Chapter 9
brETT
I t’s been twenty-four hours of rough sex and repeated filthy fucks.
We’ve worked Misty’s curves over front and back, using her three holes relentlessly as she cries out with pleasure.
She should be in the hospital, getting her fluids replaced and taking electrolytes after what Chris and I have put her through.
Yet the young woman sits at the table, eating her lunch as if nothing untoward has happened. In fact, Misty looks as innocent as an angel with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, her features free of make-up, and a sweet smile on her face as she enjoys Chris’s hearty grilled cheese.
“I adore grilled cheese, but this is next level,” she murmurs with appreciation after swallowing a hefty bite. “What did you put in it? It’s so gooey and delicious!”
Chris beams with pleasure. The motherfucker’s chest literally puffs out, like he’s a second grader being awarded a gold star.
“It’s all in the ingredients,” he announces proudly.
“I start with artisanal white bread, and then butter both sides using the good stuff from Avon Farms. Their cows get plenty of sunshine and alfalfa from what I’ve heard, and are given the freedom to roam their pastures.
Then, I use cheese from various sources, including Emmental from Jack Pelletier, cheddar from Pico Farms, a white cheddar from Brock Woods, and a little mozzarella just to give it that gooey, stringy finish. ”
I can’t stop myself then because is this fucker alright? My buddy’s acting like a doofus and I’m embarrassed for him. Seriously, Chris is the opposite of an alpha male right now.
“What he’s saying is that he’s a fucking idiot,” I growl, rolling my eyes. “What the hell?”
But Chris doesn’t give a shit. He merely shrugs those broad shoulders and turns to Misty again.
“Tell me what you like to eat, sweetheart. Both Brett and I are good in the kitchen, so we’ll whip up delicious meals for you.”
I grunt again because we’re not exactly “good” in the kitchen.
Both Cross and I retain private chefs because neither of us have time to cook.
We’re CEOs in the real world, and besides, I have two sons.
Brandon and Brent are now at college, thank fuck, but before they left, they were going through truckloads of groceries per week.
Our chef literally had to work non-stop just to keep those fuckers fed, which meant slaving in front of a stove twelve hours a day. Yeah, I pay someone to do the cooking.
But of course, Misty doesn’t know any of this because we keep our real lives on the downlow.
Hell, Chris and I have even assumed fake names for our month of sinful living, seeing that we don’t want the girls to google us and discover our real lives.
Thus, Cross is “Chris” and I’m “Brett.” What a fucking shitshow.
But Cross is leaning into his fake persona because it’s entertaining and it’s not lying, exactly. We’re sticking to the broad outline of our lives; we’re just not providing identifying details for obvious reasons. He nods as Misty asks another question.
“We met in school,” he says, jerking his chin at me. “We’re alum of Western University and played lacrosse together back in the day. The workouts were brutal, and we bonded trying to survive that shit at six a.m. in the morning, five days a week.”
“Oh, lacrosse!” Misty nods, with her eyes wide. “To be honest, I’d never even heard of lacrosse before matriculating at Evergreen. It’s not really the type of sport you get to know when you live in a group home.”
“That, and it’s mostly played by men,” I growl. “I think they have D1 lacrosse for women now, but it was a long time coming. But yeah, I picked it up when I was in high school, and it made sense. I’ve always been a decent runner, and I was good with my hands too. They recruited me from baseball.”
“What the fucker is saying is that he wasn’t good enough at baseball to get recruited,” Chris smirks, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “So he settled for lacrosse.”
I shrug.
“Hey, it got me into Western because my grades were total shit. I wouldn’t even have gone to college, if it weren’t lacrosse. I’d probably be working with my hands instead of the sweet gig I have now.”
Misty’s eyes sparkle.
“And what do you do career-wise, Brett? You’re obviously very successful with your fancy haircut and designer sweats.”
I grunt because my hair is chopped by a specialty barber in Minneapolis, and it costs three hundred fucking dollars per appointment. And yes, I’m wearing designer sweats, but the logo’s not apparent. Yet it seems Misty can recognize high quality fabric and color, and I appreciate that about her.
“Chris and I aren’t really mountain men,” I growl. “We just come out here to fish, hunt, and shoot the shit on vacations. Our real lives are in the city.”
Misty smiles sweetly.
“That’s what I guessed, actually. I didn’t truly think you guys were roughing it on the mountain. Not with the designer cheese and artisanal bread,” she giggles.
At that, Chris smacks the side of her rump with a large hand, making her jump and shriek with joy.
“Really,” he asks. “It’s the cheese that gave us away.”
Misty giggles and nods again.
“Yes, that and the hair,” she says. “Both of you have great hair, and not the overgrown shag I’d expect of mountain men. Plus, this is a nice place. I don’t know how someone could afford it if they never work. What do you guys do? Are you remote one hundred percent?”
