perfect for us.”

Holy mother of god. How can one woman be all these things? Sexy but shy? Slutty but subservient? A goddess in the kitchen? She’s a mass of different adjectives, yet every piece perfect, complementing one another.

“Goddamn,” I grunt. “Fuck.”

“You won’t be let down,” my bro answers, giving me a knowing grin. “You’ll see. Because Mom’s invited the Joneses over for dinner tonight, so you’ll meet her soon enough. Just don’t blow it.”

I know w

hat he’s saying. With the seven of us there, all eyes on the sweet brunette, what girl could handle it? It’s more like she’d crack from the pressure, or even worse, run screaming when she realizes what we want.

So I brace myself. Dinner will be the first real test. Seven men and one woman. But there’s no sense in getting carried away. Because we have an eighteen year-old nymphet on our hands, but what are the chances that she’s ready? To have a baby? To take up with seven men? And seven brothers, no less.

Probably less than zero. Experience has made me wary. So downing my drink in one gulp, I stand, rising to full height in the tiny living room.

“See ya,” I grunt, heading up to my childhood room. There are charts to pore over, and more money to be made. Might as well take my mind off the female because frankly, the chances of Macy being the one are slim. So I’m not gonna get carried away. Sure, it’ll be great to get a look. But more likely, the teen girl isn’t gonna be able to handle us once she realizes the full scope of what we want … or so I think.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Macy