My
four stepbrothers have very different ideas of what I should be
studying and where I should get my lessons.
I
say I should be studying for my science degree, while they say it
should be sex ed.
I
say I should be at home with my textbooks, while they say we should
go to a sex club.
Compromise:
A few hours at the club could be the perfect way to break up my study
sessions.
But
when I find out what my stepbrothers really do for a living and that
my mom got caught in the crossfire, the lies unravel.
Can
I trust anything my family has told me?
If
you love dirty-talking stepbrothers who have over-the-top ideas of
how to please their woman, schedule a study date with these guys.
A
fast-paced, reverse harem romance novella!
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We’re wrapping up a phone call with our father, who’s out of town, when we pull up to his house. He’s on speaker phone so we can all hear.
“Carolyn told me not to ask you, but I could never forgive myself if something happened to her daughter. Make sure Esme gets settled in, and if you don’t mind staying for the week before she heads back to school, that would be even better.”
Great, the child prodigy genius who has a higher IQ than me and my three brothers combined will love being checked on. I’m sure our presence will go over like a lead balloon.
Maybe she’s one of those all brains and no common sense types.
But we owe the affluent lives we’ve been brought up in, our jobs in the Bratva, and basically everything to our father. So if it will put his mind at ease, we’re there for him.
Our vacation in Greece will be there when we finish.
We head in the front door and there’s some kind of motivational speaking blaring through the home stereo system. What the hell is our stepsister listening to? Sounds boring as hell, something about med school. I thought she was getting her PhD. Whatever…PhD, med school, do I even know the difference? Aren’t they all called doctors once they graduate?
We each head a different direction, calling for Esme.
A faint sound, not a response, comes from the laundry room. As I round the corner, the most innocent-looking, petite, wide-eyed thing jumps out, her tits spilling out of her bra.
My dick’s going hard about the same time I realize she’s swinging the wooden end of a mop at me. What the fuck? I’m so distracted by why she’s only wearing a bra and panties that I can’t regroup fast enough. Maybe because all my blood’s headed to my dick.
“Oof!” The wooden shaft nails my gut, but my abs instinctively tense, minimizing the impact.
I rip it from her hands and toss it to the side before she goes for an eye or nut jab.
“Esme?”
She jumps back, crossing one of her arms in front of her milky mounds. The other hand rushes lower, her fingers splayed wide in front of her panties. My lower brain wishes she’d sink those fingers between her legs and show me how she likes to be pleased. And that hand covering her tits….she could play with her nipple.
But since she looks so damn innocent, I’ll offer to do it for her.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” The waver in her voice leaves me feeling like an ass. She juts an arm to the counter, taps her phone, and the podcast stops.
“It’s me, your stepbrother, Yakov.”
Her eyes go even wider. “How do I know I can trust you? Prove it.”
“Haven’t you seen pictures of us?” Although, it would be fair to admit that the pictures we’ve seen of her don’t look quite like the seductress in front of us.
She hesitates. “Mom doesn’t really talk about you.”
“Weird, but okay.” I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and produce a driver’s license. While she studies it, my eyes rake over her body. She’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.
My father would be livid if he knew the thoughts running through my mind. My brothers pile in behind me, presumably hearing us.
“I need clothes.” She’s still trying to cover herself, her alarm escalating as they come in. She rushes to the side, throws the washing machine open, pulls a wet blanket out, and drapes it in front of herself. What the fuck is she doing? Like we’ve never seen a naked woman before.
I’m tempted to crack a joke about learning how to properly use a mop but she’s too nervous.
“Okay, guys, cover your eyes, get out of here. Let her get dressed. And be careful of the wet floor, Esme. Our father would be pissed if you got hurt and end up in the…I don’t want you hurt.”
I almost say end up in the hospital like your mom, but he told us she doesn’t know her mom’s in the hospital. Esme thinks they’ve gone on vacation because apparently Esme doesn’t understand that her mother married into the Bratva.
But news to all of us is that her mother is an informant to the FBI. That provides extra complications since our family has been working with them lately, but didn’t realize she was playing both sides. That explains why they didn’t admit her to the local hospital. They hope to keep her business out of the prying eyes of people close to home.
As we back away, Esme says, “Could you grab my clothes from the kitchen counter and throw them in here, please?”
Timofey grabs her neatly folded shirt and shorts, hands them to me, and I set them inside the laundry room door before pulling it shut.
When she comes out, her perky nipples are no match for her t-shirt or my cock. Damn.
She must have gotten her bra and panties all wet with the blanket, and taken them off. Assuming she’s not wearing anything under her shorts or t-shirt has my dick even harder.
Zak is first to speak up. “I’m Zakhar, but you can call me Zak.”
In case she was too startled to get my name a minute ago, I offer it again. “I’m Yakov.”
She laughs. “If he’s Zakhar and I can call him Zak, can I call you Yak?”
My brothers crack up but I won’t be their laughing-stock just because our names can be awkward for non-Russians.
“If you can’t say Yakov, we’ll find a different name.” I’m tempted to have her call me a lot of things, but I’m not going to go into those right now.
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Sylvie
Haas obsesses over dirty-talking heroes who fall hard and fast for
the women of their dreams. And often you’ll find heroes, yes
plural, in one book because Sylvie has such a hard time making the
heroine choose one possessive guy.
On most days, you
can find Sylvie with the wind in her hair, her fingers on the
keyboard, and her mind in the gutter as she thinks up new places her
characters can get frisky.
Sylvie Haas books
will always deliver a happily ever after, and even though they’re
short, they’ll leave you satisfied!
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