Big Three: MFMM Contemporary Romance

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  Lily

  Austin

  Callum

  Troy

  My Best Friend’s Baby Excerpt

  About Demi

  Big Three

  MFMM Contemporary Romance Novel

  Demi Donovan

  Contents

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  1. Lily

  2. Austin

  3. Lily

  4. Callum

  5. Troy

  6. Lily

  7. Austin

  8. Lily

  9. Austin

  10. Lily

  11. Callum

  12. Lily

  13. Lily

  14. Troy

  15. Callum

  16. Lily

  17. Austin

  18. Lily

  19. Austin

  20. Lily

  21. Lily

  22. Troy

  23. Lily

  24. Lily

  25. Lily

  26. Callum

  27. Lily

  28. Troy

  29. Lily

  30. Austin

  31. Lily

  32. Lily

  33. Callum

  Epilogue

  My Best Friend’s Baby Excerpt

  About Demi

  A Little Taste…

  Their voices all sound the same in my head now. I can’t tell them apart. My senses are completely overwhelmed.

  They could be one person, they could be six, it wouldn’t matter.

  It wouldn’t change how fucking much I need this.

  I don’t get a response to my words and I’m beginning to fear that I said something wrong when I feel a thick, hard cock slapping against my cheek. Someone’s standing right in front of me, running his hand through my hair as he smacks his veiny cock against my cheek. I whimper.

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Open wide, baby,” he growls.

  I think it’s Troy.

  I open my mouth and he pushes the head between my lips. I groan, deep and guttural, and my tongue laps over the head and the thin slit running the length of it immediately. I’m leaning forward, hungry and needy for more.

  He grabs a handful of my hair below where the tie is knotted, pulling it into a ponytail in his fist. Then, he shoves his cock deeper in my mouth and I gag slightly, making him let out a growl of approval. It sounds so fucking sexy I can barely handle it.

  My tongue laps at him desperately and I wish I could run my fingers along his thighs, feel his strong legs, cup his heavy balls. I want it all. For this one night, I want everything I can get. Guilt free.

  “That’s it,” someone else says.

  Callum.

  “Take it all like a good girl.”

  Troy’s cock is way too big but I do my best. He starts thrusting into my mouth, first slowly and then faster, facefucking me. My initial attempts to run my tongue over him, to feel the thick veins and how he throbs in my mouth, is quickly substituted for just trying to keep breathing as he pounds into my throat.

  He moves my head just like he wants, making me tilt my chin up so he can thrust deeper comfortably, filling my mouth and throat. Any attempt at remaining ‘pretty’ while this is happening is quickly discarded because it’s all I can do to focus on breathing through this, because my body wants to unravel around his cock.

  Copyright © 2017 Demi Donovan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Big Three

  MFMM Contemporary Romance Novel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Demi Donovan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover © Kasmit Covers

  One

  Lily

  “I’m telling you, it’ll be fine! You’re a brilliant lawyer and you’ll definitely find a new job,” I said, holding the hand of Terrence Waverly, a man about three times my size.

  Seated in what used to be his office, with the glass door to the rest of the open-planned Meeke & Associates swung wide open, we are nowhere near to being isolated from the mayhem going on outside. At any one time, I could hear maniacal laughter, heaving sobs of hysteria, and just good old-fashioned rage in the form of shouted curses.

  All in a day’s work, if the day happens to be the one during which a third of your colleagues get canned.

  “What am I going to tell my wife?” Terrence blubbered, his gray eyes bloodshot and red as tears spilled down his cheeks.

  He’s a large, well-built guy, sort of looks like a defensive lineman. Not that I would know, but my dad’s a big football fan (Rangers, of course) and despite my avid disinterest, I’ve seen more games during my life than I’d care to mention. The notion of telling Terrence to go into something more suiting for his size and strength flits through my brain for a ludicrous moment.

  I think I’m losing my mind with the rest of the office.

  “She’ll understand. It’s just the economy, you know?”

  It’s a canned response that hasn’t been true for about four years now, but it’s the best I can do. For both him and me, because while Terrence has gotten his bad news already, Mallory Meeke still hasn’t called for me. And I can only assume that she will.

  The best I can do at the moment is try and distract myself, and my heartbroken colleagues, until the bell tolls for me as well. Then, you can bet that I’ll be sprawled out on the floor of my cubicle of an office, drinking from that bottle of Scotch my dad sent me the first day I started at Meeke & Associates. I haven’t opened it yet, figuring that I’d wait until I win my first settlement as a solo lawyer.

  As far as I’m currently concerned, that day will likely never come. Maybe if I hide out in Terrence’s office long enough, Mallory will just forget about me…

  “Lily?” a voice calls from the door, making me look over my shoulder while Terrence blows his nose so loud that it’s like a train whistle went off by my ear.

