She tipped her head up to look at Nell, letting Nell’s breast pull out of her pursed lips. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” Ivy said, and Nell lifted her head to grin at her.
“Or what?” Nell raised an eyebrow, daring her.
Ivy closed her teeth over Nell’s nipple without hesitation, and Nell heaved beneath her with a screech that ended in a giggle. Ivy smoothed her tongue over the bite mark and shifted to hover over Nell’s other breast. She stuck out her tongue and touched the nipple with the very tip, her eyes on Nell’s. “Open your legs, baby, nice and wide.” She wiggled her fingers against the soft flesh of Nell’s thighs.
Nell’s dark eyes never left hers, as she squeezed her legs tighter on Ivy’s fingers and slowly said, “No.”
Ivy bit Nell’s nipple, harder this time, and kept it clamped firmly in her teeth as Nell squealed and bucked. She kept up the pressure until Nell’s thighs parted. “Good girl.” Ivy moved to straddle one of Nell’s legs, holding her in place. She slid her hand up to Nell’s pussy, finding it to be just as hot and wet as Ivy expected. Ivy traced a finger through the slick folds and Nell gasped and arched her hips towards Ivy’s hand. Ivy took the hint and slipped one finger deep inside her. Nell cried out and twisted as her inner muscles clenched Ivy’s finger.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” Ivy circled her finger and pressed down on Nell’s clit with her thumb.
“More,” Nell panted. She bent her legs to plant her feet on the floor, grinding her thigh into Ivy’s cunt in the process. Ivy groaned at the pressure and pulled out of Nell’s pussy, only to shove two fingers in to the hilt.
Nell started the rhythm, thrusting against Ivy’s hand. “More,” she said on a moan, and Ivy moved her thumb, rubbing hard on Nell’s clit in time with her thrusts. Ivy ground against Nell’s thigh, unable to help herself as her own arousal built again. Nell was approaching breaking point, moaning with each movement and lifting her hips higher. Ivy pressed down on her clit and curled her fingers inside her.
“Come for me, baby,” Ivy said, having to raise her voice over Nell’s panting moans.
“Yes,” Nell started to tremble, tossing her head back and forth, her hands in fists, beating the floorboards.
Someone pounded on the door.
Chapter Two
“It’s the wind,” Nell said.
“I’m afraid not.” Ivy watched the door bow under the force of the knocking, only the heavy bar holding it in place. She pulled away from Nell and grabbed first for the .56 Sharps buffalo gun that hung over the fireplace, then for her coat to cover her nakedness. She shivered as she pulled it closed—it was still more wet than dry.
“You better shoot whoever that is, and then come back and finish what you started.”
Ivy looked down at Nell. Her chest heaved, her face was flushed, and her legs were still spread wide, the deep pink of her cunt on full display, wet and inviting. Looking at her made Ivy think maybe Nell had the right idea about their visitor, until she remembered the storm and decided she couldn’t, in good conscious, shoot someone who was simply trying to survive the worst weather they’d seen all winter.
“Maybe he’ll be a bad guy,” Ivy said hopefully. “Then I can shoot him. You’d better cover up, baby. You don’t want to tempt him, even if he is half frozen.”
The knocking settled into a steady rhythm, weakening a little, as though whoever was outside was giving up on an answer. He had to see the smoke from the stone chimney though, and the light filtering through the curtains. Maybe he was in serious need of help. Ivy waited at the door until Nell had slipped back into her dress and fastened a minimum number of buttons to be considered decent, then lifted the bar. A man blew in to collapse in a heap on the floor along with a significant amount of snow. Apparently it had been drifting up against the door, just waiting for it to be opened. Ivy backed off to get her bare feet out of the drift and pointed the Sharps in the direction of their uninvited visitor.
“Who are you?” Ivy asked.
The first thing that Dean saw was a pair of the finest legs he’d ever had the privilege to ogle. They were long and curvy, and best of all, they were bare all the way up.
The second thing he saw was the unwavering muzzle of a .56 Sharps, which diminished his enjoyment of the legs significantly.
