Bride to Keep

by Alta Hensley

  I smiled and calmed a bit. Knowing he desired me like I did him, made my heart do flips. “Tell me… these demands you speak of.” I could see the tip of his cock above the surface of the water and for the first time, I moved of my own volition. Scooting forward until I could feel his cock against my stomach and my nipples brushing his chest, I said, “Show me.”

  Taking my hand, he guided it to his cock… my breath catching when I realized my fingers would not reach around his girth. My pussy clutched as he lifted my chin, tilting my head back until our gaze met. “When I fuck a woman, I bury every inch of my cock into her. Mouth, cunt, or ass, it doesn’t matter which one—or all three—I’ll push until there isn’t a single centimeter of me that isn’t buried deep.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond as his mouth crushed down over mine. It was like the first kiss, one commanding I acquiesce to his desires. If he’d meant his words to frighten me, he’d failed. Instead of being afraid, I clung to his shoulders, pulling him even closer. Opening my mouth to the demand of his tongue running along the seam of my lips, I ached to feel him deep inside me.

  A shudder rippled through me as he continued to ravish my mouth, his hands exploring every part of my wet and exposed chest. I moaned as a hot surge of hunger rushed through me. I ran my hands up the hard plane of his muscled torso before wrapping them around his neck. But when he took my nipples between his fingers and tightened his hold, pulling them out from my body, twisting them, my head fell back and I keened, my pussy spasming with a bolt of fire.

  “Oh… Oh God,” I moaned.

  “I want you, Monet. Fuck, I need you,” he said, releasing my nipples and lifting me, at the same time lowering his head. I whimpered when he moved from one hard nipple to the other, drawing first one and then the other into his mouth, soothing the pain his fingers had caused. Every suck had my pussy pulsing.

  “More… please… Rogan, please,” I begged. I had just released his neck to drop my hand in search of the cock I absolutely had to touch, to stroke, to feel when I had to immediately cling to his shoulders as he stood, his hands cupping my ass. Terrified that I’d done something wrong, that he was about to climb out of the water, I whimpered.

  “Shh,” he said, “I’ve got you.”

  And he did. He didn’t step from the water, just moved closer to the bank before sinking down again. “Trust me?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said instantly, watching his lips lift in a grin. And I was telling the truth, but when he lifted me and instructed me to put my legs around his head, I admit I wondered what the hell he was thinking.

  “Relax,” he said when I awkwardly obeyed, his hands supporting my body as he lowered me backward until my torso was floating on the surface of the water, my ankles locked around his neck, and his mouth… well, it was buried in my pussy.

  “Oh my God!” I screamed, and my fists slammed against the water, sending hot droplets over us, but they were nowhere near as hot as my pussy when he pushed his tongue deep inside me. The water surrounding my body, his knees coming up to support my back so he could run his fingers through my hair that was floating around me, and his tongue… God, his tongue. I never stood a chance. I screamed as I came for the first time, our little spa absorbing my cry of his name as he continued to lick and suckle my clit until I came again.

  “Rogan… please,” I managed, my fingers sliding through his hair, pushing him away.

  He lifted his head, his face wet from the water, from my arousal. He began to lift me out of a position I never would have envisioned being possible, much less one that would have me climaxing… twice.

  He bent to press his forehead to mine. “I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you. There is something unique, something about you that is unexplainable.” His lips moved to trace along my collarbone, licks, kisses, and little nips of his teeth driving me to the point of no return.

  I thought I’d been soaring before, but with his words, I truly flew. I clung to him, gasping for air. The heat of the water, the fervor between us, was almost too much. My mind spun and my body pulsated.

  “Unless you stop me, I’m taking you right here, right now, and it won’t be gentle. I can’t fight this any longer. I need to make you mine.”

  I looked into his blazing eyes and nodded, knowing if he stopped, I would die. “For God’s sake, stop talking and fuck me!”

  In an instant, I found myself lowered into the water again, my legs on either side of his hips.

  “Put my cock inside you,” he said.