  I’m momentarily deafened.

  I can see Christine, my assistant, mouthing something at me, but for the life of me I don’t know what she’s saying.

  “What?” I ask, cringing a little as I get up and try to open up my ear canal for anything other than high-pitched whines.

  “I said, Mallory wants you.”

  I stop mid-step, staring at Christine with wide, scared eyes. The expression on her face is unreadable, but I can already tell how her brain is processing all the ways in which we can get shitfaced tonight for as little money as possible. I’ve never been a big drinker but Christine makes that up for the both of us.

  Tonight, I feel like a drink will likely be in order. Christine knows that if I go, she goes. It’s just how it works.

  “Okay,” I mutter, frowning slightly.

  I toss a glance at Terrence, pondering what to say, when Christine interrupts me smoothly.

  “That’s okay, I’ll stay with him,” she says, moments before both of us jump because someone in the front lobby threw all the chairs against the wall one by one.

  “Thanks.”

  “Be strong,” Christine tells me in a conspiratory fashion as I slip
past her, giving me a slight squeeze of the arm.

  I nod mutely and make my way through the office.

  It’s a lovely building, and a great workspace. Decorated in marble and warm tones, it’s supposed to make our clients feel soothed and settled, but right now I feel anything but. It doesn’t help that every room I walk past has at least one crying colleague, surrounded by people trying to make them feel better.

  Or, as people in the law profession are ought to do, trying to get more information out of them to know what they could expect when and if Mallory calls for them. My heart’s basically in the sole of my stiletto heels as I walk to my supposed execution.

  I’ve been here a year and a half, a second in terms of life in general, but Meeke & Associates had started feeling like home. It’s the only place in New York, other than my shoebox apartment, that I actually like. This city isn’t for me.

  I ponder about possibly moving back to Austin as I step into the conference room Mallory’s been commandeering for the day. When I step in, I’m surprised to find her with someone.

  “Lily, I’ve been waiting for you. Milan, this is Lily Morris. She’s one of our best and brightest.”

  A woman who I can only describe as picturesque stands up to shake my hand. She has a pleasant smile, though she looks a bit distracted. She towers over my 5’4’’ frame and her heels are even more ridiculous than mine.

  Dressed in designer everything and with a Chanel flap bag laid out on the table before her, she looks like a lot of the clients we get in Meeke & Associates. She looks to be in her forties and already working to cover it up, with an air about her that suggests a life of easy living, but also hints at the many calculated steps that it probably took to get to where she is now.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say, meeting the bright blue eyes, lined with black liner impeccably applied.

  Her handshake is strong and to the point. Mallory motions for me to take a seat and I do, my stomach in knots. I thought I was coming in to get fired and now it looks like… I’m about to get a client?

  What the hell is going on?

  Feeling like the fish out of water that I currently am, I look expectantly at Mallory, then Milan, and then back to Mallory again. Milan gives me a look that betrays that she’s not entirely convinced of my prowess as a divorce attorney.

  That might make two of us, at least at the moment.

  “So, as you can see, Milan, we’re having a bit of debacle today, but I don’t think you should let that bother you. I’m simply trimming the fat a little,” Mallory says with a dismissive wave of the hand as someone throws a carton of milk against the glass wall of the conference room before returning behind a corner out of sight.

  The white liquid dribbled down the glass.

  I don’t think the situation could be any weirder.

  “I understand,” Milan says with an elegant shrug of her shoulders.

  Even her indifference looks polished.

  “Besides, you did right by me the last time, so I have no reason not to trust you.”

  Both of the women smile at one another and suddenly I feel like a minnow at a meeting of the sharks. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a good lawyer. I’m diligent, I work fast, I have a near-photographic memory and I love to win, but compared to these two women, I feel like a kid playing dress-up instead of like the adult I’m supposed to be.

  “I’m tied up with a couple of high-profile cases right now so I think Lily would be the best option for you to continue with the proceedings, especially since I understand they’re time sensitive. We’ll have a file prepped for you by the end of the night, Lily. Essentially, Milan’s husband is looking to remarry without properly resolving the divorce settlement and this might require you to hunt him down.

  “I have all the faith that you will make Milan very happy as she is a very important client for us and deserves the best we have. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I will be overseeing all the major decisions so you will have nothing to worry about, Milan.”

  Mallory’s attention snapped from me back to Milan and I feel a little shell-shocked, like that ringing in my ears that I still had from leaving Terrence behind is still present and here to stay.

  Milan nods absently, giving me one more measuring look. I’m not entirely sure she’s convinced by me, but I sit up a little straighter and square my jaw. Between getting fired and getting promoted, which is essentially what this is, I’ll take the latter every damn time.

