Page 9 of Bro Amazing

I'll have to ask if they had a live-in girlfriend before, and how they had it work with her if they did. So many questions I should have asked before moving in, but my choice is made. I need to focus on the future and what I'm getting out of this situation.

Sitting up, I dig through my boxes for a notebook, pulling on the first pieces of clothing my hands land on as I search. Then I close my eyes and mentally relive my encounter, however brief, with Ethan. I write down how it felt to kiss him, and where his hands traveled over my body, cupping my flesh. My blushdeepens even with the memory as I jot down little details about him caging in my body as I lay beneath him on the bed, his hands bracketing either side of my head. And the moment his cock entered and stretched my pussy, filling me over and over again.

It's so embarrassing to write these private thoughts and feelings down, but thankfully no one will ever know or see it. I need to write it all down so I don't forget all the tiny details. The slap of his hips, or the few times my fingers trailed from toying with my own clit to brush his shaft as it slid in and out of my wet pussy. Even using these words is embarrassing, but I need to get comfortable with them. If I'm going to be a respected spicy romance writer, this is what will be expected of me. And I'm determined to begin as I mean to go on.

I'll have to figure out what type of story I'm writing, besides a steamy one, but that can wait until tomorrow. Once my room is a bit more unpacked and I know where my laptop actually is. I've already made so many decisions today, I can't make another.

I don't even want to go downstairs and tell the guys, my new boyfriends, that I'm all moved in. Mostly. I just want to fall asleep and pretend I'm not using my body to get ahead in my writing career, and that I'm not depending on men to support me financially while I do it.

Chapter Five

When I wake up the next morning, the house is quiet. I decide I might as well make myself comfortable since I don't know how long I'll live here, and will probably spend a lot of time in my room. I can't imagine it'll be comfortable hanging out in the living room with all the guys. There will probably be a weird line between this being a job and my actually being able to actually relax as a person in my own house.

I'm resigned to spending most of my time between these four walls, so I'm setting everything up to be as conducive to working as possible. It'll be good to just focus on my writing—after all, that's the whole reason I'm putting up with this ridiculous agreement. I'll write an amazing, super hot romance using all the techniques the gamers downstairs teach me, and I'll earn enough money off it to move out and live on my own again, this time as a successful author.

It's not until my stomach rumbles for the third time that I brave stepping out into the hall. I've been on edge all morning and avoiding going down to breakfast. I need to learn from these gamers, but it's nerve-wracking. I just met them. They say we're dating now, but this isn't how things normally work. And I know they said food is included, but do they have anything good inthe kitchen? More questions I should have thought to ask before I moved in, but there was no time, what with my being evicted from my last apartment.

The stairs creak as I sneak downstairs. I live here now so I shouldn't have to sneak, but I'm hiding from my new so-called boyfriends. I mean, Ethan showed up in my room last night to fuck me. Obviously they know I'm here.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I realize I have no idea where the kitchen is in this house.Time to explore, I guess.

I follow the main hallway farther back into the house, taking in the general shabbiness of the place. Do they not see it, or do they not care?

The door to their computer room is open, and even though I'm not supposed to go in, I can't help but take a peek. It's dark, save for a few bright neon rope lights glowing. I have a laptop that I love, but I could never imagine setting up something like what they have. So many cords and screens. And cameras, for some reason.

The house is still silent, and I wonder if they're even home. If I'm here by myself, I really will feel ridiculous for having spent so much time hiding in my room when I could have been snooping around to figure out who these guys I'm living with really are.

I continue following the hallway and eventually end up in the kitchen. It's actually pretty spacious, with lots of counter space around the walls and a big table in the center of the room. It's not as messy as the rest of the house, but there are still dishes piled in the sink even though there's a dishwasher not two feet away. But I'm not their maid, so it's not my problem. Their flyer said nothing about cleaning up after them, and they didn't say anything about it yesterday or at that first interview, so I'm not doing it.

They probably would have gotten way more responses to their flyer, though, if they'd simply been looking for a live-inhousekeeper. Not that that would help me research for my book, but it sure would've been less weird.

A box of cereal is sitting out on the counter, but I peek through the cupboards to check what else they have. It's surprisingly well-stocked. Not necessarily with ingredients, but with snacks and ready-to-eat items. None of my normal go-to choices, though. I'll have to either pick up a few things for myself or figure out where they keep their shopping list.

Cereal it is, then. I shouldn't complain—it's not like I expected gourmet meals. And I can at least appreciate the peace and quiet of being alone.

Except one of the guys—Lionel, I think—chooses that moment to walk in.Welp, there goes my peace. He’s the one who told me they couldn't help me move, which didn't exactly give the impression that he's the friendliest of the group. Hopefully he just grabs something and leaves so I don't have to be Miss Sunshine this morning and make small talk. I'm not sure if our arrangement means I need to be sweet all the time and make them think they're special and that I really like them, or if I can be myself so long as I put out for them.

But Lionel does not just grab a granola bar and leave. Instead, he shakes coffee grounds into the coffeemaker, filling the room with the warming scent of happiness. At least the soft bubbling of the percolation breaks the awkward silence as I cast furtive glances to where he stands at the counter, watching me slowly eat my cereal as if I'm not panicking on the inside that he's here and I don't know what's going to happen. We aren't characters, and I'm not in control of this scene.An author's worst nightmare.

"I heard you already started the job," he says, leaning back against the counter. Watching me.

Not sure what to say to that, I take another bite of my cereal and try to pretend I'm not blushing like crazy. He must bereferring to last night with Ethan, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Or how he found out. Are the gamers talking about me? Comparing notes? Way for them to take an already weird situation and make it even worse.

The best way I can handle this is probably to act as if I'm not panicking. They hired me to do this as a job. There is nothing more between us.

"That's why I'm here, right?" At least, that's why they think I'm here. There's no way I'm going to let them know about my little notebook. They still haven't even asked what I do for a job. If they don't care about me as a person, they don't get to care if some of their moves make it between my pages.

"So if I told you to get down on your knees for me right now, you would?"

I slowly pull the spoon out of my mouth, shooting a reflexive look at the front of Lionel's pants. I'm not actually interested in Lionel's crotch, or in him, or any of them. They're just my contractual boyfriends for while I'm living here. Nothing more.

Is this what it's going to be like the whole time? Me going about my regular everyday life and them asking me to drop whatever I'm doing to service them? I suspected I wouldn't love this job, but I didn't think they would be demeaning and demanding.

The coffee is ready, and I still haven't said anything. But Lionel hasn't said anything else either. He pours himself a cup of coffee, doctoring it up with some of the sugar from the bowl sitting out on the counter and giving me a break from his fixated stare.

If I were one of the characters in one of Sasha's romantasy books, what would I do? If I'm going to do this, to live with these guys and write explicit books, I need to channel my new, sexually confident characters.

Straightening my shoulders, I set down my spoon. Before I lose my nerve, I cross the room and kneel at Lionel's feet. He finishes stirring his coffee and turns back to me, nearly tripping over my kneeling form. There's a flash of surprise across his face, and his eyes darken. He takes in my position slowly as he blindly sets his mug on the counter. All of his focus is on me, kneeling at his feet, waiting for instructions.

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