Open Your Legs for my Family (2 page)

Good question.

He’s amazingly, incredibly handsome, no
doubt. I can stare at him for hours – those perfectly shaped lips,
as full and lush as a woman’s. That patrician nose. That wonderful
profile, as ethereal as a Michelangelo’s bust.

I won’t even get started on his body.

But . . .

He has abused me, shared me with his friends
(and gardeners) – all in the name of the Initiation. I was his
slave.

Now I am his equal.

In these past two weeks, he has made me feel
like I’m the only woman in the world. No one else seems to exist
for him. No one else matters. How can any woman not fall wantonly,
violently in love with such a gorgeous man who puts her in the
center of his universe? Especially since the past is a manufactured
situation – a situation I wholly agreed and
submitted
to?

Now I’m submitting myself to another such
situation. The Porsche winds through a private road flanked by
cedars. We pull up to a pair of humungous wrought iron gates,
gilded in gold. A pair of stone angels bedecks the pillars. A
security guard sits in a booth beside the right pillar. As the
gates open noiselessly, he waves us in.

“No strip search?” I raise a quizzical
eyebrow.

Max grins. “Not for the homestead.”

The driveway seems to go on forever, and I
feel like I’m visiting the richest family this side of the Eastern
seaboard. Through the crowded trees, I glimpse something shimmering
and shining in the distance. I gasp.

“Oh my God, we’re near the ocean.”

“Yes.”

The trees begin to thin out and I see the
magnificent body of water for myself. The main house (no, mansion)
rises on the crest of a cliff overlooking the ocean. It is
festooned with gables and turrets like some medieval castle. I
almost expect to see gargoyles rise from the rafters like a Gothic
church, but the roof is thankfully clear. Birds wheel in the sky,
giving the entire vista a French postcard quality.

So I have a rich boyfriend.

Superrich.

I’ve always known Max is quite a catch, of
course, but it never really occurred to me to desire him because of
that. I have never been into Max’s money. I can honestly say that.
It’s always been about Max himself – his body, his looks, his
entire heavenly being. The money is an afterthought. A nice
afterthought, I will admit, but still an afterthought.

“Wow,” I say. “Just, like, wow.”

He grimaces. “OTT, isn’t it? It’s my
great-grandfather’s idea to build the house that way. We’re old
money. Or at least, my father is. Whether we’re going to see a dime
out of his kitty depends on how we behave.”

“Behave?”

“Ah well, maybe you’ll find out later.”

We go up a winding hill road towards the
cliff. It’s like visiting a tourist attraction. I almost expect
someone to collect our tickets at a gate, but we rev up a driveway
where plenty of luxury cars are parked.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
I ask as he parks the car at an empty berth.

“Three more than I’ve asked for.”

A butler is standing at the wide curving
steps that lead up to the double doors. He comes down as Max exits
his car door.

“Welcome back, sir.”

“And good day to you, Heathcliff. This is
Gina Wesley.”

The butler bows to me. “Welcome, young miss.
Let me help you with the luggage.”

Max proffers his arm and I take it. You see,
it’s these little couple things that I like. Handholding and car
door opening. With a little trepidation, I enter the house. The
hall inside has a vaulted ceiling and has the immediate effect of
impressing the hell out of me. Elaborate crystal chandeliers dangle
from the ceiling, and there’s a fountain as a centerpiece, with
rivulets of tinkling, silvery water spraying out of the mouths and
fishtails of mermaids.

The whole place looks more like the interior
of a hotel than a house. Max is right. It’s splendidly OTT.

“Where’s everyone?” Max asks Heathcliff, who
is struggling with our bags.

“Your father has been called away
unexpectedly to New York on an urgent business matter, sir. Your
mother is in Antigua.”

“What’s she doing in Antigua?”

“I’d rather not say, sir.”

“Oh, is she with one of her boyfriends
again? Or is it a girlfriend this time?”

“As I mentioned, I’d rather not say,
sir.”

I turn to Max, amazed.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my folks have an
open relationship. Now that we’re all grown up, they fuck who they
want and they don’t even try to hide if from us.”

Wow. No wonder Max is liberal. It
figures.