  It was an order I had absolutely no difficulty obeying. With greedy need, I reached out and wrapped my hands around his swollen shaft which was thick and heavy with his arousal. I guided him to my core, sinking down a bit, gasping at the stretch required to take him inside. “Oh God, you’re huge!”

  “Need some help?” he asked, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

  “Not a horny teenaged braggart, you say?” I teased as I sank down another inch.

  “Nope, no need to brag as you’re sitting on the proof,” he said and while I knew I should roll my eyes, I was far more interested in satisfying the need burning within me.

  “Well, not quite yet,” I said. “Help please.”

  Rogan grabbed my hips and held me immobile for a moment before he pulled me down. Though I was sure I could not take any more, he proved me wrong. Thrusting upward, he buried several inches of his cock within me. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my body trembling, my cry escaping as he thrust again, then again, showing no hesitancy, no mercy as he continued to impale me on his cock until he was finally fully seated. A rush of pleasure ripped through me with a force that took my breath away. I whimpered as Rogan groaned, lifting me and pulling out almost all the way, just to thrust his hardness back into my body.

  He’d spoken the truth. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t easy and, God, I didn’t want it to be. I gave myself over to him, to his needs as he rammed into me again and again. My head fell back, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation of lust pulsing in every cell of my body. I arched my back when Rogan slipped a finger to my clit and circled, increasing the pressure in my pussy.

  “You’re so fucking tight. Your cunt is like molten heat around my cock,” he growled as he lowered his mouth to the crevice of my neck and bit down.

  A moan escaped my lips as Rogan thrust into me, again and again, bringing me closer and closer to ecstasy. The building pressure threatened to overflow at any second. He plunged in and out, deeper with each pounding motion. Setting up a rhythm, he rocked me to an orgasm. I cried out his name as heavenly bliss poured through me. His eyes were locked on mine, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling me close so he could crush his lips against mine. I felt his cock swell even more within me and saw his jaw clench. With a cry of ‘Monet’, he followed me to release.

  It seemed like hours had passed as we lay entangled in each other’s arms, luxuriating on the soft bed of ferns Rogan had moved us to, the late afternoon sun drying the water from our skin. Rogan ran his fingers through my hair, occasionally giving soft and alluring kisses, mostly leaving the sting of a nip of his teeth everywhere his hand grazed. I rested my head on his shoulder, rubbing my fingertips along his bare chest. Without another moment’s pause, he rolled me onto my back, bracing his weight on his hands.

  “If I knew being with you was going to be like this, I would’ve made you mine a long time ago,” Rogan murmured, his tongue sweeping along my bottom lip before his teeth took a bite.

  The sting zipped through me. God. I wanted him in every way. With every look, every touch, every breath we shared, all I knew was that I wanted… needed more. Having sex with Rogan was better than I’d ever imagined, and being in his arms… well, I never wanted to leave his embrace. I didn’t want this moment to end. Had I lost my mind? I was actually considering being with all of them… with every single O’Shea brother, and they didn’t mind one bit.

  Rules of monogamy forever shattered.

  Rogan ran
his fingertips down my face. “Hey, where did you go? Something changed just now.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing really.” No way would I confess that I’d been thinking about his brothers while in his arms. “I’m just taking this all in, I guess.”

  He tucked me close, caressing my stomach with slow strokes of his fingers. “There’s a lot to take in lately. The move, building our lives... being with all of us.”

  I snuggled closer, playing lightly with his chest hair. It seemed he already knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. “Is that what I am doing? Really? Being with all of you?”

  “We aren’t easy men, Monet.”

  “I’m not an easy woman.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I’ve figured that much out.” He kissed the top of my head. “My brothers and I agree on this. We want things a certain way in a relationship. We expect to be in charge. A lot of women wouldn’t be willing to accept that.”

  “I’m not most women.” Though I wasn’t exactly sure what he was getting at, nor was I sure I truly was willing to accept a man could be in charge of me.

