Page 55 of Filthy Rich Daddies
The doctor confirms everything the tech told us. So far, so good. Mother and baby—babies—all set. I’m young and healthy, so she doesn’t expect much in the way of complications, but we’ll keep up with visits to make sure.
It all happens so fast, and I’m still stuck on the fact that there’s two.
We exit the exam corridor into reception. Arabella sees our expressions—tears glistening on my cheeks, the brothers stunned, but grinning. I mouth to her, “Twins.”
She actually jumps, squeal muffled behind her hands as she hugs me ruthlessly. The receptionist hands me a future appointment card. I slide the ultrasound print into my hoodie pocket like top-secret coordinates.
The guys shepherd me outside where the midwinter sun feels extra high-def. Tic’s voice is gentler than library carpets. “Want to chat a while?” He nods toward a discreet black SUV idling.
Arabella’s eyebrow arcs. “Text me everything.” She whispers, “Twice the cheeks to squish,” in my ear and makes me snort. She waves them off with mock sternness. “Return my roommate fed and hydrated enough for three.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tic says with equally mock seriousness.
The Copeland mansion rises on the north side like a boutique resort crashed into an art museum. Ivy-clad walls, giant glass panes, terraces layered down a gentle slope. The driveway curves past a koi pond the size of a campus fountain. Beyond, shimmering turquoise ribbons connect lagoon-style pools. A lazy river circumnavigates landscaped islands with palms and flame-colored maples.
Pools. My chest tightens. Dean sees me freeze. He angles his body to block my view, murmuring, “We can use the front entrance, skip the pool deck.” Tic throws a subtle hand signal to the driver, and the SUV swings to a different portico facing the sculpture garden, breezing past water features.
I can breathe again.
Inside, the foyer smells of citrus polish and something warm—baking bread? Colin’s proud grin confirms, “The kitchen staff prepped fresh focaccia. I thought you might be hungry,” like it’s a normal welcome mat.
He leads a quick tour. The library with a sliding ladder, a game room with vintage Pac-Man, an art studio with a skylight. There’s more, but I can take in only so much right now.
Twins.
Eventually, he opens double doors to a guest suite bigger than my parents’ whole cottage. King bed, pale-blue duvet, view of Japanese maples.
Tic stops at the threshold. “You can stay here as long as you like. We thought having a place to decompress might help, and eventually, we can have a chat about…things.”
I touch his arm, anchoring his dark eyes to mine. “Thank you.”
Dean clears his throat. “We’ll let you settle. Dinner when you’re ready?”
“Actually,” I say, voice small but decided, “could we…maybe hang now? I’ve missed you guys.”
Colin closes the door behind himself, shutting the four of us inside. Dean approaches, hesitant. But I step forward, bridging. His hand cups my cheek gently. His eyes fall onto my bruise.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Good.” He brushes his lips to the bruise, then to my mouth. The kiss is slow and painfully soft. Electricity hums in my skin, but not frantic. More like a melodic current.
Colin appears behind me, his arms sliding around my waist. Tic is at my side, his fingers combing my braid free. The three-point circle encloses, slower than the fort night. And then, they converge.
Lips on my neck, hands on my hips, a tongue sliding up my earlobe. There’s so much that should be said, but mouths have so many better uses.
Tic unwraps my sports bra with surgical precision. Dean kisses my clavicle. Colin kneels to tug my leggings, pressing a reverent kiss to the shin bruise, faded brown and yellow now.
The bed welcomes our cluster. Their touches coordinate intuitively, like musicians who rehearsed a song. Guess I’m a musician now too. Their hands go everywhere, but patiently this time. No rope, no safeword negotiation.
Just skin, warmth, and whispered check-ins:
“Good?”
“Yes.”
Tic kisses along my inner thigh, reverence in every motion until he reaches my pussy, and there, he loses his self-control. I pull Colin onto me for him to straddle my chest and feed me his cock. I want to taste them. All of them. Dean watches, stroking himself to the sight of me enjoying them.
But we switch things up, and soon Tic is inside me, long languid strokes as he stares into my eyes. Dean plays with my tits, heightening my pleasure and amusing himself. When Tic rolls over, he takes me with him, putting me on top. Colin, ever the one who likes to come up from behind, cups my tits while he leans over my back. Dean reaches out for my clit while I ride Tic, and the first orgasm sends my head tossing into Colin’s collarbone.
