ROMANCE: Party of Three: A Lustful Collection of Menage Romance (Menage Romance, Bisexual Romance, Stepbrother Romance)

by Brittanee Farrow

  Better Death Than Doubt

  As the town disperses and Mary is taken away, I see Zachary does not move. His eyes are fixed upon the stage where she stood.

  “It’s so unexpected,” I murmur as I walk to his side. “We were the first two to remember the Lord’s Prayer in our lessons.”

  He is quiet for a minute, his jaw set while his eyes take in the scene, trying to make sense of it all. “She is the only girl I ever intended to marry,” he admits.

  “I’m sorry.” A thought flickers in my mind. “Zachary, I don’t mean to be untoward, but you have a string on your collar. I ran out here with my shears in all the commotion, may I clip it?”

  He nods, stooping so that I can reach his shoulders, and I stand on my toes. One snip, and everything I need falls into my free hand, which I hide behind my back.

  “Done.”

  “Thank you.” He tilts his head, and then walks away.

  I open my palm, and rub the little golden hairs. There should be a sense of victory, but my excitement is tempered by his mood. Mary Selwicke is the only girl he can think of? She’s exactly like the other boring girls in town. Always demure, hands clasped, head downcast. I bet she doesn’t even have stray thoughts in church! She probably likes the sermons.

  Rashi will know for sure, but Mary Selwicke is about as far from a witch as one can be. Just thinking about her makes me yawn. I begin to wonder if Zachary is just as boring, with his pining for Mary, but I’ve already gone far enough to get the hair, so I clutch the hair and head back to the house. For the rest of the day, Rashi mends while I make a doll. It’s quick work, and I decide to make another.

  While we work, Rashi confirms my gut feeling—Mary Selwicke is no witch. But, that doesn’t mean we are safe.

  “Sometimes you hit the target, even by accident,” Rashi cautions me. Even though the witch hunters might not be adept at finding real witches, anyone could be randomly accused, including us. “Have you found a place to hide those dolls?”

  “I was thinking under the floor in my room.”

  She nods. “Better do it now.”

  There are several loose floorboards in my room, but I choose one under the woven rug. Quickly, we roll the rug aside, and then pry up one end of the loose board, hiding the dolls beneath. Mother returns soon after, and we all eat.

  “It’s just awful,” mother shakes her head. “Mary Selwicke was such a nice girl. We must pray for her.”

  We all nod, but the rest of dinner is quiet. My thoughts are occupied with plans to retrieve the doll and complete my spell, but the trial will begin tomorrow, and the whole town must be present, so we retire early.

  The church is the only building large enough for everyone, so the trial is held there. My back begins to ache not long after the proceedings begin. We sit in the absolute last row, our usual place due to my mother’s label of adulteress. From here, I can see Zachary, his brow furrowed as he listens to the descriptions of the scene where the men found Mary Selwicke.

  Aaron sits in front of us to one side, and I study his profile. He seems bored, and his head begins to loll. He’s falling asleep! In spite of the circumstances, I smile and stifle my laugh. It is all a bit ridiculous.

  For what seems like hours they talk and deliberate. Then the test is chosen.

  “Submersion,” determines the judge. It will happen immediately.

  The weather is still warm, but I imagine the water is growing cold already, and I shiver watching Mary be lowered into the river.

  “Those who have not been baptized in the name of God cannot hope to have water pass over them. If this be and she floats, then there is proof she is a witch. Thirty seconds!” yells the judge, “starting now.”

  Her arms and legs are bound, so that she cannot hope to pinch her nose shut or paddle for the surface. At thirty seconds, she is heaved from the river by the ropes. She did not float, and so is safe from being ruled a witch. But she is also dead.

  Zachary deflates, seeing her lifeless body pulled from the river. He walks away before the judge finishes speaking.

  “The witch is not Mary Selwicke. But there are witches among us. They tried to use Mary Selwicke as their shield, but God wins out. Now we must find the true culprits.”