“Who are you?” The owner of the legs asked again, her tone indicating that if he didn’t answer, it might be the Sharps that spoke next.
“Dean Rook.”
“And what are you doing here, Mr Rook?”
“I got lost in the storm, ma’am, sure am glad to find shelter.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was all that he planned to share with a stranger holding a gun on him.
She watched him, her eyes narrowed, but not so much that he couldn’t make out their clear blue colour. “You look half frozen. Come in and close the door, but leave your guns outside.” She backed off to give him some space, and he watched the legs walk away for a second before he struggled to his feet. Dean didn’t think the she would take too kindly to his ogling. He shucked his pistol with numb fingers and dropped it out in the snow reluctantly, but he figured there was no one else on this mountain to come steal it, and besides, with the way the snow was falling, it’d be well hidden in no time at all.
Closing the door was a bit trickier, as the drift that had blown up against it had fallen in with Dean. He kicked the worst of it out of the way and leaned his weight into it to get it to latch. The door rattled with the wind, and he slid the bar into place to hold it. No wonder it hadn’t opened beneath his shoulder—with that bar, no one was getting in unless they were invited.
He sat on the wooden floor, heedless of the snow that still covered the floorboards. It had been a very long, cold walk up the mountain. He flexed his fingers experimentally. They were stiff, still numb. He peered at the fingertips and found at least three had the raised, white welts of frostbite. That was probably going to hurt when it thawed out.
“You better get close to the fire.”
Dean jumped as a second voice addressed him, and he shoved the hair out of his eyes to look around the room. She stood near the fire in a blue dress that seemed to be missing a couple of buttons. He could see a patch of creamy skin on her belly and he tried not to stare. “Thanks,” he muttered. He leaned on the wall to lever himself to his feet then shuffled to the fireside, and the second girl slid a chair close to the flames for him.
Dean collapsed into the chair and held his frozen hands close to the flames. “I sure do appreciate you ladies opening the door for me. I couldn’t have gone any farther, think I’d have cashed in if I hadn’t stumbled upon your cabin here.”
He heard the rifle being set down in the corner, and the scrape of the barrel as it settled against the wall, but he didn’t turn to look. It was just too much effort. He’d just have to trust that these two women wouldn’t murder him in his sleep, because that’s what he was planning on doing next. Sleeping.
“Nell, you help him get out of his wet things, he’ll warm up quicker that way. I’ll get the soup made.”
There was a pause, and Dean had the feeling that a silent discussion was going on over his head. There was probably a lot going on here that he didn’t understand—for instance, what were these two women doing out here, all on their own?—but he didn’t have the energy to worry about it now.
Soup did sound good though. His stomach rumbled at the thought, and he wondered without any real direction how long it had been since he’d eaten. He didn’t know—certainly before he’d started running, and in this storm, he had no idea how long he’d been travelling, no concept of time as he’d just tried to put one foot in front of the other, to survive long enough to get someplace warm.
And he’d made it. He took a deep breath of warm air, and it smelt like wood smoke, hot soup and sex.
That couldn’t be right. He breathed in again, trying not to be obvious about it, but the women were still furiously discussing something without making any noise at all.
He wasn’t mistaken though, it definitely smelt like sex.
Dean suddenly felt a lot better, with something else to occupy his mind other than his complete exhaustion. The sex theory would explain the bare legs underneath a coat, the dress with buttons undone. Dean had been in a few of the finer whore houses in his travels, and he knew that women could pleasure each other, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it was something they’d do for their own benefit, and not simply for the entertainment of a man.
The girl in the blue dress appeared in his view, and Dean was embarrassed about his thoughts, but not quite enough to stop thinking them.
“Hi, I’m Nell—no, don’t get up,” she said as he tried to get to his feet. “You don’t need to be a gentleman when you’re frozen half to death, Mr Rook.” She smiled, and Dean admired her dark eyes and full lips.
Dean held out his hand. “Please,” he said, “call me Dean.”
