The Very Rude Boys Next Door by Chloe Kent

Chapter Two

 

No. No. No.

Feeling as if she were going to have a panic attack, she patted her cheeks and forced herself to count to ten. She ended up counting to fifty-three before she finally got ahold on her breathing.

Okay. She had made a mistake. A huge one. An extremely embarrassing one. And yes, she had been stark naked, an ugly voice reminded her, while she was committing that huge, embarrassing mistake.

Oh hell.

She swore softly under her breath in Russian, then covered her face in sheer humiliation. To think she had stood there, without a shred of clothing on, waving not only her gun at them but also her Taser when, in fact, she was in their house.

She had obviously made a mistake. Their words now coming back to her. She wanted to be in house number 2A, not house number two. No wonder she couldn’t find the key. But who leaves their door open anyway? And worse it wasn’t as if she had scared them at all even as armed as she was. They had seemed utterly amused by her. And three very tall, very powerfully built men could have easily subdued her, armed or not. No. They knew she would figure it out eventually and they wanted her to eat humble pie as the expression went.

Well, pie wasn’t her favorite.

With a determined stride, she went to where she had left her bags, opened one, retrieved a knee-length, creaseless shift dress, underwear, a pair of shoes, and her toiletry bag. Leaving her bags there, she went back into the bedroom to get dressed.

She worked methodically. First, brushed her teeth, then her hair. She slipped into her underwear, then the dress and heels. After applying some makeup, she gathered her hair into a no-nonsense bun, so severe, she gave herself a headache, which she probably deserved.

In other circumstances she would have apologized profusely.

But she had been entirely nude. And that changed the course of her humility when it came to saying she was sorry.

They had seen her naked in their bed, no doubt sprawled out because it had been so hot, and she had kicked the sheets off her body. That part she couldn’t live down. She was exponentially too embarrassed to be meekly sorry, and that had triggered her defensiveness.

If she had to be honest, it was also because of the way they had looked at her. Not with a lecherousness that made her want to scrub herself clean with an abrasive soap, but in a way that wherever their gazes curved over her body, little pockets of heat exploded under her skin and made her feel way too curious about the physical feelings they evoked inside her. Which was all nonsense and she compartmentalized it as adrenalin and nothing more.

Satisfied that she looked indisputably presentable, she made the bed, gathered her stuff, and made her way back to the entrance area, where she exerted herself yet again, trying to remove the cabinet she had used to shield the door.

She had half a mind to just leave it there but decided she had better put it back exactly where she had found it.

She waited a few minutes to contain her breathing, patted her hair back into place, pulled a pair of sunglasses from her handbag, and slipped them onto her face.

What were the chances of her not seeing them on her way back to the house she should have been in. But then again where would they go? To her house to prove their point. She hoped not.

How had she made such a horrific mistake? Well, in her defense, it was dark, and she was sleep deprived and emotionally drained. Anyone escaping from her Mafia uncle in order to avoid marrying a man who was evil himself would have made the same mistake. Of course, they didn’t have to know the reasons that led up to her making that mistake.

As buckets of sunlight poured all over her as she opened the door, she was also met with the sight of the three of them, lounging around their porch… like they owned not only the porch but the whole world as well.

God help her, of all the things she could have done wrong, did it have to be taking ownership of the wrong house that actually belonged to three men, who looked like they did?

Tilting her head up, and squaring her shoulders, she stared straight ahead, not daring to look at them in case she forgot to turn away and ended up staring at them instead.

She didn’t have time for such frivolity. She was on a mission, and if she failed, her life was at stake.

“My apologies,” she said and hated that her Russian accent suddenly seemed more pronounced in saying just those two words. That said, she prayed she didn’t fall flat on her face in her needle-thin high heels as she glanced at the couple of steps she needed to wheel her bags down from the entrance of their house.

But she ended up taking a step back instead. Her breath got clogged in her throat. Their nearness, like a furnace wall, blazed down her body and crackled the nerves under her skin. That same hotness that traveled all over her body, settled into her cheeks now.

A kind of curious fear mixed with breathless fascination stalled her, and she forgot how to think, how to instruct her body to move, to go around them and leave because she was drowning in the fire that spilled from their very gazes.

One of them reached out and slipped her sunglasses off her face.

She gasped softly at the slight touch of his hand on her face, then helplessly as he handed her sunglasses to the man on his right, who pocketed her possession.

“Excuse me,” she finally forced herself to say and started to maneuver her way around them.

“You see, my brothers and I are a little too drunk right now, so we’re going to give you twelve hours to come up with a better apology than that while we sleep it off. We’ll be waiting.”

She couldn’t contain her unladylike snort, but it seemed entirely appropriate, and she also didn’t dare turn around or stop herself from bumping her bags down the steps.

“If you don’t, we’re going to tilt that hot body of yours over our laps.”

“And have us some fun spanking some of that pride right out of you, our Russian beauty.”

What? Surely, she had misheard. Or they were trying to scare her.

“Rude,” she said loud enough that they heard her even though she was blood red in the face now and shaking all over as she hurriedly tried to escape them.

Instinctively, she went right.

“Other way,” one of them said.

