Three Hot Stepbrothers and a Jinxed Girl

By Chloe Kent

Holly Weaver only had one hot dream about her three otherwise overbearing stepbrothers and has been jinxed ever since.

 

Okay, maybe it was more than just one dream.

But everything that could go wrong in her life since then has. She lost a job, a car, and a goldfish that very morning. But after a complete mental cleanse, with the help of her lovely life coach—okay, her local fortune teller, Fyre Spirit—she managed to set her house in order again, replete with only pure thoughts about puppies and candy and none about her three stepbrothers in any shape or form.

 

Now mutual friends of theirs are getting married, cue destination wedding, and they simply won't accept Holly's excuse of not being able to make it.

 

So now Holly has to calculate exactly how many bags of Fyre's protection crystals she needs to lug around so as not to become jinxed all over again when she sees them again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chloe Kent
• Release date: Aug 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223196280

Book preview

Chapter One

––––––––

No. No. No.

It couldn’t be happening again.

It just couldn’t happen again.

Holly Weaver jumped out of her bed as if she’d been shot out of a cannon and, in the dark, stumped her toe against the leg of a chair. Well, that’s what she got for deciding her bedroom needed a makeover, and now nothing was where it used to be before.

Panicked because of her dream and hopping on one foot while the toe on the other throbbed, she managed to turn on a light, finally illuminating her room.

Forgetting her smarting toe, she immediately found her bag and then started to dig around in the massive tote. Unable to find what she was looking for, she emptied the contents onto her bed and ruffled through tubes of lipstick and lip balm, two hairbrushes, three miniature bottles of perfume, a pack of gum, a bag of candy, an umbrella, and two pairs of socks—

Oh, thank goodness, she gasped as she found a velvet pouch. She ripped the drawstring open and then dropped the three stones onto her palm: an amethyst, a hematite, and a black tourmaline. She rubbed the little rubbles between her palms.

Come on. Cleanse me. Protect me, she shrieked as her mind kept trying to sneak a peek at the dream she’d just had.

Three pairs of gorgeous eyes...

Blue. Brown. Grey.

Daring her to take off her clothes.

Nononono, she wailed, rubbing the stones harder between her palms.

Cleanse me, dammit, of my evil thoughts.

Three large, calloused hands. Eighteen abs in total, lips all over her, taking their turn to kiss her—

Frantic as her thoughts refused to remain void of such sinful things, she pulled up her pajama bottoms and started to rub the tiny rocks over her legs. Then over her forearms, then her neck, then her face. It wasn’t working.

Sobbing, she clumsily removed her top and rubbed the stones all over her arms and over her chest...

Three belts whooshing through the loops of their jeans.

Three zippers...

The most magnificent cocks she could ever have imagined...

She shoved down her pajama pants and rubbed the stones up her legs to her thighs, then to her face again. She awkwardly tried to balance on one foot while she scrubbed the crystals up on the other, but promptly fell over. While flat on her ass on her carpeted floor, she did the other foot.

It wasn’t working.

Her nipples were still as hard as pebbles. And... she was still damp down there.

Her legs parted... their cologne intoxicating every cell in her body as they closed in on her.

All three of them.

She had sunk to the lowest of lows when she rubbed the stones over her lower stomach. To her mons. Surely if she used them directly at the source of her concupiscence, it would work better.

No, that was just plain wrong.

She had been sober for six months. She wasn’t going to fall off the having-sex-with-three-guys-at-the-same-time wagon because she was going to be responsible and get help.

Putting her pajamas back on, she donned some sneakers and tossed herself into a coat. She stuffed everything back into her handbag again and slung it over her shoulder. Then, still holding the stones in her hands, she raced downstairs, snatched her keys off the whale-shaped vase on a table in her entrance hall, and flew out the door straight into her car.

The protective pebbles were just not working, and she couldn’t go back to that place in her head again for the simple reason that her thoughts were bad, sinful, and dirty, and she was going to go to hell, where she would be flogged repeatedly for her impure mental indiscretions while tied to a stake with flames licking at her feet.

There was only one person who could help her now. For a brief moment, she wondered why the streets were so quiet, but she was too busy trying to beat her thoughts down with a brain-based baton to ponder that any further.

She didn’t dare blink either, worried about what sights she might see behind her closed eyelids. But when her eyes started to well with tears, she had no choice but to blink really hard. Great, now she was crying, and since she couldn’t stop that now, she gave in and had a good wail.

Why was she the way she was?

What was wrong with her?

Of all the men in the universe, did she have to pick them as fantasy fodder? Because they had surely stamped her ticket to hell. And she’d be shown blatant signs of where she was heading if she continued.

After her first wild, wet, and wanton dream about them, the universe showed her the error of her ways. Naturally, she’d chastised herself quite properly and then forgave herself because she wasn’t a perv. She was Holly Weaver, everyone’s favorite financial planner and all-around ungainly person. When it came to them, she’d had a momentary relapse in lust’s way, and it would never happen again.

But the very next day after her dirty, well, filthy, never-to-be-dreamed-again dream, her goldfish died just out of nowhere, her coffee machine broke, and she lost her job. She hadn’t thought much about her sudden bad luck and where it was coming from until she saw them—awkwardly again, of course—at another jovial family lunch.

Then, after going home and taking an unexpected nap from the stress of seeing them again, she absolutely dreamed about them again, in full, vivid surround sound. Shockingly, a pipe burst under her kitchen sink that morning, she had to cut off three inches of her hair when she roasted it with her previously perfectly fine-working curling iron, and then her car broke down. That’s when she realized she had cursed herself in