Three Men and a Woman_Kai

  Three Men and a Woman: Kai

  CEO, architect, and project manager for their firm ReBuild, Vincent Rossi, Timothy Randall, and Ryan Flaherty meet with a woman in a hot little “business” suit. She’s Kai Morrison, CEO for Tone, and she’s looking for a bid on her latest project.

  But they’ve all met Kai before—once, ten years back, at a wild party, where the three friends made crazy, very memorable love with the same sweet girl. And again, a couple weeks ago, when the woman grown sought a little, slightly compromising revenge.

  Some men might be put off, being left naked and tied to a bed, with cum drying on their chests. But Kai has become a hell of a woman, and these three men aren’t easily deterred. They want her, each of them. Even if Ryan has to figure out that he can share, and Tim has to learn the truth behind a payment made ten years ago that reeks of blackmail.

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 48,619 words

  THREE MEN AND A WOMAN:

  KAI

  Rachel Billings

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: KAI

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Billings

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-500-3

  First Publication: August 2017

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rachel Billings takes her pen name from her hometown. She lives in Western New York now, where she works, writes, and gardens. But she still misses the Big Sky.

  She comes from farmers and likes to dig in the dirt then sit back and watch things grow. She takes a similar approach to the raising of her three children. Her husband, being a scientist, takes a more methodical approach.

  Rachel started writing stories in her head when she was five. They featured spunky girls who performed heroic acts while looking great and earning the admiration of attractive males. When she finds a good thing, she sticks with it.

  In her day job (which happens to be a night job, too), she works to help women have stronger, healthier, happier lives. In her writing, she hopes to entertain and maybe even enrich women’s lives through romantic and erotic fiction. She does consider her work to be fantasy and realizes that some events described may not be physically possible. Or, at least, comfortable.

  She has learned that love has power and believes that when two (or four) people love each other, many things good things can happen.

  For all titles by Rachel Billings, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/rachel-billings

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Landmarks

  Cover

  THREE MEN AND A

  WOMAN: KAI

  RACHEL BILLINGS

  Copyright © 2017

  Prologue

  Ten years earlier

  “Please, come back.”

  Kai Morrison had heard the discreet knock and just barely got a glimpse of a capped head peeking around the door.

  Because, on the Randall yacht, the housekeeping staff uniforms would include, for the females, a maid’s cap.

  And discretion would be a key attribute, which meant the maid would silently withdraw as soon as she saw that the bedroom—well, the stateroom—was occupied.

  Kai wished she was in a position for which that would be a good thing, but she wasn’t. Fortunately, the door stayed open just a crack.

  “I need help.”

  The maid came in, a pretty Caribbean black woman old enough, experienced enough, apparently, that she didn’t blink when she took in Kai’s dilemma. She was also sensible enough to stay quiet—perhaps Kai wasn’t the only soul on board whose head was sensitive to light and sound on the morning after a night of too much.

  In her case, too much alcohol, though she’d seen other substances being freely imbibed.

  Politely, blessedly, the maid drew a light cover over Kai’s naked body before she leaned down to undo the binding at Kai’s left wrist.

  “That’s good. I can get the rest. Thank you so much.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman nodded and left the room, keeping to herself whatever thoughts she might have about misbehaving, overly indulged young people.

  Kai rolled over and untied her right hand.

  There was a tie around her right ankle, too. It was literally a tie, as were the other two. Crimson, with subtle silver stripes and the famous college crest. They’d come from around the necks of their owners, worn for the formal ceremony of graduation, but found useful later for more carnal—very carnal—celebration.

  The last tie had been secured around her ankle and then left loose, as an incomplete thought. Maybe, if there had been a fourth, she’d have woken splayed out, tied to all four corners of the bed—berth, to be nautically correct. Maybe she should count herself lucky there were only three.

  Three ties.

  Three men.

  Chapter One

  Timothy Randall III killed the glass of champagne he’d been handed and wished for something stronger. He’d gotten through the toast and now watched his brother take his bride in his arms for their first dance as husband and wife.

  They made a pretty picture, Danny and Beatrice, and Tim even liked the girl. He liked his brother, too, but, all in all, this whole deal had been a pain in the ass.

  He considered it all Danny’s fault.

  Tim was thirty-two, and he was happy with that. He liked his life, had pleased himself with it rather than anyone else. He’d worked through the drama and trauma that led him to sever himself from his father’s control and the family shipping business. Danny, God bless him, had helped there, not merely willing but excited to take on the mantle of CEO.

  Dan had screwed the pooch on this one, though, getting married at age twenty-eight. The younger brother. All out of order.