I shake my head.
“Naw, sweetheart, we just come out here to relax. We both have jobs in the city, which unfortunately, take up too much fucking time. I’m a venture capitalist, and Chris here is a CEO.”
“Wow,” Misty breathes, her eyes wide. “That must be a lot of responsibility.”
My buddy merely shrugs his broad shoulders, the plaid fabric stretching over his bulk.
“The company’s been in my family for generations, actually. Have you ever heard of the Pony Express?”
Misty’s brow creases for a moment.
“You mean, how riders used to deliver mail on horseback? That Pony Express?”
“Yeah, exactly,” Chris grins, showing off even white teeth. “My family was in that business, but it kept morphing through the years. Now, we’re a credit card company,” he drawls ironically. “Which is good because it means I never had to take up horseback-riding.”
“Otherwise you’d be playing polo, instead of lacrosse,” I drawl.
“Good point,” my buddy nods before flashing Misty another grin. “It’s a job. I’ve been at the company ever since graduating, which means I’ve been there about twenty-five years now.”
“Wow, that’s a long time,” Misty breathes, her eyes wide. “I thought people job-hopped all the time these days.”
I nod thoughtfully.
“Young people do, but we’re not exactly young, sweetheart. Chris and I are forty-five, and we came up in a different era. I’ve been with my firm for about twenty years now too. It’s just a different mentality.”
Chris chuckles.
“And don’t let this fucker downplay his accomplishments,” he drawls. “Brett here is an uber-successful venture capitalist. You’ve made billions for your firm, haven’t you?”
I shrug.
“I have an eye for the good shit. I can tell when a young company has good bones with a decent chance of becoming a unicorn. I can also differentiate between founders that are all hype, and founders that are the real thing. It’s people that make the difference.
” But then I turn to Misty. “Don’t let us bore you with our shop talk, sweetheart. Tell us more about yourself.”
“Oh, there isn’t much to know,” Misty demurs, before taking a small sip of tea. “I’m just a student at Evergreen College, trying to get by as I put in my four years.”
I nod.
“And what’s your major?”
Misty flushes beautifully, smiling a bit.
“I don’t know because I’m just a freshman, but I’m thinking early childhood development. Maybe? I’m not sure yet. There’s still time before I have to declare.”
Suddenly, I get an image of the curvy girl, her belly bulging with pregnancy.
Misty’s flushed and swollen, and utterly delectable as she stirs something on the stove.
There’s a tot strapped to a high chair nearby, banging his spoon on the tray, and Misty steps away from the stove for a moment to press a tender kiss to his head.
That’s when I see it : the child has eyes just like mine.
What the fuck? I’m done with this raising kids shit! I already have Brandon and Brent, who are adults now, thank fuck. There’s no way in hell I’m going through that again, and especially not with young children who need constant care.
Yet the image of Misty pregnant as a young mother makes possession flow through my veins.
Mine, mine, mine , the voice in my head chants.
My fingers twitch even as my cock aches because I want to cup her big breasts in my hands, gently skimming my fingertips against her stiff nipples.
I want to press a kiss to her swollen belly, before worshipping her cunt and licking her through the worst of her practice contractions.
Even crazier, I want her to have multiple children.
My children. A houseful of rugrats sounds about right.
I can tell that Chris is visualizing the same thing too, from the possessive flare in his navy eyes.
His big hands grip into fists on his thighs, and I know he’s imagining running them over Misty’s pregnant form.
He, too, wants to kiss her bulging belly to say hello to the child within, before worshiping her gravid form with his mouth, lips, and tongue.
Then, we’ll both slide our dicks inside her pregnant pussy because there’s nothing like sex with a woman who’s expecting.
Their pussies are uncommonly wet, and the contractions so powerful that I’ve literally been pushed out before.
The imagery is so powerful that we both lose it. Whatever Misty was saying about her potential college major falls on deaf ears as we rise to our feet. Then, I sweep the young woman into my arms, bridal-style, as she lets out a squeak of surprise.
“What are you doing?” she squeals, grabbing onto a thick bicep for balance. “Oh my god!”
“We’re doing exactly what we promised, sweetheart,” I say in a throaty voice before bending my head to kiss that plush pout. “We’re going to fuck your curvy form, sweetheart, because you were built for us.”
Then, the three of us are in the bedroom, making love again.
It’s furious, it’s fast, it’s wet, obscene, and everything in between.
Misty moans, her delicate features cast in ecstasy, as she takes our hard cocks again and again.
I know she can’t get pregnant because the service verifies that all girls are on protection.
Even we wouldn’t agree to the arrangement if she wasn’t using some type of contraceptive.
Still, a man can’t help but fantasize .. . because Misty is a dream come true.