  Reverend Parris’ daughter stands still, apparently unaffected by the dead body of Mary Selwicke. Her writhing and screaming have stopped for now, but I wonder when she will be gripped and who will be pointed at then.

  Mother, Rashi and I begin the walk home, and I think of Mary Selwicke. Even being declared innocent can be a death sentence, with the submersion test. This town is teeming with people so afraid of magic that the risk of killing someone innocent is far outweighed by the peace of mind from knowing with certainty who is a witch.

  It’s so funny—they think these little tests help them discover witches. Really, none of it works. Witches can drown, just like anyone else. The thought stops me cold. Their tests might not be accurate, but are still deadly.

  Voices echo in the woods, and I hear a raspy voice insist that we must find the witches responsible. It’s not a familiar tone, and I search through the trees for the source. Aaron. Our eyes meet, and he smiles grimly.

  The men head to the site where Mary Selwicke was found, Aaron included, and I realize it is not far from where he saw me last night, from his porch and then from his window. My heart drops, fearing that he might make the connection.

  One thing is clear—my relationship to Aaron is now more important than ever. If I can entrance him, I will be safe. Now all that remains is how to get something of his for the doll.

  I Put a Spell on You

  My mind is distracted, and the sewing work I complete is basically worthless. The stitches are uneven and nowhere close to a straight line. Feeling my forehead, mother determines that I must be unwell from the upsetting sights of the trial. She sends me to bed, where I begin to plan.

  I need either some clothing from Aaron or hair. We’re in the closest space at church, but my mother would notice if I took a lock of his hair. There are few options I can think of, so I settle on sneaking into his room at the boarding house. In broad daylight I might be seen, but at night he is likely to be in his room, so I need a window of time after dark when he won’t be there.

  My chance comes sooner than I expect. There is a meeting called late one night, when Reverend Parris’ daughter and niece fall into fits. Most of the town is there, but I claim to feel unwell and am left behind. From the tiniest slit in the curtains I watch as my neighbors leave their homes to attend the meeting, illuminated by lanterns that swing as they walk. As the church doors close and the street is empty, I creep from the house.

  It’s dark, but I do not risk carrying a lantern. Light from the full moon guides me, which is a good sign. At the boarding house, I find the third window and push with all my strength. It opens an inch, and I repeat the process until the space is big enough for me to wiggle through.

  His room is small and sparse. Few clothes remain, but I see a white long shirt lying over the chair. I had debated cutting this with shears or tearing the fabric, but I realize that a jagged tear has more possible explanations than a precise square of fabric missing, so I rend a piece from the hem.

  There is a knock at the door, and I worry I’ve been too loud or drawn attention. In a panic, I hide under the bed as the door opens and a light shines in.

  “See, Faith? Nothing in there.”

  “I thought I heard a sound—I’m sorry.”

  The two squabble as they leave the room, taking the light with them. I don’t risk breathing until I hear their footsteps fade away. My hands are shaking but I clutch the fabric, and then tuck it into my corset. Fear has turned my limbs to jelly, but I have to be gone from here before Aaron returns, and home in bed before my mother and Rashi are back.

  I climb out the window, my dress catching on a nail, but I reach down and pull the fabric free. My arms strain to lower the window, and it closes with some effort.

 
; Peering around the corner of the boarding house toward the church, I see shadows moving and people standing. They are preparing to leave. There’s no time to think or look around—I bolt across the street and down to my house, bursting inside just as the church doors open, people spilling out into the night. I race upstairs, and try to calm my beating heart and slow my ragged breaths, but within a minute I hear the house door open. Footsteps resound and more than one person climbs to my bedroom. In surprise I see my mother, Rashi, Reverend Parris and Aaron.

  “She looks more feverish than when we left,” my mother admits, wringing her hands.