  Who could have known that would be a faux pas that sent Margery Randall into a tizzy of thwarted, exasperated, motherly frustration? It wasn’t right, she’d said—many, many times. When would Timothy face up to his responsibilities?

  Probably never, Ma.

  That was what he said in his head, though he never spoke it out loud. And not only because neither he nor Daniel would ever consider addressing Margery as anything other than “Mother.”

  More importantly, he was pretty sure he was never going to
be standing there in a tux while a woman dressed in a Cinderella gown walked down the aisle to him.

  Not that he didn’t like women. He did. Very much. Possibly too much.

  And it wasn’t like what Margery cared about was his happiness. No, she cared about how it looked. Like anyone in her crowd of martini-lunching, charity board-sitting, Milan-shopping, Med-sailing, toned, tanned, and botoxed cronies gave a rat’s ass about which brother got married first.

  It was just one more twist of the thorn in her side that was her elder son.

  Tim didn’t care. Except for the fact that Margery’s frown of disapproval could weigh on him like Sisyphus’s boulder even from across the room. Even a large room, like the ballroom of the chic, historic Montauk hotel that the Randalls had taken over for the wedding.

  He shrugged it off. Checking out the dance floor, he saw that his best buddies and work partners, Vinnie and Ryan, had the right idea. They weren’t wallowing in the wrath of Margery but in the deep pool of beautiful, fit, wealthy, and—probably in most cases—single women of the East Coast elite.

  One good, stiff, real drink, and he’d take a dip in that pool himself.

  He gave a nod as he caught Vinnie’s eye. Vin was too busy sliding his hand toward his dance partner’s ass to do anything but nod back.

  Tim wandered to the hotel bar. It was a pretty June evening, and the doors had been opened to let in the breeze and the scent and sound of the water. Ordering a shot of Bushmills Black, he hiked up onto a barstool, turned to look out over the deck, and saw her.

  She was…pretty. And sexy. Pretty and sexy but mostly…sexy. Sweetly sexy, not scary sexy. The kind of woman a man would want to carry up a wide, curving staircase and lay down on a broad, soft bed. In, like…a castle. Maybe an enchanted one. With clocks and candlesticks that talked and all.

  With a hand on the rail, she stood looking out over the water. She wore a…a confection of a summer dress, though Tim had to wonder where his head was at if that word was popping into it. The pretty floral silk followed her sweet curves very closely, from the square back to her waist, to the nice flare of her hips, then tapered to her knees. Probably she’d have trouble walking in it but for a ruffle of a slit there in the back. A ruffle that invited a man’s hands to wander, to see what it might find.

  She was turned enough to the side that he could see the silhouette of her breast—full and extremely perky—and the slight curve of her belly.

  Her hair was kind of 1940s glam—a rich brunette, lifted back from her face with vintage-looking sparkly clasps and tumbling to her shoulders in rolling curls. Like she felt his gaze on her, she turned her head a little, and he saw the red of her lips.

  Really, very kissable lips.

  And pretty brown eyes. Honey brown, if there were such a color.

  She didn’t smile or hold his gaze. She turned back to the sea, took a sip of white wine, and set the stemmed glass back on the deck rail.

  Tim’s cock stirred. He had this crazy, driving notion to go lick off the lipstick he just knew would be on the rim of that glass.

  In a travesty he was sure made the bartender wince, Tim knocked back his whiskey and set the heavy tumbler down on the bar. Then, as though they needed no signal at all from his brain, because, apparently, his cock was driving this deal, his feet took him out to the deck.

  As he approached, the woman turned to face him fully. She was probably five foot eight. In her heels, she nearly reached his six foot one. When he stepped close—very close—she had to tilt her head just a bit to keep eye contact. Those pretty browns searched his.

  Tim had never had trouble picking women up. He didn’t need cheesy lines.

  In this case, he didn’t need any lines at all.

  The woman just put her hand out—long, tapered fingers that ended in nails the same color as the lipstick he intended to eat off her lips. “Give me your room key and five minutes,” she said.

  “Three-oh-eight,” he said, handing the key over.

  Five minutes gave him time to wonder if he should be worried that she was stripping his room of all his valuables. Or maybe whether she was a pro, and the next few hours—he intended to make it last—would cost him a couple grand.

  Or more.

  It turned out he didn’t care. He checked the Bulgari on his left wrist, because five minutes weren’t going to turn into six. Then, his dick acting like a divining rod, he followed in her wake.

