Their Rebellious Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 10)

I was not alone. Someone beside me stirred, set a hand on my arm. I screamed.

“Easy, Kitten,” a deep voice said.

Kitten.

James. He was in bed with me.

It all came back to me in a rush. The escape from Mr. Grimsby, the saloon in Butte, James and Mr. Wells. No, not Mr. Wells. Jonah, for I’d married him.

Caught on my knees before Jonah doing… good lord, naughty things, we’d had no choice but to wed. It had been their intention all along, but this had obviously moved things up a bit.

I’d barely been able to look Jonah in the eye, let alone the minister for having been caught sucking Jonah’s cock. Beyond mortifying! I’d been thinking about how he felt against my tongue, his taste—different than James’—his girth when the door had burst open. I had the flavor of James’ seed on my tongue but Jonah in my mouth.

I had been so, so naughty. And yet, they hadn’t spanked me for it. Hadn’t scolded me. The opposite in fact. They’d praised me, petted me like the kitten they called me. I’d never felt that way before. As if we had a connection that went deeper, clearly more intimate, than any I’d known before.

And I’d reveled in it. Savored it, and their pleasure at my actions.

Until the minister arrived. Then… then I was married. I’d told James and Jonah I’d wanted to be asked. Our actions—mine included because I’d been just as eager—had dismissed that. We were married. Period.

The ceremony had been swift, and we’d left the church as soon as the rain stopped. James had held me upon his lap for the ride to his ranch. James, not Jonah, proving they did both intend to be my husbands. I must have fallen asleep on the journey—it had been an eventful day—and didn’t remember arriving, being carried to bed, or even James settling beside me.

I tried to calm my breathing, to still my racing heart as James pulled me into his arms and I went, happily. He’d held me upon his lap as we rode, but this was different. We were in bed and this hold wasn’t to keep me from falling off a horse. He wanted me in his arms. He was offering comfort and I took it, like a plant taking in water after a drought. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been held and reassured. It felt so good, and it seemed I craved it as much as their carnal touch.

I felt a rush of guilt at this. Was I worthy of this affection? I’d done so many wrong things, some of them to James himself, and he was comforting me. Me! The woman who’d had him punched in the face and knocked unconscious. The one he’d wanted to marry, then ended up seeing married to his friend instead.

And yet, I was in his arms. Was his desire for me unconditional?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For waking me?”

I shook my head and tilted my chin up so I could look at him. It was too dark to see more than an outline of him, but I knew he had a black eye. I cupped his cheek with my palm. “For this. I… I didn’t mean to have you hurt.”

He sighed. “I admit, I went about this all wrong. I see now why you were wary.”

He didn’t apologize for the spanking; I’d deserved it. The pleasure they’d given me directly after showed they were more than just… mean. Their punishment had been deserving and well-intentioned. The orgasm that had followed was their way, perhaps, of making amends for it.

The bedroom door creaked open and Mr. Wells… Jonah appeared, breaking me from my thoughts. He held an oil lamp, the yellow light brightened the room, although there were plenty of shadows, dark spots where the dream lingered.

The room was large, but sparse. The bed was brass, the quilt a dark green and blue. The walls were painted white and I knew with the two windows on one wall, it would be bright during the day. It was nothing like Mr. Grimsby’s mansion. This was… simple. Plain. Stark, even.

“I heard the scream. Are you all right?” Jonah asked, coming around the bed to sit so I was between the two of them. He set the oil lamp on the table beside the bed and turned to face me. Both of them were concerned for me.

God, had I been so wrong? Had I been so jaded by Father’s desires that I lost track of my own?

“Did you dream of your father?” James asked.

I didn’t correct him.

“I’m so sorry he was killed,” he added.

I thought about Father, how I felt about his death. “Father was driven by his gambling obsession. He owed so much money. He saw me only as a way to settle his debts.”

“By marrying you to a wealthy man,” Jonah said.

“Yes, for money, not affection.” I met Jonah’s eyes. “As you’re well aware, that plan ended with disastrous results.” In my mind, I saw Father’s dead body sprawled on Mr. Grimsby’s carpet. “He didn’t love me. He never did. He didn’t send me to finishing school to further my education; it was his attempt to get me in front of the rich copper mine owners. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I am content to be rid of him.”

“He used you harshly,” James replied. “If he were alive, I’d kill him all over again.”