Blyad.

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily before she spun around and had to walk past them again. Strangely, she didn’t need to look at them to feel their gazes on her. Or that there was ever-present amusement that coupled with their gazes: she didn’t doubt that. If they thought she would come to them with a better apology in twelve hours, when they’d be sober, they’d be waiting until their thick, silky, and healthy hair turned gray.

As soon as she got home—to the right house—she would put this whole sorry affair behind her and never think about it again. And as far as her new neighbors were concerned, she planned never to set eyes on them again.

As arranged, she found the key exactly where Viktoria had said it would be and entered the house, except the whole wooden door seemed to have come unhinged, and she wobbled in her heels trying to put it back into place. What the hell?

Once inside, she stared at her surroundings with her mouth open. There was not a shred of luxury in sight. While the area was huge, the furniture looked old and overused and had a slight moldy smell to it.

The kitchen did look as if it had been cleaned, or rather hastily, if that, and she found a box of chocolates that had been opened and a few removed, and a bottle of beer. Beer? And a note that said that everything was going to be okay, and signed, V.

She knew her aunt had instructed that message to be written on the card, but she was sure when she meant chocolates it would have been designer chocolates and vintage wine.

Anastasia checked the fridge, then shut it again because of a stench that emitted from it, and after checking the bare cupboards and even emptier pantry, she deduced whoever her aunt had hired, through her friend—the owner of the house—to do housekeeping and shopping for her had swindled her out of her money.

It didn’t matter. She had to stay focused. She wasn’t on holiday. She was in the middle of the fight for her life. And she had no idea, not the faintest, of how she was going to go about finding a way out.

 

***~~~***

 

It wasn’t every day the Smith brothers came home from a night of hard drinking with the men of Lakeside Banter to find a sleeping beauty in their bed. And what a beauty she was. Swirls of black glossy hair that shimmered when she moved, decadent blue eyes, and lips so perfect, Callum would have given up his left nut to taste and suck on them. And it was clear his brothers, Ben and Kane, felt the exact same way.

They weren’t gentleman, not by a long shot, and they had no problem allowing their gazes to rush over her body as she lay in Callum’s bed. It was the first room she came to obviously.

Soft curves, stunning legs, and that dash of black painted on her pretty toenails seemed enough to restart their erections all over again.

And then she turned around, and maybe it was their subtle growls that had awoken her, but the vision of her two perfect nipples blinking at them, in the center of breasts so luscious, so full, so incredibly made to fit in the palms of their rather big hands, and they were lost.

And then she woke up, threatened them in her sweet Russian accent with a gun, and a Taser no less, put a hole into their floor and wall, and ushered them out of their own house in nothing but a sheet around her body.

They had repeatedly told her she had the wrong house, but she had been so fixated on getting them out of the house, she hadn’t heard them let alone listen to them.

They could have easily subdued her, before she shut the door in their faces, then made her see the error of her ways, which would have been unnecessary if she had only listened to what they were saying in the first place.

Of course, they might have even have toppled her over their lap for a good old-fashioned spanking for being so stubborn, and it’s not like they were threatening in any way. They had given her ample space, awarding her a vast amount of control over the situation.

But they wanted more than to spank her. To place her hot, naked body over their knees and redden her glorious, round-shaped ass with their palms, then slipping and dipping their fingers between the folds of what could only be a gorgeous pussy to see if she was wet. They had never felt such a strong desire to take a woman like they did her, of watching them ruining her sexy highbrow pride until she was a quivering, begging mess over their laps.

They had even let her get away with that way-too supercilious apology. Oh, for that alone she should have gotten their belts across her ass. 

But they didn’t trust themselves to spank her, make her wet, reduce her to nothing but to obey them, then send her back home to the house she was actually meant to be in. Not in the state they were in. If they had touched her, in any way whatsoever, it would have ended with her in their bed, her body tangled around theirs, their cocks inside her honey wetness. All her holes filled at once, multiple times, from her curvy lips to her pussy and the sweet, soft spot between those beautiful ass cheeks of hers. Nothing would have been able to stop them.

But without saying a word to each other, they knew that once they took her to their bed and bathed her insides with their cum, they were going to declare their ownership of her. She was going to be theirs, maybe even forever, this sexy as fuck, Russian beauty who seemed to be a hiding a dangerous secret behind her stunning blue eyes.

No woman had done that to them, ever. Not the three of them collectively even though they had shared a woman between them numerous times. She had devastated them, had heated their blood in an instant, and unleashed their protective natures.

They wanted her.

They would take her.

Because that’s what the Smiths did. They took what they wanted. And the Russian beauty next door, with a perfect shot and proud nature, was going to be theirs… if they had touched her.

They had given her twelve hours to deliver a heartfelt apology to them. But they had also given themselves twelve hours to get her out of their drunken systems and for them to see if she was nothing but an illusion and they had imagined their reaction to her.

That didn’t mean they were messing around when they said they expected a proper apology from her. They meant every word of it. If she didn’t say she was sorry in a way they believed, they were going to spank that apology out of her.

Someone had to take the Russian beauty in hand, and the job was theirs now and only theirs.