  Reverend Parris leans down, shining a light in my face. When I squint but do not otherwise lash out, he seems relieved. “It’s not what the other girls have,” he determines, and my mother’s shoulders sag in relief. “They are fine in between the fits—no fever or pains. But when the fits strike, they convulse violently and complain of being bitten or scratched by invisible hands. Their bodies, when examined, are covered in bruises and scrapes,” he explains.

  “Should we examine her,” Aaron asks quietly, his dark eyes intent upon mine.

  “There is no need. She is not afflicted by witchcraft, but some fever. But if things change, let us know immediately.”

  My mother nods, and they leave my room, the floor creaking with each step they take. Only Rashi remains behind, a finger pressed to her lips. We cannot talk while they are here, but something happened at that meeting. The Reverend would not deign to enter our house except for on some urgent business.

  Downstairs, I can hear mother offer the men coffee or some food, but both decline. She bolts the door, and resumes her sewing by firelight.

  Rashi finally whispers the news as though she were about to burst if she held it in any longer. “Aaron Pryor is a witch hunter,” she begins. “When he stood up I thought it would be the same as the other men say, with submerging witches. But he knows things.” Her eyes grow wide, the whites shining against her dark skin. “He said we need to use a witch cake for any suspected witches, because the water test doesn’t work and it kills people who aren’t witches. With the witch cake, you take the person’s urine, so the test is specific.”

  “Does that work?”

  Rashi nods. “Once the cake is made, it’s fed to a dog, and the dog will lead you to the person if he or she is a witch. Our bodies are changed by magic, and animals respond to it. There’s a strong pull not there with normal folk.”

  “I have something of Aaron’s to make a doll with,” I admit. “I got it tonight.”

  “Good. Because that man will find us if he is not brought under our influence. And we will be put to death.”

  My mother calls for Rashi, and I am left alone, to my relief. Gently, I throw back the rug and wrench loose the board where the dolls are hidden. Zachary’s doll is already finished, but I have to stuff the piece of Aaron’s clothing into the other doll, then stitch it closed. My fingers are slick with sweat, but I sew quickly. Aaron is the threat right now, but I picture Zachary’s sad face and make an impulsive decision. Above the candle, I wave both dolls, repeating the words Rashi taught me.

  “For you, I yearn; For me, you burn’.” They both lightly touch the flame, and as I pull my hand back, the fabric is warm to the touch, like a living person’s skin. I replace both dolls under the floorboard, and fix the rug. Then I wait.

  Party of Two

  It must be two hours I wait, lying in bed and picturing Aaron and Zachary. The sleepier I grow, the more unusual my thoughts become. First Aaron is kissing me, and then Zachary appears and begins undressing. Images overlap, until both men are in the same scene. My cravings are so powerful, two men seems like barely enough to satisfy me, and the pictures become more graphic as I wait, growing wetter.

  The whole town is asleep when I hear a small shower of taps on my window. Normally I can sleep through anything, but something in me is pulled to the window. As I part the curtains, I am surprised to see Zachary.

  He tries to yell something up to me, but I wave, motioning for him to be silent. Instinctively, I know he won’t leave without talking to me, so I tiptoe down the stairs, grab my cloak and walk around to him.

  “I know this is unusual, but I had to see you.”

  I’m silent for a moment. This is the point at which most girls would be coy, or play innocent. I brought him here for my pleasure, and don’t have time for play-acting.

  “Good. I want you.”

  At the reciprocation of his feelings, his strong arms close around me, pulling my body tight to his. The sensations are all new to me, and I can’t move for a few minutes, just letting him do what he will to me.

  Once we’ve been kissing for a while, I regain my sense and pause long enough to say we need to go somewhere not in the open. He offers to bring me home, but of course that is still not private, so I lead him into the woods.

  Moonlight breaks through in little ribbons between the tree cover, and he lies down, pulling me onto his strong frame. Lying this way I can feel him hard between my legs. Something deep in me aches to feel that hardness, and I unlace his breeches. Free of clothing, he is long, so long, and hard. The skin is miraculously soft but his rod is hard, and jumps when I touch it, even just with my fingertips. I pull aside my skirts and slide myself onto him.