Her hand disappeared in his, and she rubbed his in both of hers. “You’re hands are freezing, Dean.” She dropped his hand and reached for his heavy buffalo robe. “I’m sure this coat of yours saved you, but it’s soaked, let’s get it off and let the heat of the fire get to you.” She tugged at his sleeve and between the two of them they got the heavy, waterlogged fur off his shoulders. Nell spread it out on the hearth then added a couple of logs to the fire.
Dean watched her work, the thin material of her dress outlining her slender form and narrow hips. She wasn’t as curvy as the one with the Sharps, but she was lovely, and the view warmed him as quickly as the fire did.
Pots clattered on the woodstove behind him, and Dean jumped, wondering if he’d been caught staring or if it was his own guilt that made him nervous. He held his hands out to the flames again. They were starting to thaw, his fingertips tingling painfully.
“Here.” A large mug of soup was thrust into his hands, and Dean took it carefully in his stiff fingers. Both women hovered over him while he took his first sip. It was too hot and burnt his tongue, but it heated him right to his belly as well.
The first woman was older than Nell, but not a lot. She was still bare foot and bare legged and, Dean strongly suspected, bare underneath her heavy coat. He wished he’d had the presence of mind to look in the window before he’d started banging on the door, because he suspected he’d have got a show that would’ve warmed him up better than the hot soup. He lifted his mug in her direction. “Thank you…” He let his voice trail off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“I’m Ivy,” she said curtly. “Come along, Nell, we might as well eat too.”
Dean heard the chairs pull out from the table, their legs scraping against the floor, but he didn’t turn around to join them, too comfortable next to the fire and full of soup. He was nearly feeling human again. All he needed now was to sleep.
* * * *
“Dean.” A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Dean, here, I made you a bed by the fire, you need to get out of the chair.”
“I fell asleep?” Dean said, then felt stupid. Obviously he’d fallen asleep, sitting up in the chair. He eyed the blankets on the floor, outlined with flickering firelight.
“Yes, and Ivy was going to let you sleep there in that chair all night, at least till you fell out, but I’m much nicer than her.” Nell winked.
“Thanks.” Dean tipped forward off the chair and crawled onto the makeshift bed, settling into the pillow.
“You’re welcome,” Nell said, “sweet dreams.” Her hands fluttered across his shoulder and hip as she spread a blanket over him, and it was probably Dean’s imagination that they lingered just a second longer than they needed to.
Dean watched the flames, enjoying the warmth on his face, the comfort of the pillow. He could hear the rustling as the women got ready for bed, and he wondered if they were undressing, but the memory of Ivy and the buffalo gun was enough to keep him from sneaking a peek. It didn’t stop him from listening though, and he strained his ears as he let his eyes drift closed and his exhausted muscles slowly relaxed.
The first whisper was too soft for him to hear, but the response was perfectly clear.
“No,” the voice whispered, “he’s right there.”
“He’s asleep.” She spoke louder this time, and Dean could identify the voice as Nell’s. “You saw the poor fellow, he was dead to the world in his chair. Now he’s warm and comfortable, he’s not going to wake up until morning, no matter what we do.”
Dean forced himself to continue breathing slowly and regularly, but his heart beat faster as he speculated as to what Nell wanted to do.
Ivy tried to interrupt, but Nell continued, “Besides, I don’t care if he does hear.”
“Nell!” Ivy sounded scandalised. Dean was intrigued.
“Well, it’s his fault I’ve been walking around half dressed, wound tighter than a spring. I was this close when he knocked on the door.”
“I know,” Ivy said, her tone soothing, “I know, but—”
Nell cut her off. “Maybe I should wake him up and make him finish the job.”
Dean’s eyes snapped open, but he managed not to move, staring into the flames.
“All right,” Ivy said, “All right, but you’re going to have to be quiet.”
Dean heard the distinctive sound of a kiss.
“Me!” Nell giggled and Ivy shushed her. “You’re the screamer.”
