Page 6 of Not a Pawn

I have been relegated to one of the spare bedrooms, Harlow using mine. I want to demand that I share my bed with her, but I know I cannot push too hard, too quickly, or she will make rash decisions. We need her to come to us.

Her smell permeates every corner of the house already even though she hasn’t been here for more than a few hours, and my erection hasn’t settled since I first laid eyes on her. The strength and defiance she wears like a cloak only make me want her more. And I know Sebastian is feeling exactly the same way.

“Where did the clothes come from?” she asks, ripping me from my thoughts.

“We purchased them for you.”

I take in what she has chosen to wear from the wardrobe full of clothes. Dark skinny jeans, a flowy crimson top, and black pumps. She stares at me for long moments, trying to see the motive behind our offer. She won’t see what is happening until it is too late.

“Which brother are you?”

It takes me a moment to remember that she wasn’t formally introduced to either of us.

“I am Julian. My brother is Sebastian,” I reply.

“Blue is Julian, brown is Sebastian,” she mumbles, and I can’t help but smile.

There are so many more differences between my brother and me but that is the most obvious. Once we have claimed her, we will show her just how different we can be.

“So, what do you need me to do?” She looks around our home office, assessing everything.

“Well,” I muse trying to think of anything except telling her to suck my dick. “How good are you at running a household? It seems our chef has quit, and we need another.”

I see the twinkle in her eye before she can disguise it. “I thought you needed a personal assistant?”

“This is a personal matter. And you will be assisting me.” The words leave my lips before I can think twice about my retort.

She opens her mouth before closing it again. She has something to say but she is holding back out of fear that I won’t approve or that she might anger me. I know the Elites and Alphas are not known to be patient, kind, or understanding. We are, however, known for taking what we want and not giving a shit about the fallout.

My brother and I are doing everything in our power to not behave as our stereotype would suggest and giving Harlow time to grow accustomed to us instead of forcing her into our inevitable mating. And it is most certainly inevitable.

“Speak, woman,” I command lowly. “You never have to fear that your words will get you in trouble in our home.”

She gives me a look of disbelief before she speaks. “I’m shit at admin or keeping any type of schedule. But I’m a great cook.”

“You would like to amend our agreement?”

“Yes.”

“On one condition,” I reply, a plan already formulating in my mind.

“Which is?” she asks cautiously.

“You will share every meal with us. If we eat your cooking, so will you.”

“I can’t,” she says softly. “I’m on a diet.”

I look closely at the woman before me, the mate I will eventually share with my brother. She is curvy in all the right places. Her ass fills out her jeans and I know the globes withcradle my cock perfectly once we get her between us. Her hips are wide, and her thighs are thick and juicy. And her breasts, Dear Goddess of the Moon, I can’t wait to get my hands on those. They are full and will nurture our young perfectly. I wonder if she will have fat nipples to tip the perfect orbs.

She is perfect. Her build will help her handle two dragon cocks at a time as well as our insatiable lust for her. And she will be able to bear our children without us having to fear for her health. A smaller woman would not be able to.

Stepping forward, I back her against the wall beside the door. I know I shouldn’t be doing this and Sebastian will kick my ass when he finds out, but I need to prove a point.

“You are perfect,” I murmur staring down at her, her breasts crushed against my chest. “No man wants a bony woman. You have curves that can bring any man to his knees.”

She stares up at me with her mouth hanging open. An image of my cock slipping between those perfect, plump lips has me fighting to control the urge to bend her over my mahogany desk. Instead, I step back, giving her some space.

“You can decide, little one. Either you eat with us for every meal or find us another chef.”

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