He steers me through an arched brick doorway
before I have time to contemplate his parents’ strange arrangement.
We’re in a cozier living room, decorated with confortable-looking
sofas and armchairs, all done in mauve and blue. The wallpaper is a
pretty pastel and a brick fireplace that is currently dormant lends
charm to the furnishings. This is obviously a family den.

Two young men and a woman are sprawled on
the couch and one of the armchairs. I almost take a step back. The
youths are identical twins. They are dark-haired – with facial bone
structure that would have graced the cover of GQ magazine. They are
slender and clad in tight T-shirts that show off their
well-delineated shoulders and arms.

The woman is slightly older than Max. Of the
three, she resembles him the most. A curtain of straight blonde
hair falls from her scalp to her waist and her eyes are a shocking
blue. She wears a diaphanous lacy blouse that enhances her curves
over a corduroy skirt. Her black boots come up to her knees.

They look up as I enter. The woman’s gaze is
immediately frosty and piercing.

“Hey,” Max says.

“Hey,” the twins reply in chorus. They flash
him a grin.

The woman doesn’t say anything.

“This is Gina. Gina Wesley. A . . . friend
from college.”

Friend
. So I have been relegated to
‘friend’ in front of his family.

Inwardly, I fume.

Max glances at my crestfallen face. His
expression shifts to an ‘Oh, fuck it’ type of resignation, and he
adds, “Actually, this is my new girlfriend, Gina. Gina, meet the
twins – Alex and Brad.”

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“Hi, I’m Alex.” One of the twins nods at
me.

His twin gets up and gives me his hand. I
shake it. His grip is firm and his blue eyes arrests mine. They
hold my gaze for a tad longer than necessary.

“I’m Brad.” The implications in his gaze are
clear. It says ‘I find you attractive and I would like to get to
know you better’.

Uh oh.

I surreptitiously glance at Max. He doesn’t
notice. He’s too busy locking eyes with his sister.

“So you’re Max’s girlfriend,” Brad says.
He’s the one in the blue T-shirt. Alex wears the white. That will
suffice for now, but if they both take their clothes off, then I
wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

Of course, the thought of them taking their
clothes off sends me a mental image that I’m not too comfortable
about. Both Brad and Alex are extremely handsome – in a way that is
completely different from the glorious golden god that is Max
Devlin. Let’s just say they are Mercury or Cupid to his Apollo. But
being in a relationship does not prohibit me from finding other men
attractive, right?

“I don’t remember Max ever taking any one of
his girlfriends home,” Brad continues to me.

“No?” I say.

As beautiful as Brad is up close, I’ll admit
to being a little distracted. Max is talking in a low voice to his
sister. (Well, she can only be his sister.) Their bodies are very
close and there is something odd about their posture in conjunction
to each other.

I blink. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

“Of course he has,” Alex drawls. Not to be
outdone, he gets off the couch and comes over to me. Compared to
Brad, he’s more aloof.

He shakes my hand briefly. “There’s that
older woman . . . what’s her name now? Connie, I think. He brought
her here. But you, Gina, have the dubious honor of being the
second.”

Connie was here? Max brought her here? I
flush, remembering Connie and how she sucked at my pussy lips on
the night of the Final Initiation.

“Be nice, Alex.”

“I’m always nice.”

“The hell you are. Don’t mind him, Gina.
He’s just being an asshole, as usual.”

“Hey.”

Max looks over. “Are you guys being nice to
my girlfriend?”

“Always.”

“Wouldn’t dream of being otherwise, big
brother.”

Max’s sister finally speaks up, “So you’re
Gina.”

She doesn’t come over to shake my hand.

“Yes.” I don’t know why, but she makes me
nervous.

“Gina, this is Alice. Alice, Gina.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, walking over to
her uncertainly.

I hold out my hand, but she doesn’t take it.
Instead, she stares me down, like an adversary sizing up a rival.
She’s a good five inches taller than me. I make a mental note to
wear higher heels next time.

I’m submissive by nature, and I can’t help
but cringe before her.

Max is looking pretty uncomfortable
himself.

