The Bullion Brothers: Billionaire triplet brothers interracial menage Read Free

hesitantly stood. One more pull of my lips between my teeth and I set off.

    The warm breeze in my face helped me back to the real world. Visualising the past blowing away behind me like ribbons and thinking of myself striding into the future, I clenched my teeth just for a moment as I strode off.

    Traffic noise faded behind the birdsong and rustling leaves. Children squeaked and scampered nearby. All of it left me miserable but with a clean feeling.

    I left the park and crossed the busy street. I walked by the Dakota building where John Lennon had lived. And died. And I was miserable again, but the feeling was transforming.

    I crossed the noisy traffic of Broadway by the block with the lovely green Beaux-Arts domes and carvings and I wandered aimlessly down to Riverside Park, where the Hudson gleamed and shimmered. There’s a pretty café by the marina where I thought I might get a coffee and an ice-cream.

    As I got nearer the idea made of it me lonely and glum. Fuck it, Petroc was hardly the world’s most eligible bachelor, but I’d put a big chunk of my little life into him and I had really believed that we could be going somewhere. Only to find out that he wanted us to be going to different somewheres, and he’d tossed me away like a candy wrapper.

    Well, I was done crying about him. I did so much of that last night, I must have shed a couple of pounds of saltwater at least. So, best fucking foot forwards, Maya, onwards and fucking upwards .

    As I got closer to the dazzling waterfront,   the trees behind me muffled the honking buzz of traffic. Lower, slower, sputtery engine sounds of the river ahead were occasionally punctuated by the rasp of a boat horn that echoed on the water.

    Across the river is New Jersey, hundreds of thousands of apartment windows, where people were all living their lives, just like they were yesterday, just like they would be tomorrow.

    Leaves were turning golden yellows, reds and browns on the trees in the park, and every few moments a jogger huffed by. The breeze carried a few brown leaves, and a slight chill.

    As I wandered towards the river’s edge, and a big, unsteady   street-dweller came towards me, his arms outstretched. Nine times out of ten in Manhattan, these encounters are funny, charming or just plain goofy.

    As a girl, I always expect them to be the one time when it’s not any of those. The large, round man had a straggly beard and a grin with an incomplete set of teeth.

    His breath reached me long before he did, a mix of fuel and decay. I tried not to flinch as he croaked, “Hey, baby,” at me. His hand reached out towards my shoulder and I moved a step back. “Aw, don’t be like that,” his gappy grin widened and I saw a flash in his eyes that I didn’t like. I shrank back towards the bushes. He came after me.

    Then he froze. He was looking past my shoulder. His eyes stretched wide and his face went gray. Behind me I heard a rustling in the bush, then a deep low, grating sound. Soft but still shocking. I didn’t think I could risk taking my eyes off the wooly homeless man, even though he was starting to back away slowly, with a look of terror growing across his face.

    Behind me I heard a rustle of leaves and I felt heat. The warmth of a large body moved close to my back. When the homeless man had backed a safe distance away I turned, but all I saw was a large shape slipping back into the bushes and I heard the rustling of the leaves.  

    As I looked around, the homeless man fled in a panic. The few other people I could see were just enjoying a balmy Saturday, like nothing was going on. In the marina nearby, little boats bobbed on the water, and a massive, silver yacht was cutting through the Hudson and heaving by.

    On the prow stood a big, fine looking man in white pants, a white shirt, Raybans and a white sailor’s cap. He shielded his eyes and gave a jolly wave towards the shore, the way that people on boats do. I gave as jolly a wave as I had in