Back River Quiver

For Morgan’s part, she was really beginning to get pissed.

Around the tenth time Gus and Rod commented on Rixen’s new bride obviously being held under duress—because no sane woman would want such a monster—she came to a decision. They were going to eat their words. Today. Fine, she was being held against her will, but not in the way they suggested. As if she’d been clubbed and dragged back to a cave, chained there and treated like a prisoner. It hadn’t been like that.

Rixen treated her like a princess.

Guilt moved in as the plates were cleared from the table. She hadn’t exactly been nice to Rixen, either, since they’d met. On the way there, she’d even called him a kidnapper. Meanwhile he’d paraded her around the bayou on his slab of muscle shoulder and told her she was important. More than that, he listened to her. Asked her what she wanted. When had anyone ever done that for her and meant it?

“We’ve got a leaking pipe under the sink,” said Gus’s wife. “I’ll just bring these out back to the creek.”

“I’ll help,” said Rod’s wife with a long-suffering sigh, rising from the table.

Morgan knew she should offer to help, but she had work to do.

Rixen pushed back from the table. “I’ll take a look at the pipe.”

The woman of the house smiled. “Oh, thank you, Rix—”

“Don’t need you looking at the pipe in my own house,” Rod sneered, bashing a fist off the table. “I said I would get around to the fucking thing.” The wives of the men didn’t comment, simply leaving the small home while the men faced off across the table. “Don’t worry about my responsibilities. Worry about your woman leaving your ugly ass behind as soon as she gets the chance.”

Gus piped in. “Maybe she forgot what she looks like, since your face done broke all the mirrors hanging in your house.” He leered at Morgan and she heard a low growl kindling in Rixen’s throat. “I’m here to remind you, sweetheart, you are f—”

Morgan lunged to her feet, sensing that if Gus finished that sentence, his wife was going to be cleaning up a lot more than plates. Like a crime scene. “Rixen, can I talk to you in private?” She went to him and danced her fingers up his chest. “Please?”

The P word seemed to grab his attention. “Are you feeling okay?”

Fine, so she could stand to be a little more polite if saying please made him question her health. “Actually, I…” She crooked her finger for him to lower his head. “I need you to hold me,” she whispered in his ear, feeling her nipples peak inside her tank top at the truth of her words. “I miss you touching me.”

His chest moved like a shifting mountain range. “You do?”

“Yes.” She wound her arms around his neck, settling her body against him, dragging it side to side. “I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”

Rixen’s erection rose so quickly, she gasped, moisture trickling between her legs and dampening the seam of her shorts. She could feel both brothers watching in stupefied silence and grew even more determined to make them feel like idiots. Yeah, her method was kind of naughty and unconventional. But she was probably never going to see them again, right? It wouldn’t hurt to give Rixen this moment to hold close next time they treated their own brother like an outcast.

“Morgan…” Rixen started in his charred cigar ashes voice. “We are not alone.”

“I know.” She hit him with a pleading pout and he caved, right then and there, his jaw slackening, eyes molten. “I want you inside me. You feel so good there.”

She was ripped from the floor with a growl, carried against Rixen’s heaving chest to what she assumed was the closest bedroom. His loud strides thundered on the floorboards, a satisfying silence following them from the dining room.

That’s right, bitches. Rixen is about to get it.

“When you speak to me like this, Morgan, I fear for my self-control.” He buttonhooked into a dark room and kicked the door shut, throwing her up against it. Hard. And volcanic heat stole through Morgan having his giant body pin her there. She felt small and feminine and breakable with her feet dangling off the ground—it thrilled her. Made the flesh between her legs quicken, searching for its new…mate. Mate. Had she just thought that word without a single hesitation? How could such a primal word possibly feel so right?

But it did. When Rixen’s big, hungry sex welded itself to the juncture of her thighs and he began thrusting, fucking her through their clothes against the door, she felt animalistic. Willing prey for a godlike predator. Slamslamslam he dry-humped her into the hard lumber, snarling filthy curse words into her neck.