And Baxter was like no man I’d ever encountered. I was having trouble breathing properly, sitting next to him. I know, I know—I should be more shaken up by what had happened, what hadalmosthappened, but Baxter had stopped them before they could do anything to me, aside from scare me and paw at me a little—and I’d been groped worse the one time I decided to try and brave a club with a couple girls from my poli-sci program. I mean, yes, I was shaken up. And, no, I wouldn’t be walking down any more dark streets alone at night. But for some reason, Baxter’s very presence just made me feel…safe.
And also he scared the absolute sense right out of me. Literally.
I was drinking wine, and feeling the vodka cranberry he’d made me. I didn’t drink all that much or that frequently, so it didn’t take much to get me tipsy. Getting drunk around a man like Baxter might be troublesome, I knew. Not because I thought he would do anything untoward while I was intoxicated—I had no way of knowing for sure, but I just got the feeling that he wouldn’t take advantage of me like that. No, the danger was from myself. I might do something embarrassing and forward and stupid, if I got too drunk around him.
Because I was attracted to him.
I’d gotten caught staring at his…um…member.Which, as Claire’s interrupted insinuation had hinted at, was…well, a LOT. The couple of times I’d slept with Thomas, it had always been quick and in the dark, and Thomas had been in control, which meant I hadn’t had an opportunity to…explore, shall we say. So even though I wasn’t a virgin, I wasn’t exactly familiar, in a personal experience sort of way, with a man’s, errr, tackle. At all.
But, from what I’d seen—which had only been the outline behind his trunks, Baxter was…ah…well-endowed. It had looked big enough to make my hands involuntarily tighten, and my mouth go dry, and my knees press together.
I realized abruptly that Claire was talking and that I was meant to be listening. I forced my attention to Claire’s story.
“…And I was like, hell, why not, right? I had all this vacation time saved up, and it sounded like fun, so I booked an Alaskan cruise. Which was a sweet vacation, let me tell you. I spent the whole time on the deck, in a teeny bikini, drinking wine and catching up on my TBR list. Literally, that was all I did. Well, except for one of the bellboys, once. And the first mate, in exchange for a secret tour of the cockpit.”
Mara shrieked. “What? You never told me this!” She threw another magazine at Claire. “You fucked a bellboyandthe first mate on that cruise?”
I blinked in surprise, and assumed Claire had been joking. But she just shrugged. “Mara, diddly-dinkums, it’s not like I’ve told you about every single dude I’ve ever fucked or messed around with. Onlymostof them.”
“But the first mate of an Alaskan cruise line? That’s kinda major news to keep to yourself, hooker.”
Claire snickered. “Not if you’d seen him. He wasn’t anything to write home about. Nice cock on him, though, and I’d rate him six out of ten on technique.” I choked on my wine, and spluttered; Claire chortled at me in amusement. “What? Six out of ten is actually a decent score. I’ve fucked threes and fours. A two, once. Brock is a ten, obviously. Or, like, eleven or twelve. Maybe even a twenty. He does this thing where he—”
“CLAIRE!” Mara bellowed. “Overshare, babe. Even for me.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, but is this…for real? Or are you joking? I know I might be a tiny bit naive, but your sense of humor is a bit dry, so it’s hard to tell.”
“My sense of humor is dry-ice dry, babe,” Claire said. “It’s a rare humor style called ‘sick burn’. And no, I’m not joking. I’m telling the real story as it actually happened.”
I looked to Mara for confirmation, and she just nodded. “Yes, she really was that much of a ho, until she met Brock.”
“I really was. Brock has changed me, however. He has converted me from my sluttiness into a one-man woman.” Claire glanced at the door to the stairs, which opened to admit a line of men each more handsome and sexy than the last. “Speaking of whom…hey there, snookums. How was work? Come throat-fuck me with your tongue.”
The first man through the door strode immediately and with purpose across the room and straight to Claire, took her in his brawny arms, and, indeed, kissed her so thoroughly I began to grow uncomfortable. When the kiss ended, he straightened, brushed Claire’s pixie-cut blonde hair aside and kissed her nose, and then her forehead, and then tweaked her nipple.
“Hey you,” he said to her. “Work was fine. Why are you up?” He shot a look at Bax. “Scoot over, would you?”
“What, like your tubby ass is gonna fit on this couch? I don’t think so, GQ.” Bax crossed his enormous arms over his bare chest and shook his head. “Nope. Not scooting. Take your midget woman and go sit somewhere else.”
