Their Wayward Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 2)

"The horse saved your life," Brody added.

The poor thing. He should have been safely in the stable with a bucket of oats and yet he'd ventured out with me because I wanted away. Now he was dead, and all because I'd gone foolishly out in the poor weather. Tears knotted in my throat, stung the back of my eyes. I had been given no choice. If I'd remained abed, I most likely would be standing at the church alter right now with Mr. Palmer. No matter which way my mind turned, there was only crisis. Mr. Palmer. Two strangers in a bed. The horse being hurt. Dying. It was all too much. I started to cry. Brody turned me and pulled me close, letting me cry into his shoulder. His hands ran up and down my back soothingly and both men whispered to me. Although my crying too loud for me to hear their words, it was soothing nonetheless.

Brody's skin was warm against my face, the pale hairs on his chest tickling my nose. His scent was clean, dark. Manly. Hands ran through my hair and tilted my head back. Soft lips grazed over my forehead, my cheeks, and my jaw and then settled on my mouth.

I was being kissed!

His lips were warm, soft and they brushed over me gently, before his tongue licked over the seam of my mouth. Surprise had me gasping, which allowed Brody's tongue to slip inside and touch mine. My hands roamed over his hard, chiseled chest. His hands slid down my back to cup my bottom. No. That couldn't be possible because his hands were in my hair. Then that meant....

Mason.

Brody angled my head to the side and plundered my mouth. There was no other word for it. My senses, too. I'd never been kissed before and I'd imagined it to be a dry, staid peck. No tongue. I had no idea a man would kiss you with his tongue in your mouth. It was...incredible.

Why was I feeling this way? I shouldn't be all hot and tingly and achy from these men. These strangers. But they didn't feel entirely like strangers, for although I was quite confused and listless the night before, I could sense them taking care of me, protecting me. Warming me. I'd been held close and it had made me feel safe, safe enough to fall asleep in a stranger's arms. A stranger was someone unknown, someone with whom to maintain a cautious and wary distance. With these men, there was no distance. The wariness was there, but it wasn't for the men, but what they made me feel. Pulling my head back, I sucked air into my lungs that Brody had kissed away. "We need to stop. This...this isn't right. It feels...."

I felt more than saw Brody's smile. "No, sweetheart, this is very, very right. Didn't it feel good when I held you last night? Remember I said you were safe with us?"

I nodded.

"You're still safe. We'll still take care of you, but here in

this bed, we'll take care of you in different ways." His thumbs moved to brush the tear stains off my cheeks before lowering his mouth to mine once again. Mason moved closer so that his front was to my back, his lips sliding over my shoulder. I felt the soft bristle of his beard against my skin. Completely different than Brody's mouth. His hand rested on my waist.

I don't know whose touch was whose; their hands were everywhere. A hand went behind my knee and lifted my upper leg onto Brody's hip, pulling it close and holding it. The grip didn't let go.

One finger ran over my womanhood and I cried out in surprise. I tried to close my legs, but Brody's hand—it had to be his—held me securely.

"What...what are you doing?" I asked against Brody's mouth. His taste was as appealing as his scent, the combination softening my resistance, the muscles in my body.

"I'm playing with your pussy," Mason murmured as he nipped at the spot where my shoulder and neck met. His beard was soft, rasping against my skin.

A moan escaped my lips.

"W...why would you want to touch me there?"

"You offered us a little peek and I couldn't resist. Those pretty red curls only showing a hint of your pussy lips."

His words were carnal, crude. Honest. But I couldn't think about that further. Somehow, his finger—his one blunt finger—was doing things to me that had my mind turning to the consistency of oatmeal.

A hand cupped my breast. "Ah, Mason, you're going to love her breasts. So full, and her nipple, it just tightened against my palm."

"I can't wait, but I'm busy with her pussy. She's dripping wet."

I startled in alarm. "I'm wet? What's dripping? Something's wrong. No. You should stop."

"Sweetheart, nothing's wrong with you." Brody's fingers tugged on my nipple and I arched my back into it. "You're aroused and your pussy is readying for a cock."

I shook my head. "No. No...cocks. I'm a virgin. I can't allow that, no," I sputtered.

"No cock until you're married," Mason agreed, his voice deep. "Nothing in your pussy at all until then."

My muscles relaxed. "Then we are done."

Brody pulled his head back enough so I could see his face. Pale eyes that showed tenderness, eagerness. Need. "We are far from done."

As Brody said that, Mason touched me in a place that felt like I was struck by lightning, a searing heat shooting through my body. "Oh my god," I moaned.

"Her clit is hard."