Southern Seduction [Bride Train 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (15 page)

His blue eyes pierced her own. She slowly shook her head to answer his question. His nostrils flared. An answering jolt of need made her desperate intake of breath sound more like a moan. His chuckle sounded as strained as her breathing.

“Thinking about it will make my welcome-to-the-family kiss all the better.”

All her breath left in a whoosh. “Kiss?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he nodded.

“Since you’re married to Cole, it’s only right that I give you a kiss to welcome you to the family. Cole said you wanted lessons. I’m ready if you are.”

Her heart pounded so fast she thought she’d faint. He was tall, blond, and oh so handsome. More, he respected her. He would wait until she came to him. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. His eyes moved to that spot.

“I’m married,” she said.

“Yep. And since Cole’s my partner, that means you’re married to me as well. Kiss me,” he demanded.

Oh, God, she wanted that kiss like nothing before. She’d seen the other wives hauling their husbands’ heads down for a kiss that went on and on. When they came up for air, their hair was messed, their lips were swollen, and their eyes were bright.

She wanted that passion. Craved it.

Byron’s kiss wouldn’t be short and sweet, leaving her wanting, as Cole’s had been. She stepped forward, into his arms. They wrapped around her and pressed her tight. His heart pounded in her ear. Hers was beating just as fast. She pulled back, testing him. He released her, letting his hands settle on her hips.

His thumbs caressed her belly as if they were unable to stay still. Instead of answering, he brought his head down. Soft and sure, he brushed his lips against hers. She inhaled the aroma of fresh male sweat, leather, and the tang of his soap. His moustache tickled her chin for a moment.

He opened his mouth and she followed, tasting her stew. He pulled her closer. Her breasts rubbed against his shirt, scraping her erect nipples. A jolt of desire shot between her legs. She grabbed his shirt in her fists and pulled him tight. He lifted his head, panting. She was the same, fighting for breath but wanting more.

He shifted his body so their chests weren’t pressed tight. Before she could react, his knuckles grazed her nipple. Eyes closed in shock, she arched. He caught the niblet of flesh between his fingers and pinched. The ache made her press her thighs together. It wasn’t enough stimulation. She ground herself against his hip. Another chuckle, this one even more strained, drifted down.

He cupped her whole breast in one large hand. Her nipple poked into the center of his palm. He squeezed, waited a moment, then repeated it. And again. She moaned and dropped her head back, begging for more. Instead, he stepped back. He held her arms until she opened her eyes and found her balance.

“You like my kisses,” he said with satisfaction.

“That was more than a kiss,” she replied, her voice husky. She swallowed. “I want more.”

Her whole body felt alive. Alive, and needy. She wanted more all right, a lot more. She was married now, to all three men. She broke no vows by enjoying Byron touching her. But he shook his head.

“Any more and Cole won’t get that annulment he’s planning on.”

Byron released her and took another step back. It brought him to the front step. She looked at his belt. His wool pants tented out as if he’d stowed a sausage inside. She licked her lips. He groaned. She met his eyes, now a darker blue, from kissing her?

A moment later he was gone. Her breasts ached to be touched, as did the place between her thighs. When she took a step, she realized her thighs, right at the crease of her belly, were wet. They rubbed together as she walked to the table. She got out a handful of thick carrots, washed the dirt off and set them down. She took one in her fist to chop the end off. Her fingers didn’t quite close. She looked at it for a moment.

“Oh, my,” she whispered to herself. “It’s like I’m holding an orange cock!”

She held it up, thinking of how something like it could fit inside her. From what the wives said, their husbands did wonderful things to make them hot and wet before putting their cocks inside. She was certainly hot and her thighs were wet.

What if the men refused to treat her like a wife? She wanted a baby, and for that she needed to lose her virginity. She turned the cock-shaped vegetable in her hand, feeling the bumps on the sides. Could she use a carrot to break her maidenhead so they’d have no reason to deny her?

No. Unless a man’s cock went inside, she was a virgin. They insisted they’d not seduce her. She rubbed her thighs together, needing something but not knowing what. They knew what she needed. All three of them did.