  It’s tight and painful, but only for a moment. I’m slick with desire, and there is no friction, only the sensation of being filled. He bucks into me, slowly at first, then with urgency, and he hits something inside that I didn’t know could feel this good. I knot my fingers in his golden hair, my chest brushing his, and in this closeness he rubs me inside and out as we race toward a climax. It’s a revelation, the feeling of him spurting inside, and it pushes me over the edge. I bury my face in his tensed chest, trying not to scream as my climax comes and comes, like ripples in the water.

  I’m still not satisfied, and once we both have rested, I want to feel that again. Briefly, I wonder where Aaron is, but Zachary is more than willing to please me and I take full advantage.

  He spreads out his cloak, and I lay on my back. He cradles me, lying on his side, and reaches a hand down between my legs. Curious, he sticks a finger inside, and feels the sticky wetness we make together. He rubs some of this on the little bead above my opening, and then begins to stroke me.

  I’m sore but wanting, and he starts out slowly. It seems like an eternity, but every single touch feels amazing, and they build upon each other. My body arches, pushing myself harder into his hand, and he understands what I want. His strokes speed up, and my mouth is dry but I’m dripping wet between my legs. I reach down and feel him, hard as stone from stroking me. Holding his hard staff makes me wetter, and I clench inside thinking of how good it all feels. My chest is hot and I’m sweating as he takes me over the edge, rubbing me even as I come. The moan escapes my closed mouth, but I can’t be held back—the feeling is too intense and I have to smack his hand away, and he keeps stroking and my orgasm won’t stop.

  We lie back, listening to the sounds of the woods. Everything is hyper-sensitive, and my hearing seems supernatural. When I look over, Zachary is still hard, and I want to play with him.

  He breathes deeply as my hands grasp him firmly.

  “Show me how,” I command, and his large hand covers mine, holding himself.

  His grip is strong, and he moves up and down the length, taking me with him. Seeing him so aroused sets me off, and I pump harder, faster, rushing him to find pleasure. He cups his sack, holding them as I move up and down, until he begins to erupt, spraying his juice everywhere. In trying to be silent, his face is contorted in concentration and the intensity of the sensation, and I feel every wave of his pleasure in my hand, sharing the feeling.

  Once we’ve rested enough, we get dressed and walk back to town. I instruct Zachary that I will reach out again when there’s time, but he cannot tell anyone what has happened, and he sneaks back to his house while I sneak back into mine.

  Rashi is waiting for m
e upstairs. “How did it go?”

  “Zachary was amazing,” I begin.

  “And Aaron?”

  “He didn’t show up. Do you know why?”

  “You waved both dolls over the flame?” she clarifies.

  “Yes, and said the words.”

  “What did you get of Aaron’s?”

  “Part of his long shirt.”

  “And what did you use for Zachary?”

  “His hair.”

  Rashi thinks for a minute, and then has an idea.

  “Both of these men are strong,” she starts. “Leaders of the pack. To compel them, you might need something physical from their bodies, not just a possession. Or it might be that two alphas can’t be made to work together. Hopefully it’s just the shirt.”

  “Aaron is already suspicious of me—how am I going to get a physical part of his body?”

  “We best figure something out,” she raises her eyebrows.

  The glow of my time with Zachary fades as I remember this is no longer about my pleasure, but about our survival as witches.

  Hunting the Hunter

  Although my mind is occupied in finding a way to get some of Aaron’s hair, just beneath that thought is the realization that the world looks less boring and less bleak. My body is capable of so much more than I knew, and life holds so much more enjoyment than I had realized.

  My black dress is like a costume, and although I know it is designed to avoid drawing attention to the physical, every graze of my skirt reminds me of the sensation of Zachary’s skin against mine. These clothes can’t hide the fact that we are all born of sex and that it feels good to have sex which is all I can think about when I hear a knock at the door, and my mother opens it to reveal Aaron.