He ruffles his hair, which is lighted up
into a glorious gold by the sun streaming through the bay windows.
“Uh, Alice, why don’t you show Gina to her room?”

My room? I have my own room? I thought I was
sleeping with Max. Or maybe he doesn’t want to ruffle his parents’
feathers. Or Healthcliff’s. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, it isn’t my
house. I’m just a guest and I shouldn’t be complaining.

Should I?

Alice looks like she’d rather be pulling
teeth than to show me to my room.

“Well, come on then,” she finally says.

Without another word, she turns and walks
through the doorway as if she expects me to follow her without
question. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alice was a former Initiator
in Phi Kappa Omega.

I glance at Max. He nods.
Go on. It’s all
right.

The twins grin and nudge each other.

My heart going pitter-patter in my chest, I
turn tail and run after Alice.

3

Alice is tapping her foot impatiently at the
top of the grand curving stairway.

“What kept you?” she says.

“Sorry.” I’m a little breathless from
running up the stairs two at a time. “I left my stuff with
Heathcliff. Should I – ?”

“Don’t bother. He’s already lugged it up to
your room.”

She strides off without waiting for me.
Inwardly, I sigh. So it’s going to be like this. What’s her bug
with me? The fact that her little brother has openly declared me
his girlfriend? Remembering how odd I thought the two of them were
together in the lounge, I suppress my desire to know and lengthen
my strides to match hers.

The corridors upstairs are long and
decorated with more paintings and tables piled with curios than I
have ever seen in somebody’s home. Then of course, I haven’t been
in many homes belonging to people whose possible take-home salary
in a day dwarves my father’s entire life’s savings.

After winding down a wing, Alice opens the
second door to the end of the passageway.

“This is your room,” she says gruffly.

She stands there, holding the doorknob, and
blocking my way. It’s as though she literally doesn’t want me to be
a guest in this house. I have to sidle past her, holding my breath
and making myself as small as possible, to get through. Why do I
allow people to treat me this way? Oh right, I’m a natural born
doormat.

The guest room is larger than I expected it
would be – with a sitting area, its own refrigerator and a balcony
that looks out to the ocean. The doors to the balcony are flung
wide open. The long curtains tent in the soft breeze, scented with
sea salt. Alice clicks exasperatedly and moves to shut the glass
doors.

“I keep telling Heathcliff to keep the
damned thing shut. But that’s help for you these days.”

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had help. My one
suitcase is already sitting on its perch beside a built-in closet.
The bed is a four-poster ensemble, replete with a white canopy that
calls to mind the Arabian nights.

“It’s beautiful,” I remark honestly. “Thank
you.”

I suppose Max gets conjugal visiting
rights.

Alice shrugs. “It’s OK.”

I decide that I don’t like Alice. And Alice
clearly doesn’t like me.

She’s sizing me up and down, as though I’m a
lab specimen that has not been delivered according to
specifications.

She says, “You’re tiny. He doesn’t usually
like tiny girls.”

I’m a tad irritated, though I’m trying to
mask it. I’m not the sort of girl who gets irritated easily.

“We get along just fine,” I retort.

“Whatever. He usually likes them big.”

You mean like Connie.

“In what way do you mean ‘big’?” I say,
trying to keep my tone even.

“You know.” She puts her palms in front of
her own breasts – which are larger than mine by any standard. She
mimics groping watermelons.

“He likes mine just fine.”

“Is that what he tells you?”

“Yes.”

How long is she going to stand there and
interrogate me like this? I wish I had the courage to tell her to
get out of my room, but really, this is her house. And she’s my
boyfriend’s sister. I’m too new to the family to antagonize anyone
just yet.

Then she suddenly smiles. Her face, which is
lovely when she’s not scowling and making like she’s eaten
hobnails, transforms into something quite breathtaking. I hold my
breath.

“You’re an initiate, aren’t you?”

It’s obvious that Max hasn’t told them
anything about me.

“I’m in Phi Kappa Omega,” I say
evasively.

She chortles in delight. “This is the first
time he’s brought an initiate home.”

“I’m not an initiate anymore. I’m a member
of Phi Kappa Omega. The youngest ever to get in.”