  “Thank you, Lily. Please leave us, I need to talk to Milan privately,” Mallory then says, excusing me.

  I nod mutely, having said a grand total of four words during this meeting, and slip out of the conference room. As the door closes behind me, I catch sight of the dribble of milk again, making a pale gash as its path dries up.

  I feel like I narrowly missed the electric chair, only to be put in front of a possible firing squad. If I fail Mallory, not only will she fire me, but I have no doubt that she’ll eviscerate me.

  I definitely need a drink now.

  “I can’t believe it,” Christine says for what must be the twentieth time in the last half an hour.

  We’re both sprawled out on her worn beige leather couch, cradling white wine spritzers. Tequila was considered, and Christine helpfully bought a problem, but the further removed I am from the office, the less I think it’s a good idea. I’m going to have a lot of work to do tomorrow and I can’t drink myself into the first stupor of my lifetime on a Thursday night, right?

  Christine doesn’t exactly agree, but she never does.

  “I can’t believe it either,” I add, echoing the same sentiment that has stuck with me for most of the day.

  It’s true, too. I really can’t believe it. When a third of the office got their pink slips today, I got promoted to take charge on a case of personal interest to Mallory, with a client who is at least a steady B-lister – or so Christine told me after a burst of frenetic googling. I’ve vowed not to get into it before Monday, which is when the folder will land on my table.

  Tonight, I just want to relax and let my reeling mind settle a little.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asks me, her curious grey and green eyes flicking to me.

  It’s safe to say that Christine Evans is my only friend in New York. Just like Mallory’s my mentor and I couldn’t imagine the world revolving without her pure will to make it so, I couldn’t picture my day without the bubbly, giggly and entirely energetic Christine telling me to stop moping around and get to it.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, taking another sip of my wine. “I’m going to kick ass and take names, of course!”

  I purse my lips at that, considering my toes, propped up on the low coffee table in front of the couch. I wiggle them a little, mesmerized by the motion. The wine might be kicking in.

  Christine scoffs next to me.

  “You’re getting drunk already, aren’t you? You’re such a boring drunk.”

  “And that’s exactly why tequila would be a bad idea. You wouldn’t get to enjoy my lovely company at all.”

  “Right. What I meant was, what are you going to do for the weekend? Newfound freedom, don’t have to worry about going destitute or moving back in with your folks in Texas, all that? Are we going to go party? We should go party.”

  “We are not going to go party,” I say gloomily, sipping at my drink again.

  It’s tasting better and better.

  “Oh, come on, it’s been long enough. You need to let loose a little, especially if you’re going to be cooped up in libraries from now on. How about we go clubbing tomorrow? You have to have something in your wardrobe that shows some skin.”

  Joke’s on her. I don’t. I got rid of all of my sexy dresses after… Well, after. Stupidly, before my wine-addled brain can process the implications, I open my mouth and ask the question I should not ask.

  “Long enough since what?”

  “Since you were dumped by your fiancé, of course,”
Christine answers matter-of-factly, grabbing a handful of potato chips from the big bowl on the table.

  A Love & Hip-Hop: Hollywood rerun is blaring in the backdrop as my stomach sinks and tears well in my eyes on their own volition. Dammit, I’ve gotten so good at pushing that crap down and now… I definitely don’t need this.

  The look on Christine’s face tells me that she doesn’t agree. Popping a chip in her mouth, she quirks a brow at me.

  “Yeah, you better cry. You know it’s been two years and I haven’t seen you do that once, right?”

  “It’s not worth crying over,” I say defiantly, wiping at my eyes with the back of my arm, probably smearing some mascara on my discount Calvin Klein jacket.

  Good thing it’s black.

  “Sure, repressed emotions work so well for people,” Christine quips, rolling her eyes.

  She’s been on a mission to make me confront my emotions about Jacob leaving me since it happened. I’ve stubbornly maintained that it’s best left in the past, and at this point I really believe it.

  “I mean, looking at the roaring social life you have, and the endless friends, and the general sense of health and well-being that simply radiates from you, I would say that you’ve certainly totally dealt with all your feelings about Jacob,” Christine continues, slouching into the couch.

  She stares at me and the sarcasm is gone, nothing but honest worry remaining. I bite my lower lip and take a big breath, followed by a big gulp of the wine to cloud the moment a little.

  “You make me sound like I’m some sad, shriveled up bag of a woman who can’t move on because of some scumbag in her past,” I quip, but it doesn’t sound half as sarcastic as I would like it to.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying for you to get over it, you need to… get over it.”

  Sage advice.

  “Like maybe by going out for a change and letting loose. Having a conversation that’s not about work or your yoga class… Come on, we’re going out this weekend. I got tickets to the Mets versus Padres for tomorrow night and we’re going.”