  He laughed again. “Yes, I know this, too. I can tell you one thing, though. We may be demanding, bossy, stubborn, and overprotective, but we counter it by making sure our woman is forever cared for.”

  Our woman? I couldn’t muster up the courage to ask what he meant by that, or what that would look like. This had started out as a twisted game of sorts. A strange one, perhaps, one in which I had accepted the part of being their fake bride… but his words, the tone in which they had been said had me questioning if the game was becoming something more… something real. Gramps and Granny G had shown me what love looked like, had taught me what it meant to truly care for someone you’d chosen to give your heart and soul to… but four? Forget the legalities… I knew the law would never accept multiple partners, but was it even possible to love four different men at the same time? The question wasn’t one I could honestly answer, so I took a lesson from Scarlett O’Hara—tomorrow. I’d think about it then, but for now, I wanted more of the man I was with.

  I managed to roll Rogan onto his back only because he allowed it. My blood raced as I began to trace a hungry trail down his body. Kissing, licking, and doing a bit of nipping of my own, I tasted my way down to his hardened shaft, moving lower and lower until the tip of my tongue touched the tip of his cock. Loving the moan the move drew from him, I looked up, my eyes finding his, lust evident in the depths.

  “You promised to feed me,” I said.

  He grinned. “Our picnic is in the saddlebags. Let me go get it and—”

  “No!” I shouted when he reached for me, to move me off of him.

  “No? You just said you were hungry.”

  Why I blushed I really didn’t know. I mean, we were lying here naked, he’d had his mouth on me, his cock inside me, but I could feel my face heating. Perhaps because I was shocked I was acting like a brazen hussy and not particularly caring? “I am hungry,” I said, reaching to take his cock in my hand, slowly moving it up his length. “I’m hungry for this.”

  “You do remember what I said earlier?”

  Call me a fool but, looking at his erection, replaying in my mind his words about every inch being buried, made me swallow hard and yet nod as I licked my lips.

  With his hips rising to meet my seduction, he directed, “Put your mouth around me.”

  I followed his command and took his hardness deep within. Swirling my tongue in small circles, I tried to control my gag reflex when his cock nudged the back of my throat. His hand moved to the back of my head, his fingers sliding to twist around the strands.

  “Open your throat,” he ordered. “You’ll take every fucking inch.” His command, the sting of my hair being tugged, the thrust of his hips to force his cock deeper only drove my need to please even higher. My gags, my struggles, my moans were ignored as he worked me down onto his cock until my lips kissed his groin. “Good girl. Now suck,” he instructed as he slowly pulled my head up. I worked my lips from base to tip, my tongue licking, tasting, swirling around the crown for a moment before he drove me back down in a rhythmic motion. I was determined to please him, to exceed his demands. Pleasuring him was all I desired. Tightening my lips and licking lightly, my cheeks hollowing with my suckling, I worked his cock. Slowly up then plunging back down, I worked until his control snapped. His breath hitched and his moan reverberated through his entire body as he held me in place, keeping me locked onto his cock as it jerked, spewing his cum down my throat.

  The moment ebbed, satisfaction blanketing us both as he pulled me up to once again claim my mouth. I wrapped my arms around him and clung until my heart stopped pounding, both our breathing slowing. We did enjoy our picnic, feeding each other bites of cold fried chicken, spoons of potato salad, sharing a slice of cake and a thermos of water. It was growing dark by the time he lifted me onto Kiernan and, with his arm securely wrapped around my waist, he turned us toward the farm… no, not the farm. He was taking us home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monet

  Alana and I sat in the parlor with balls of yarn at our sides. I concentrated on the crochet hook in my hand, attempting to hook it through the blue yarn tangled in my fingers. Turning the hook, twisting, and attempting to pull it through a small hole was harder than I’d thought.

  “I see why crocheting is a dying art. You have to have an unbelievable level of patience for this,” I whined.

