One Bride for Five Mountain Men

“Biscuits and gravy?” she asks keenly, pushing herself up suddenly on her elbows. Her green eyes sparkle in the low light.

“What, really?” I ask, surprised.

“Why, don’t you guys eat biscuits and gravy?” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “If it’s too much trouble, I can manage it, assuming you have breakfast sausage. I’m a passable cook.”

“Well, it’s no trouble at all,” I answer, shrugging. “It’s just that you’re so trim… You eat like that?”

“I feel like I could eat a bear!” she groans, flopping over. As her nightgown rides up the side of her taut flank, I can see the telltale signs of our lovemaking. There’s a little bit of pale bruising here and there, maybe a smattering of rug burn. I rub my beard self-consciously.

Her eyes flicker down, tracing the path of what I am looking at. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says dismissively. “I seem to be healing up really fast!”

“Well, I don’t want you to have to heal or anything,” I mumble uncertainly. “Are we too rough with you? Do you need a break or something? You’ve been really going for it with us, after all.”

She sits up, smiling, and the strap of her nightgown slides over her shoulder. She doesn’t even seem to notice, but I do.

“The last thing I want is a break,” she smiles. “I feel like we still have a lot of ground to cover!”

Actually, my beard really is pretty rough. I mean, I keep it moisturized, but the marks are undeniable…

“Carty? Are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I ask, trying to give her my full attention.

“It’s just that… Are we ever going to get to, you know, fuck? As in… you know…”

It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about, but suddenly it occurs to me that she’s right. My brothers and I have been avoiding that last morsel of her, saving it for dessert.

“Well, we don’t want to push you too far…”

“Ha!” she barks, throwing her head back with abandon. Her almost chestnut hair cascades down her shoulders, brushing the top of the satin pillow.

“There’s no need to be shy, Carty,” she scolds me. “After all, you guys have had parts of me no one has ever had. I have never…”

“Had anal sex?” I finish the thought for her.

She blushes, her freckles lighting up adorably. “In a word, yes,” she agrees shyly.

“And what a delicious ass it is!” I smile, pulling her to me and sliding my fingers up the back of her thigh. I find that sweet pucker and tap the pad of my thumb against it, feeling it grasping against me like a small, pursed mouth.

With her eyes half closed, she begins to moan instantly. It’s amazing that we have managed to train her in just a few short days, to get her acclimated to the idea of all of us. Still, her pussy is a remaining treasure, one I admit I’m unwilling to plunder too soon. But one that glistens in my mind, constantly invading my thoughts.

When I stroke her thigh, she seems to wince and I look down to see a variety of angry-looking red welts.

“Really, it’s nothing,” she insists, plucking at the hem of her gown. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind,” I sigh. “Stay right here, Lola. I’ll be back with your brunch order shortly.”

As I leave her chambers, I text Timothy her breakfast order and head to my private suite. Soon I’m standing in front of my mirror with a pair of scissors in one hand and a array of shaving implements laid out on the plush towel in front of me.

The first couple of handfuls are almost painful. But after a few minutes, it’s almost like revealing the face of an old friend. First I cut away the mass of my beard, then clip it closer. Finally I take the indulgence of a handful of hot shaving foam and slowly glide the straight razor over my skin until I am absolutely baby smooth. After finishing with a soothing lotion, I find I’m excited to return to Lola.

She sits up in bed, leaning on one arm over a plate of steaming brunch fare on a tray. As soon as I open the door she stops, pausing with a slab of bacon in midair. Her lips drop open.

“Carty?” she asks, shocked. “Is that you?”

It feels strange to grin, to have my cheeks crinkle the way they used to. I never wore a beard until we came to this house. I always kept myself clean-shaven. I feel like I’ve been transported back in time, and the look of raw affection on her face is reward enough.

“Oh my God, you’re so handsome!” she gushes. Her fingers drift out and stroke my cheek, sending a shiver down the side of my neck and arm. “Did you do that for me?!”