A Wanton Woman

I scrambled to my feet, ran to the nearest bedroom and shut the door behind me, leaned against the hard surface. The wood was cool against my palms, my bare back, as I tried to catch my breath. I was naked and I felt Luke’s seed slip down my thighs.

I’d fucked my husband while his brother watched!

I put my hands over my face and wondered what I’d turned into. I’d wanted to be more daring, to feel the pleasure that could be had in a marriage, but this was nothing I’d ever imagined. I was so wicked and wanton. It wasn’t because I was surprised that he’d watched, but I was surprised that I’d liked it.

“Oh God,” I whispered, shaking my head.

I stared at the bed and realized this was not a good place to hide. I wasn’t going to just bed Luke tonight. The way Walker had been looking at me, the way Luke had allowed it, he was just as interested. The connection between us was just as strong as with Luke and me.

“Celia.” Luke’s voice was deep, yet calm. “Open the door.”

I took a few deep breaths and realized I had to face them. I’d let John have his way, turned my head at the signs that he had strayed from our marital bed, that when we knew no children would come from our union      , he’d never considered me anything more than a free source of labor for his practice. It had been my fault.

And now, I’d gotten myself into this situation with Luke and Walker. I’d chosen to be a mail order bride. Of course I was going to be wedded and bedded. I’d known that all along. I wasn’t twenty anymore. I wasn’t young or naive, but never in my wildest and most tawdry thoughts did I imagine Luke sharing me with his brother.

I couldn’t stay in this room forever. I knew the limit of Luke’s patience and he would eventually open the door on his own. I could not keep him out. But he was waiting for me to come out voluntarily. I had to face them. I’d been silent for one marriage, and look what that had done to my life. I wouldn’t be silent in this one.

Grabbing the blanket off the foot of the big bed, I wrapped it about my shoulders, about to face two very ardent men. After one more deep breath, I turned and opened the door. Both men loomed and were quite daunting. Both of their gazes raked over my blanket-covered body. For one heartbeat I feared they would push their way into the bedroom and have their way with me, but they didn’t. I saw nothing but concern on their faces.

Luke’s cock was tucked back in his pants and he showed no outward signs of just having fucked besides his hair being unruly. I remembered the silky feel of those strands.

I breathed through my mouth as I tried to calm my racing heart.

Luke began to undo the buttons of his shirt, tugged the tails from his pants and stripped it off. “Here.” He held it out for me to take. “You will be more comfortable in my shirt than the blanket.”

I took the garment, still warm from his body, then closed the door behind me, slipped it on in privacy and buttoned it up. It was big on me, so big that it hung down almost to my knees.

Opening the door once more, Luke smiled. “Looks better on you than me. Please, Celia. Sit.” Luke’s voice was even more gentle than before. I took in his bare chest and I swallowed. A smattering of light hair was on his broad chest. It tapered to a V toward his navel and then even lower. Muscles rippled and I wanted to feel every defined inch of him. Resisting the urge—he’d just fucked me minutes ago—I clenched my hands into fists.

They stepped back so I could pass and I moved to the couch across from the fire and sat down, careful to tug the shirt down over my thighs. The men sat down on either side of me, their legs pressed into mine. I was surrounded.

“Mrs. Carstairs shared little about you in her telegram,” Luke began. “That you are a widow.”

I frowned at him, confused. “After what just happened, you want to know that?”

Luke looked a little chagrined. “Perhaps we should have done this first.”

I looked down at my lap as I felt my cheeks heat, wondering what else she’d shared. Hopefully the heat from the fire hid that from them. “Yes, perhaps,” I replied, not wishing to offer up too many details. I didn’t wish for him to think any less of me. “And yes, I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Walker said. I tilted my head and offered him a small smile. “No children, then.”

It wasn’t a question, for the answer was obvious since no toddlers alighted the train with me. Still, I shook my head at another one of my wifely inadequacies.

“Were you happy, Celia?” Luke asked. His voice was gentle, but I still felt surrounded, pressured, so I stood, moved to stand and look down at the crackling fire. With the sleeves dangling over my hands, I kept myself busy by rolling them up to my wrists.