Their Conquered Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 9) (Grace Goodwin)

“Yes, sir. Please. Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

The men glanced at each other—they worked in perfect harmony to give the woman pleasure—and Tyler, buried in her wet pussy, slid his hand first to her hip, which made her beg him to hurry, then between their bodies to the sensitive flesh on a woman’s body. I, too, stroked the same place beneath my gown.

The dominant one, Xander, fucked her harder and faster in her ass as Tyler worked her clit and pulled her hair, hard, arching her back and neck up toward the ceiling, opening her for their possession. They were thorough lovers, but still gentle with her. They watched her closely to ensure her pleasure, to ensure she was loving everything they were doing. “We know how you like it. Hard and deep. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, sir. Please!”

“Arch your back. Get your ass in the air. We’ll give you what you need.”

She was shaking now, sweat dripping down her temples to roll down her neck to her breasts. Tyler licked it from her skin and I shuddered nearly as much as the woman who enjoyed the harsh rasp of his tongue.

With a grunt, Xander struck her bare bottom hard, over and over as she bucked and whimpered. I couldn’t imagine her liking how rough they were with her, but she did. She was wild as she was completely taken by both of them.

Finally, Xander set her free.

“Come now. Come all over us.”

It was like he was talking to me.

I shattered, right there on the balcony, my release rushing over me as the woman found hers.

It was the most erotic thing I’d ever done. The dirtiest. As my pussy convulsed and my body quaked, out of control, I kept my eyes squarely on the trio, watched the slide of wet cock in and out of her pussy, the hard thrust of the other in her bottom, and I envied her.

I wanted that, even a man’s cock in my bottom. Not some dirty old miner more than twice my age. I wanted a young man desperate to take me, to make me his. I wanted raw animal passion and a man who would make me shatter into a thousand pieces from pleasure.

I was jealous of a prostitute, and that proved once and for all that my uncle was right to send me away. He was right to disown me. I was dirty, my thoughts unclean. I was a bad, bad girl. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop.

Mr. Jenkins was my future, my soon-to-be husband. He would lay with me and make me his. I could hope there was passion in our bed. I did hope. I hoped he filled me with his cock and made me lose control, made me beg for release. And if not, then I had what I’d just seen to keep me warm on cold nights.

Tomorrow the stage would take me to Hayes where I would I start my new life as a respected, pious, perfect wife.

Tomorrow, I would be perfect. Tonight?

Tonight I would dare to imagine myself in that room, between those two men, being fucked until I collapsed into a weak puddle on my lover’s chest.

Chapter Two

Ford

“She’ll be here any day now.” The bastard sitting across from me at the gambling table clenched his teeth around a stub of a cigar. “My mail-order bride.”

Logan and I, along with Evan, sat around the card table with the filthy old man playing poker. I caught his name when he and his two sons first sat down. Samuel Jenkins. With him were his two grown sons, Tad and Harry. The saloon was rowdy and crowded due to the afternoon’s cattle drive. The cattle arrived and brought with them a bunch of men who longed for cheap whiskey and loose women.

Logan, Evan and I, along with nine other men, were just passing through this town on our way to the Bridgewater Ranch and were eager to see the town behind us. If these three Jenkins men were the kinds of folk who lived here, I didn’t want to meet any more. They’d been talking nonstop, not of their bride, the innocent woman scheduled to arrive from Omaha in two days’ time to marry Mr. Jenkins, Sr., but of the wedding night.

“What if she won’t marry you, Pa?” The elder son looked close to my own age of thirty. He was missing his two front teeth and his lips were stained black with chewing tobacco. If possible, he smelled even worse than his father, who reeked of sweat and piss, his fingernails coated in unwashed black from working the mines.

“She’ll marry me. She ain’t got no choice. Ain’t no going back.” Jenkins slammed back his fifth shot of whiskey and I cringed for the poor, unsuspecting woman traveling to marry him.

“She’ll be wed to Pa, just like we planned,” the younger son said, his eyes wide with perverted glee. He had to be no older than twenty. “Come on, Tad, tell these soldier boys about the sweet pussy we’re going to get.”

I arched my brow at the kid’s words. I wasn’t in uniform, and neither were my friends, but I knew from looking around the bar that we stood out, uniform or not. We were retired from the military, our service done for a country we would most likely never see again. I, for one, was ready to get to Bridgewater and settle down with a nice warm woman. So, I understood what the old man wanted, but knew my brow creased in confusion at the younger man’s words. I’d thought old man Jenkins was the one set to marry.

“Shut up, Harry. Ain’t nobody’s business.” Tad tossed a few coins into the center of the table. “But I hope she’s got big titties.”

Samuel Jenkins slapped the table and the coins jumped. “I get her first,” he clarified, waving his hand between his sons. “And I told you, after I’m done, we’ll be tak

ing turns with her.” He glanced at me, then Logan, as if to gauge our reactions. “You men ever share a woman before?”