Dean got the distinct impression that Ivy had shut her up with a kiss. He heard the slide of bodies on blankets, the soft, wet sounds of lips on skin, a catch of breath. He watched the fire as their breathing grew louder, more erratic, movements faster, more urgent, and Dean felt his body tighten in response. Someone said, “Yes,” on a breath, then there was a long, whispered moan that made Dean twitch, his cock uncomfortably hard in the confines of his trousers.
“Feeling better?” Ivy asked, and Nell giggled again.
“Much better.” There was the sound of blankets and the shuffle of bodies before Nell continued, “Are you sure we shouldn’t invite him over here to play too?”
Say yes, Dean thought desperately, shifting his hips to try and relieve the pressure. Please say yes.
“Go to sleep, Nell,” Ivy said, and they settled down, their breathing gradually slowing to the evenness of deep sleep.
Dean watched the flames. He was wide awake, hard and aching, but at least he wasn’t cold anymore.
Chapter Three
“I still think we should’ve made Dean do the heavy lifting in bed last night,” Nell said, forking feed down to the cow while Ivy milked.
“We don’t know anything about him,” Ivy said, not looking up, her forehead against the warm flank of the cow. “And besides, you’d only be disappointed if you had.”
Nell slid down the ladder, skipping most of the rungs. “I don’t know about that.” She scooped up the egg basket and started hunting eggs. “Just because Chuck was a brute doesn’t mean all men are. I think we should give this one a test run. After all, it isn’t as though any of us are going anywhere for a while.” Nell found an egg in a wooden bucket, placed it in the basket then kept searching. Eggs were few and far between in the winter, and she definitely didn’t want to miss any.
“We still don’t know what he’s even doing here, Nell.” Ivy got up from the stool, carefully lifting the pail of steaming milk. “I think perhaps we’d better find out how he ended up on our mountain before you start ripping his clothes off.” She untied the cow and gave her a pat. “In fact, I think we’d best be getting back into the house, makes me nervous leaving him in there all alone.”
Nell spotted two more eggs tucked in the corner. “And now I have three eggs, so we can each have one for breakfast!” She held up the egg basket triumphantly.
Ivy unlatched the barn door and the wind blew it open, narrowly missing her as it hit the wall with a bang. The chickens squawked and fluttered away from the noise and the windblown snow.
“It’s not letting up, is it?” Nell raised her voice over the howl
of the wind and followed Ivy out into the storm. She heaved on the barn door, grateful that it latched behind her the first time. Whatever else you could say about Ivy’s husband, Chuck, he certainly built a solid barn, and Nell was as grateful for that as she was that he’d disappeared.
Nell tucked her chin into her collar and tipped her head into the wind, attempting to keep her face away from the blowing snow. She hugged the basket to her chest to protect it and followed Ivy towards the house, lifting her knees high to clear the drifts. The swirling blizzard made it hard to see, and Nell was grateful they didn’t have far to go to get to the house—any farther and it would’ve been easy to get lost, to walk past the warm and safe cabin and wander helplessly in the storm. It really was a miracle that Dean had managed to find them.
In front of her, Ivy shoved open the door and ducked inside. Nell followed, nearly falling sideways as the wind she’d been braced against disappeared when she crossed the threshold. Ivy hurried to set the milk pail on the table and Nell struggled with the door, before finally putting the eggs on the floor to free up her hands and put the bar into place.
Nell leaned against the door and froze.
Dean stood at the sideboard. He’d taken of his shirt, and his trousers sat low on his lean hips, the braces hanging. Nell hadn’t seen all that many shirtless men, but she was relatively certain they didn’t all have such broad shoulders, or so many muscles.
“What are you doing?” Nell asked, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Ivy turn away from the table, the milk strainer in her hand.
Dean held up a razor and grinned, showing dimples. Nell hadn’t noticed the dimples the night before, but then he hadn’t smiled the night before, at least, not like that. “Just thought I’d clean up for you ladies, I hope you don’t mind me using the wash basin.”
Nell didn’t answer, having just noticed the smattering of dark hair that trailed down his belly, disappearing in his trousers.
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