When their uniforms come off…
Bossy, dedicated, overprotective, super complicated. A woman needs a man like that in her life like she needs a temporal lobe headache, right? Think again, because when the uniforms come off and the temperature skyrockets, it’s time to forget Hell and take a trip straight to Heaven.
How about multiplying that by three, four, or more? You get the picture? This set of panty-melting reverse harem stories will have you gasping, panting, squirming and sweating. Read late into the night with these steamy tales featuring priests, military men, S.W.A.T. officers, gardeners, waiters, and more.
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The three of them made their way through the narrow halls, Delia trapped between the leading figure of Brogan and the even taller Cardinal Turner, who seemed to tower over her. As they walked, Turner insisted on asking her a variety of inane questions, none of which had anything to do with the reasons she was actually here, or what in the hell they were planning to do with her.
Nervous butterflies stretched their wings as her mind considered what the options could be. Her uncle had been disappointed at her behaviour—angry even—but surely, he wouldn’t leave her in the care of men who would hurt her? And anyway, she reassured herself as Turner chatted on, there were laws against that. They couldn’t touch her, but they could intimidate, and if she was honest, they already had.
It was true, no overt threats had been made, but still there was something. Something imperceptible, something in the air here like a lingering scent. Delia could sense it instinctively, although she couldn’t give the sensation a name. The worst of it was though, it wasn’t just trepidation that the atmosphere produced in her tightly-wound body, it was also arousal. Delia hadn’t had that much experience with boys her own age. Uncle Nicholas had always made that prospect practically impossible, but she had dated a couple, breaking out of the house after hours when her aunt and uncle had believed she was sleeping.
Neither Timmy Blore, nor Steve Furst had been much to talk about. They had really just been fumbles in the dark, but the experiences had taught her one thing; she enjoyed a man taking control. And every time Brogan and Turner had stood up to her today, Delia had felt the tension in her core, and that hot, slick arousal which had collected at the apex of her thighs. The thought of whatever was about to transpire in Turner’s office made her feel giddy, though she realised that was stupid. Whatever was on the cards for her, these men were priests. They didn’t see her that way. No doubt she was little better than a naughty school-girl to them, although she’d been in college now for nearly three years.
“And you’re at college, Delia,” Turner asked. “Is that right?”
His question cut through her internal monologue, and she nodded, trying to compose herself before she answered the hot-looking priest with the astonishing blue eyes. He was older than Father Brogan, but every inch as tempting.
Stop it, she chastised herself. Stop thinking that way. This is the sort of shit that landed you in trouble in the first place. If you hadn’t been trying to impress Steve, then you’d never have stolen the damn cigarettes in the first place.
“Yes, Cardinal,” she replied, unable to meet his piercing gaze as it drilled into her. His eyes were like the colour of a tropical ocean, and were quite unlike anything Delia had ever seen before. “I had been thinking of going on to university.”
“So, you’re a bright young woman,” he responded, flashing her an absolutely devastating smile. “Pray tell, why it has taken you so long to complete your college course?” Delia grimaced. Perfect, now she had to admit yet more misdemeanours.
“I’ve had to retake one of the years,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“Why?” Turner asked in a knowing tone which made her wonder if he didn’t have the
answer from her uncle already.
“I didn’t take my studies seriously at first,” she conceded, the words falling from her
in one, long rush. “I was distracted.”
Delia lifted her chin, catching Turner’s haunting gaze still fixed on her.
“I see,” he replied. “Perhaps you have been in need of our guidance for a while,
She nodded, uncertain what she should say. She still didn’t want to be here, but there
was something disturbingly alluring about being around these men. If she was forced to endure this social isolation, then at least she could enjoy their company and easy-on-the-eye aesthetics.
“We’ll do our best to help you,” the cardinal assured her, “but you have to promise me one thing, Delia.”
The sound of her name on his lips made her gulp. It was like a reflex. “What’s that, Cardinal Turner?”
“You have to promise to be my good girl, Delia,” he told her in what sounded like a deliberately seductive tone. “No running, no fighting and no more speaking out of line. You will take your punishment, and then you’ll receive atonement.”
Turner’s words washed over her like a wave, sending her thoughts scattering.
Punishment? Had he just said punishment? Sure, Uncle Nicholas had inferred there would be consequences; he’d said that was what she needed, but what the fuck did that mean? She was a grown woman, for God’s sake! What were they going to do to her? Throw her in the dungeon? A shiver ran down her spine at the prospect, its resonance connecting with her sex in the most delicious way. Delia didn’t know what was wrong with her, but somehow the idea sounded magnificent.
“Delia?” Those blue eyes were boring into her again. “Delia, can you do that? Can you be my good girl?”
She turned her head to see Turner’s perfect gaze again. Fuck. How can you resist temptation like that, she wondered? He might be dressed like a priest, but she bet under that robe was all the equipment she wanted.
“Yes, Cardinal.” Oh God, she was practically panting now. What must he think of her? “I can try.”