STEPBROTHER: The Bride's Surprise (FMM Menage Stepbrother Romance) (Contemporary Women New Adult & College Menage Short Stories) by N.A. Violet Page B
Authors: N.A. Violet
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Weitzmans,” Livy whined.
“It took me sixteen months modeling panties in the mall to afford these,” Livy’s shoulders sank as she slumped, pouting.
The cab driver rolled his eyes. He got out of the cab, opened up the rear door for Livy and he sighed.
“Get in.”
Francis Lavoisier stood under a plastic palm tree with a coconut in his hand. He was in a stare down with one of the giraffes and he had the coconut aimed at the giraffe’s lips.
“You get within one inch of me and my Montecristi Panama hat, and I’ll knock you back into the Sahara—.” Francis bobbed the coconut, ready to strike.
The giraffe gnawed on a mouthful of shrubs and stared.
“Aren’t they supposed to have a wrangler for these things?” Francis turned to the crew with his hands spread out, and with the coconut, scrunching his face.
The makeup artist and the wardrobe girl shrugged their shoulders.
Livy came around the corner from the side street, wobbling.
“Oh, thank Mary,” said Francis.
Francis scurried to Livy and he helped her walk up the garden steps. The photo shoot was at a local garden Livy had Francis book. The permits they’d to finagle were over the moon in fiscal tape. “Girl, where have you been,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“The model still isn’t here and the photographer is threatening to poison the chimpanzee’s banana with Triple Sec” Francis looked over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me the super model had a rider for an open bar?”
Livy leant on Francis’ 6’3” frame. “I got her on loan from another Agency.”
“Ooh, girl. You know why the model isn’t here then. That is sabotage, girl—.” Livy let Francis pick her up and he set her on a dais above the crew and beside a Jib crane next to the photographer.
“Everybody, I want to thank you for being here,” said Livy.
‘Our super model seems to be MIA,” Livy said. “Rest assured, we’re going to have a model. All of you will be paid, I need a little more of your patience.”
The photographer Jacques leaned around the Jib. “Why don’t you do it?”
The crew turned to Jacques.
“Who is he, anyway?” Markie Salamon, the 20-year old makeup artist said.
“That’s Jacques, photographer extraordinaire. He’s done all the top covers,” Francis gushed.
Markie pinned her Edith Head style spectacles onto her nose. “Oh, has he?”
“Mm-hm. He’s done Sports Illustrated to Paris Vogue. Word is, he still has a thing for Miss Liv,” Francis said.
Markie tied her blue-black hair into a chignon, her freckles poking out under the sun. “He doesn’t look like much.” Suddenly Markie frowned. “Doesn’t he have a last name?”
“No. Just Jacques. Apparently looks aren’t everything,” Francis pursed his lips.
Markie saw Francis drop his eyes down after he looked up at the crane. Markie covered her mouth when she saw Francis was staring at Jacques’ jean-clad crotch. “ Oh, no ,” Markie said, her eyes wide.
“Mm-hm,” Francis nodded slowly, making his hands spread apart to the width of a foot long sub.
“Our girl Livy attracts the men with the Magnums, non-Latex, size XL,” Francis smiled coyly.
Markie shook her head, shivering head to toe.
*****
Twenty minutes later Livy perched high on a scaffolding. Her legs were wrapped around the neck of a giraffe and she held a big fur ball in her arms.
Livy’s longtime friend and one-time companion Jacques, snapped pics of her cuddling the chimpanzee Max. While Livy flirted with the two giraffes, teasing them with a branch of Acacia leaves.
“Grand pappy Donovan, if there is a Heaven and I ever see you there, I am going to introduce you to my hand on her face,” Livy muttered.
Jacques and wardrobe had spruced up Livy with a cotton mesh bikini bottom and without a top.
Livy stared down into the lens, giving the
“It took me sixteen months modeling panties in the mall to afford these,” Livy’s shoulders sank as she slumped, pouting.
The cab driver rolled his eyes. He got out of the cab, opened up the rear door for Livy and he sighed.
“Get in.”
Francis Lavoisier stood under a plastic palm tree with a coconut in his hand. He was in a stare down with one of the giraffes and he had the coconut aimed at the giraffe’s lips.
“You get within one inch of me and my Montecristi Panama hat, and I’ll knock you back into the Sahara—.” Francis bobbed the coconut, ready to strike.
The giraffe gnawed on a mouthful of shrubs and stared.
“Aren’t they supposed to have a wrangler for these things?” Francis turned to the crew with his hands spread out, and with the coconut, scrunching his face.
The makeup artist and the wardrobe girl shrugged their shoulders.
Livy came around the corner from the side street, wobbling.
“Oh, thank Mary,” said Francis.
Francis scurried to Livy and he helped her walk up the garden steps. The photo shoot was at a local garden Livy had Francis book. The permits they’d to finagle were over the moon in fiscal tape. “Girl, where have you been,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“The model still isn’t here and the photographer is threatening to poison the chimpanzee’s banana with Triple Sec” Francis looked over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me the super model had a rider for an open bar?”
Livy leant on Francis’ 6’3” frame. “I got her on loan from another Agency.”
“Ooh, girl. You know why the model isn’t here then. That is sabotage, girl—.” Livy let Francis pick her up and he set her on a dais above the crew and beside a Jib crane next to the photographer.
“Everybody, I want to thank you for being here,” said Livy.
‘Our super model seems to be MIA,” Livy said. “Rest assured, we’re going to have a model. All of you will be paid, I need a little more of your patience.”
The photographer Jacques leaned around the Jib. “Why don’t you do it?”
The crew turned to Jacques.
“Who is he, anyway?” Markie Salamon, the 20-year old makeup artist said.
“That’s Jacques, photographer extraordinaire. He’s done all the top covers,” Francis gushed.
Markie pinned her Edith Head style spectacles onto her nose. “Oh, has he?”
“Mm-hm. He’s done Sports Illustrated to Paris Vogue. Word is, he still has a thing for Miss Liv,” Francis said.
Markie tied her blue-black hair into a chignon, her freckles poking out under the sun. “He doesn’t look like much.” Suddenly Markie frowned. “Doesn’t he have a last name?”
“No. Just Jacques. Apparently looks aren’t everything,” Francis pursed his lips.
Markie saw Francis drop his eyes down after he looked up at the crane. Markie covered her mouth when she saw Francis was staring at Jacques’ jean-clad crotch. “ Oh, no ,” Markie said, her eyes wide.
“Mm-hm,” Francis nodded slowly, making his hands spread apart to the width of a foot long sub.
“Our girl Livy attracts the men with the Magnums, non-Latex, size XL,” Francis smiled coyly.
Markie shook her head, shivering head to toe.
*****
Twenty minutes later Livy perched high on a scaffolding. Her legs were wrapped around the neck of a giraffe and she held a big fur ball in her arms.
Livy’s longtime friend and one-time companion Jacques, snapped pics of her cuddling the chimpanzee Max. While Livy flirted with the two giraffes, teasing them with a branch of Acacia leaves.
“Grand pappy Donovan, if there is a Heaven and I ever see you there, I am going to introduce you to my hand on her face,” Livy muttered.
Jacques and wardrobe had spruced up Livy with a cotton mesh bikini bottom and without a top.
Livy stared down into the lens, giving the
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