“Sophie’s right,” she murmured. “I could seduce my husbands.” She moved and her arm brushed her still-hard nipple. Another jolt of lust hit. “And if one of them doesn’t do something soon, that’s what I’m going to do!”

Maybe she could convince Marshall to kiss her all over. Maybe he’d use his fingers as well. And if her own fingers felt so good at night, and Byron’s touch through her blouse made her quiver, how much better would it be if they were naked?

“Home, thank God!”

Marshall swayed in the saddle. He narrowed his eyes to judge the distance between the barn and the cabin. It would be smart to ride his horse to the back door and get off nice and close, rather than here by the barn. Either way he’d have to wait until he was sure he could dismount without starting the bleeding again. The gash wasn’t a mortal wound, but it had already bled a fair bit.

Casey would sew him up. He could live without getting stitches, but he wouldn’t be able to work for a long time. That wasn’t acceptable, especially with the fall gather due. And that meant he had to face his terror. With Casey’s hand on the needle he could think about what he wanted to do with her, rather than what she held.

“Shit! I hate needles!”

If he was really lucky, Casey might comfort him afterward. Preferably in bed, naked, with her fingers and mouth. There was a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening, but it was more likely than him sewing his own gash. Surely a woman could do a better sewing job than his cousins. He swayed from sudden dizziness.

“Oops.”

He wavered, almost caught his balance, then slid off the horse. His leg gave out and, rather than fight to stand, he followed it to the ground. The horse leaned down, teeth bared.

“No, you don’t!” he yelled, swatting at it with his hat. “One more bite and you’re wolf bait!” The horse backed off, still eyeing him.

“Marshall?”

He turned his head. Casey stood by the house. Her dress clung to her breasts in the breeze. He lifted a bloody hand to wave at her. Just seeing her made him feel a lot better. Her eyes widened. She lifted her skirt with both hands and began running. He concentrated on her slender feet and the way her breasts bounced with every step. Was she naked underneath? She ran her eyes over him then hauled the horse away by the reins, tied it in the barn, and rushed back. She set her fists on her hips and glared down at him.

“Is that your blood?” she demanded.

“Of course it’s my blood! What kind of damn fool question is that?”

“What did you do?”

“Me?” It was hard to glare at a short woman if you were flat out on the ground. “A cantankerous mama longhorn thought I was after her baby, so she gored me with her horn.”

“You
were
after her baby.”

Casey tucked her skirts out of the way and crouched beside him. She ran her eyes from his ankle to his groin. She reached for his belt.

“Whoa!” He stopped her hand. “I plan to use my cock again, so be gentle with me.”

She tilted her head and gave him one of those impossible-to-understand female looks.

“If you can think of that while bleeding, you can wait while I unsaddle your horse.”

In spite of the pain, Marshall gave her his best leer. “Sugar, I’m always thinking of
that
when you’re near. Give me a stick, help me up, and I’ll hobble inside. I need some stitches.”

“You sure you want me to do it? I can’t sew very good.”

“I’m sure.” He loved the way her nipples pressed against her dress. She must not have too many layers on. He looked up. “I’ve been looking forward to you touching me all the way home.” He forced a laugh. “Don’t you know I’d do damn near anything to have your hands on my naked body?”

She huffed, whirled, and stomped away, but not before he saw her flushed face. She went in the barn, muttering. He looked at the long way he had to go, uphill. Casey came back out, tossed him a rake to use as a crutch, and disappeared again.

Too much sweating, struggling, and pain finally brought him inside the cabin. He slowly collapsed onto the floor. He used his hands and good leg to shift his arse along. When he realized he was leaving a trail of blood, he gave up. He lay on his back, gasping at the effort of breathing.

“Getting gored was a darn foolish thing to do.”

He opened his eyes. Casey stood above him holding a skinning knife. She’d folded her sleeves back. The knife fit her hand too well for his comfort.

“I would have been fine if that dang mare hadn’t put my leg between its ribs and the longhorn. I swear that horse hates me.”

“You’re just angry because she’s the first female that ain’t sweet on you.”

“That so?” Marshall winked at her flustering. “You sayin’ you’re sweet on me?” He loved the way she blushed.