  In his room, he saw right away—because she’d stripped down for him—that her undies were retro, too, and surprisingly hot for it. They shouldn’t have been—the bra and panties she wore were plain white and pretty much full coverage. Nothing at all like a demi bra—his personal favorite—and thong. They were more like a stern, efficient hausfrau might wear. The panty went all the way to her waist and the bra was engineered to do the job, with a heavy seam running right across…there, explaining the extreme perkiness.

  But they were…sheer, and hotter than hell. Really sheer, so he could see everything.

  “Nice look,” he said. He was grateful the words didn’t come out in a croak. She’d left her high heels on—they were a deep, shiny red with pointy toes and spike heels. He almost swallowed his tongue.

  “Undress,” she said.

  She stood on the near side of the big, four-poster bed. Her dress and clutch—he’d been out with enough dolled-up women to know what that little purse was called—were laid neatly on the upholstered chair on the far side of the room.

  Not inclined to argue, Tim shot his cuffs and removed the studs there. He left the watch on because, well, it was his favorite, and maybe this really was a con job. Though he was all up for it either way.

  He slid out of his tux jacket and dropped it on the floor by the door. He dropped the rest of the studs, too.

  She watched as he stripped off the shirt, and, when he checked, she looked satisfied enough to him. He expected a bit more response when he toed out of his shoes and shed himself of pants, boxers, and socks all at once, and his cock thrust out in all its glory. That wasn’t just his assessment, either. Lots of women had commented. But he straightened—he would never say he preened—and she hardly even blinked.

  “Here,” she said, stepping aside and pointing to the bed. “Lie down.”

  Tim usually expected to work for it, at least a little, and no complaint. But he’d never argue with a lady. He went down on the bed. She kicked out of her heels and climbed on top of him, which took the sting out of losing the heels. Sitting over him, she had her silk-covered pussy seated titillatingly over the hard length of his cock.

  She leaned forward, those red lips just a breath away from his mouth. Her eyes looked into his for a long, suggestive moment. When she spoke, he could almost feel the movement of her lips. “I like it like this,” she said.

  Then she took his right hand from where it had reached for her hip, moved it toward the corner of the bed, and had it secured with a strip of silk before he really knew what she was doing.

  Apparently, she’d made good use of that five minutes he’d given her, because the other end of the tie was firmly wrapped around the bedpost. Really, not his fault he hadn’t spotted that when he’d had near-naked woman to look at.

  She lifted his other hand from her hip. “Okay?” she asked. “Just for fun?”

  He wasn’t letting her move his left arm out toward the other post until he…well, until he decided to. He looked into her eyes and wondered how much he could trust a stranger. A very pretty, sexy stranger.

  “Your turn next,” she said with a sultry smile, and he fell for it like the stupidest rube.

  He let her have his arm, and she had it bound in just a handful of seconds. “That’s good,” she said, running her hands along the muscles of his biceps on either side. She stroked to his shoulders and then chest. “I like this,” she added.

  He did, too, especially when she leaned in to kiss him. He’d been dying for that mouth and it was just as good as he’d expected. He licked a
t her lipstick and used his teeth.

  She seemed to like to kiss. At the least, she made little noises of appreciation.

  Both were good. Tim liked good kissers, and he liked ’em noisy.

  He didn’t like having his hands bound, though, because he sure as fuck wanted them on her tits. And her ass. And maybe, probably, no, certainly, on her clit. In fact, there were an endless number of places he wanted his hands.

  Ever resourceful, he did what he could. Her tits were pressed solidly against his chest, and he kind of huffed up to give a little chafing stimulation. His cock was throbbing against her pussy, and he rocked there, too. She seemed to like the ride, flexing to make the most of it and humming out her pleasure.

  She had her hands in his hair as she worked the kiss. When he rocked or chafed, she rocked and chafed back, and it was freaking hot as hell. He’d tied women before—once, spectacularly, years back, on his graduation night—but he’d never been tied. Given the choice, he’d rather have her bound and him on top of her, but this wasn’t bad at all.

  Not one bit bad. He was going to fucking come against those hot silk panties if she kept it up much longer. That could be just a little bit embarrassing.

  “Untie me,” he said. “I want to touch you.”

  “No,” she answered, sliding her mouth down his neck. “Not yet.”

  He’d have argued—probably, he even could have yanked hard enough to break the bindings—but she distracted him by taking that hot mouth of hers even lower.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  She licked her tongue down the center of his chest. Lifting, she scooted her body a little lower so her knees straddled his thighs. She bent her head and he could feel her breath hot along his cock. He thought he knew what was coming and he wanted to crow with it. It was entirely possible he’d spurt into that sweet mouth the minute she took him in.