I looked over the man I was assuming, based on Bax’s introductions and previous description, was Brock, the next oldest Badd brother. And he was, indeed, GQ-model gorgeous. Clean cut, with wavy brown hair combed neatly back and to one side, with the perfect amount of stubble on his jaw, eyes a golden-brown to match Baxter’s, and a lean but powerful build. His face, though, was what set him apart. He was just…beautiful. Not many men can claim that word as an accurate descriptor, but this man? Oh my. Definitely. More than beautiful, it was almost beyond description how just absolutely carved-from-marble perfect his features were. He scooped Claire off the arm of the couch and settled with her on his lap in a deep leather armchair.
Zane, too, was stupidly good looking, but in a deadly sort of way. Looking at Zane was like being three feet away from a wild, hungry Jaguar, seeing its eyes fixed on you and knowing it could pounce at any second and you wouldn’t stand a chance. He just exuded lethality in a way I’ve never encountered before, even among Father’s private security, and the Secret Service members I’d met. He was gorgeous, but he was so outright terrifying in his presence that he made my bladder weaken, just a little; yes, he was pee-your-pants scary. Which reminded me, I had to ask him what he’d done to my erstwhile rapists.
The next man through the door was Sebastian, the bouncer I’d met earlier. Six-four, easily, towering over everyone else in the room, he was somewhere in between Zane and Brock in terms of dangerous bad boy attitude and raw masculine beauty. He had tattoos in what I think are called full sleeves on both arms, going from wrist to up under the sleeves of his T-shirt, short, messy brown hair, and the same liquid chocolate brown eyes as the other men. Handsome as the others, in a rugged, intimidating, intense sort of way. Big, burly, with fierce eyes scanning the room to find Dru. He stomped over to her, kissed her as intensely as Brock had kissed Claire, and then physically picked her up and sat in her place, settling her on his lap, where she curled up against him as if she were a cat. It was adorable and it made my heart ache, seeing the way these big, scary, intense, handsome men treated their wives and girlfriends.
The next two through the door, almost side by side, were Canaan and Corin, from Bishop’s Pawn. Completely identical, differentiated only by their apparel and their hair, they looked every bit the rock stars they were. Nearly as tall as Sebastian and lean and hard, they both wore skinny jeans that were almost but not quite too tight, the cuffs tucked into slouched-open combat boots on one twin and well-worn, Sharpie-decorated Chucks on the other, tight graphic print T-shirts featuring the names of obscure bands on both, full-sleeve tattoos on both, piercings, leather belts with studs and iron crosses, leather bracelets and friendship bracelets and thick leather bands on both arms of both of the twins.
One of the twins had shoulder length hair left loose and messy, drifting across his face and sticking to the stubble on his jaw, and the other had a severe undercut, the sides buzzed and the top left long enough to tie back into a ponytail, with the last two or so inches dyed a bright pink—according to the photo, Canaan was the long-haired one, and Corin had the undercut.
After the twins came another brother, tall and lean and razor-sharp in build and facial features. His hair was easily the longest of any of them, bound low on the nape of his neck, with the end trailing down to mid spine in a thick, wavy, brown ponytail. Like the other brothers, he had dark brown eyes, and was absurdly good looking. This one, though, was…hard to encapsulate in mere words. Not GQ, male model beautiful like Brock, nor rugged and intimidating like Sebastian or the other older brothers, he was…elfin. He reminded me of Tolkien’s description of the elves inLord of the Rings. Definitively masculine, exuding a calm, quiet sense of inner strength and confidence. Sharp featured, exotic looking, with a gaze that flitted around the room and missed nothing. From the photo Dru showed me, and Baxter’s identification, I knew this brother was Lucian.
Lastly, Xavier, the youngest. Like Baxter and Canaan, the long-haired twin, Xavier sported a hipster undercut, but the top of his hair wasn’t as long, instead was just long enough to be messy, wavy, and effortlessly attractive. His hair was by far the darkest brown of any of them, and he was the only one to have green eyes, rather than what seemed to be the Badd brother signature puppies-and-chocolate brown. He had tattoos on his forearms, a complex web of higher math symbols and interlocking geometric shapes, and three small gold rings through each ear, and he was built like the twins and Lucian, meaning tall and rangy and lean. And like all the brothers, he was breathtakingly gorgeous, coming across as a little nerdy and completely unaware of how good looking he was.
And now I had all eight brothers in one space, and it was seriously overwhelming.
I leaned close to Dru and whispered in her ear. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” she whispered back.