“Don’t move or I might cut you. I gotta open your pants.”

She carefully tucked her skirts away from the blood before she knelt to his right. She sliced the outside seam of his pants, folded it back, and looked down. He winced at the damage and looked at Casey instead. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“The blood makes it look worse than it is,” he said.

Without replying she moved to his other side and cut that seam as well. He let her undo his belt, but when she started on his buttons, he placed his left hand on hers. It was dirty, but not too bloody.

“Whoa, sugar.” He gave her the best wink he could manage. “A lady doesn’t take off a man’s belt and undo his pants unless she has some business with him.”

Another flush, this one deep, rose from the collar of her dress and swept to her hairline. She glowered and swatted his shoulder.

“I ain’t no lady. And I got sewing business with you, so hush up and let me work.”

He had to admit her way of slicing off his pants was far less painful than hauling them down his legs, over his wound, and off. She could sew his pant seams back up, as well as the rip made by the horn. He looked at the gash. It was about four inches long but not too deep. Blood covered him from belly to boot, as well as his hands. There would have been more, but he’d tied his neckerchief around his thigh to reduce the bleeding. He didn’t mind the sight of blood, even his. But that length of cut meant a needle would stab him far too many times.

“That’s a mighty pretty dress you’re wearing,” he said, careful not to touch it. “I wouldn’t want my blood to wreck it. You might want to take it off and put on your old clothes.” He forced a wink. “Or just stay nekkid. That would take my mind off you jabbing me.”

She backed away, lips pressed tight. He was sure her hands were shaking. Was she afraid of him? He cursed himself, both for having this unmanly fear and for being a randy fool. She was Cole’s wife, yet she’d barely been kissed. He and Byron had made a plan, but he didn’t know if By had managed to do more than brush her cheek. Grandpa would wear out a willow switch on his backside for speaking so disrespectfully to a woman, no matter the reason why.

“Aw, sugar, I didn’t mean to get you upset. I hate to say it, but needles scare the hell out of me. I’ll just close my eyes and let you work.”

Concentrating on her naked body would get him through this. He lay rigid, eyes closed. The last time he needed stitches Cole sewed while Byron held him down. Nobody bothered trying to stop his screams. Byron ended up with a black eye and he nearly broke Cole’s nose. But he couldn’t hurt Casey. He shuddered a breath.

“How come you’re scared of needles?”

If he could trust Casey to sew him up, he could tell her his dirty secret. No matter what Cole said about Casey not being good enough, he wanted her to stay. Grandpa said there should be no secrets between a man and his wife. Casey was his wife under local law, being married to Cole. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“My mother loved to dance and laugh. My father was the opposite. He insisted on having absolute control. Other people didn’t matter except in how they could serve him.”

Casey set a basin and some cloths beside him. She didn’t say anything, or meet his eyes, so he continued.

“Father was away on business a lot until I was ten. He came home and found us having a picnic in the back garden. He stood, hidden from us, as we laughed and ran. He was furious at our behavior, especially the way my mother rolled on the grass, laughing with my little sister.”

“Did your pappy beat you?”

Marshall’s ribs cramped in memory. His mother had been laughing but her face went white and stiff, like a porcelain doll, when she saw him. She’d briskly ordered them into the house.

“No,” said Marshall quietly. “I wish he had. Instead, he blamed Mother. After that he didn’t go on any more trips. He kept her with him, still and quiet, when he was at home. The rest of the time she was locked in her room. He burned all her books and her needlework. He even nailed the window shut and had it painted over so she couldn’t see out. She never left the house except on his arm. I never heard her laugh again.”

Casey knelt quietly beside him, her fingers interlocked, white from strain. Wide hazel eyes gravely watched him.

“Weren’t much laughing done in Pappy’s home neither,” she said.

“Your father beat you a lot?”

She shrugged and looked away. Though she tried to look as if it didn’t matter, her shoulders were tight. What was worse, the external pain of beatings or the internal control of drugs? Both could terrify a woman, or child. Neither would leave physical scars if the brute was careful. Words left no visible scars at all, yet could cut like the sharpest knife.