  “I like it. I can’t wait to see the afghan when it’s done. It’s nice to think about someone tucking it in around them. It will keep them warm while they read a good book or just sit and talk.” Alana’s blanket was almost finished, the waves of different colored ripples growing daily. She obviously didn’t find the task as challenging as I did.

  I tossed my mess of knotted yarn to the side. “I give up. I’ll leave blanket making to you.”

  Alana giggled but continued on. A soft smile was on her face as she gracefully moved the yarn through her hands, twisting her hook to loop, chain, double crochet, decrease, or whatever stitch was required. They were all Greek to me, but Alana was a natural.

  Without looking up from her work, Alana said, “I don’t think of it as a blanket. I think of it as a hug. When someone needs soothing or reassuring, they can wrap up in it and know they are loved.”

  “That’s a beautiful thought,” I said, looking at the work on her lap. “Now I feel sort of heartless.”

  “Don’t be silly. You made those pillows. They provide a soft place to lay your head after a hard day. Your pillows and my afghan are both comforting.”

  I looked at the pillow tucked against the side of the settee where I was sitting. Grinning, I wondered what she’d say if I told her the real reason I’d been anxious to make several throw pillows. Not to use for a quick nap or to decorate the room, though I had to admit they did just that, but to provide a much softer surface if I ever needed to sit after a trip to the woodshed. There hadn’t been a recurrence of that night, and I was at a bit of a loss wondering why that knowledge made me feel a little bereft. Not wishing to truly ponder that topic, I just shrugged. “Pillows are two pieces of fabric sewn together and stuffed. Easy as pie compared to all that knit and purl stuff.”

  Her giggle turned into laughter, blonde-white curls bouncing as she shook her head. “You knit and purl when you knit, not crochet.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes and then laughing as well. “Heck, I never thought I’d say this, but I’d rather churn butter than knit or crochet.”

  Alana’s hands stilled as she looked at me, her smile lighting her face. “Especially after one of the guys ‘helps’ you with the milking, I suppose? You’d think by now you’d have caught on.”

  I shrugged again, trying to come up with an excuse when she laughed.

  “You should see your face,” she said. “I’m only teasing. I like knowing you pretend you need help when you don’t.”

  “You do?” I asked, actually surprised she’d n
ot been fooled by my little act. One morning at breakfast, I’d suggested I take over the milking. At the time, I’d seriously done so just to free up a bit of the men’s day. But, when the first time turned into a disaster, the cow refusing to stand still and me flinching and squealing every time her tail had swished, terrified she was trying to knock me off the milking stool, I’d been about to rescind my offer. It had taken Cal squatting down beside me, taking my hand in his, guiding it to the cow’s udder for me to calm… well, to forget about falling on my ass in the hay. No, instead, Cal’s touch had me thinking about how his fingers had felt on my breast that night. How they’d gently kneaded my flesh, how my nipples had tightened, how he’d ducked his head down to suckle. I’d been so caught up in the memory that when a stream of milk pinged against the edge of the metal bucket, I’d given a shriek and promptly fallen off the stool all by myself.

  Cal had laughed and I realized it was the first time I’d heard him truly laugh. It was so incredible I didn’t care I’d been caught daydreaming. Even after I learned it wasn’t all that difficult to milk Cocoa, named for her rich brown coloring, it didn’t appear the brothers cared about my faked inability. I had taken over the chore, but inevitably, one of the brothers would just happen to be in the barn. They would sit on the stool, me on their lap, our hands working the cow’s teats together. I’d squirm and give soft little sighs as his lips nibbled on my neck or fingers brushed against my curves. Some days led to a quickie that had me bent over a bale of hay, my skirts lifted, panties lowered or pushed to the side as one of them would fill me with their cock, the lowing of the cow, the whinny of the horse, or the clucking of the chickens accompanying the sounds of his groans and my cries as we’d come. On those days, I walked back to the kitchen alone, the bucket of milk in my hands and cum slipping from my pussy to soak the lining of my panties. It was a wonder Alana didn’t think I had some sort of bladder condition with all the panties hung on the line alongside the brothers’ shirts and jeans.