Hitched (Steele Ranch 4)

Wilder went to the bedside drawer, pulled out a travel-sized bottle of lube, tossed it onto the bed. Yeah, we’d have to thank Matt and Ethan later for all the resort’s amenities. “Reach back, princess, and grab that ass. Show us your tight little back hole. Time to see how many times you can come.”

While she blushed hotly at Wilder’s filthy words, she reached back and spread herself open for us, no questions asked, no safe word. I was done for. We might be in charge, but Sarah Gandry all but brought me to my knees.

6

SARAH

* * *

When Wilder and King dropped me off at my house the next day—King having driven my car since it had snowed during the night and I rode the two hours with Wilder—I dropped my overnight bag, leaned against my closed front door, slid to the floor. Grinned. I couldn’t believe it. All of it. Any of it.

From seeing them at the resort to the wild and crazy night, to the rules they had put in place until they picked me up tomorrow for the courthouse wedding, it was insane.

I had on a pair of jeans and a black thermal shirt, King’s hoodie sweatshirt over it, then my thick winter coat. But no panties.

After about the sixth orgasm, I’d fallen asleep, or passed out, in Wilder’s bed. While I’d been naked and tucked beneath the covers all night, King had returned to his room and Wilder had kept on his jeans and settled beneath the blanket. I had to assume that while they were adamant about not taking my virginity until we were married—married!—it wasn’t easy for them to abstain. I’d seen the thick outlines, the solid bulges in their jeans which meant they were interested. Very interested. Very eager. The way they went at me…god. I got hot all over just thinking about it. I struggled to get out of my coat, let it fall to the floor beside me.

I tugged the front of King’s sweatshirt up to my nose and breathed deep, took in his now familiar scent. I was going to marry them. Both of them! While I’d only legally be tied to one of them, I knew they both were going to be claiming me. And claim me they would, as soon as they got their rings on my finger. Until then, they’d certainly left their mark. Or marks. I knew there was a little hickey on the top of my right breast, just above the nipple. Wilder had left one on the inside of my thigh along with some whisker burn. And I had no doubt my butt was still red.

I was a little sore, a little tender in places like my nipples and my ass. And by ass I didn’t mean my bottom, while that was a little tender and sore, too. They’d used the lube and their fingers to play there as I held on to the headboard. I’d lost my grip once as King slipped his thumb deep into my ass, slowly fucking me there as Wilder played with my clit. Each of them had had a hold of a nipple ring and gently twisted and tugged. I’d been completely and totally at their mercy, being pushed and prodded to orgasm after wild orgasm.

God, I’d been a total pleasure whore. They were so good at making me feel good, and they wouldn’t let me reciprocate in any way. When I’d tried, trying to at least press my hand against them, they’d swatted my ass in playful punishment.

I rolled my eyes and shifted on the hard wood floor, remembering the way they’d knocked on my hotel room door this morning, entered, shut it behind me. Wilder had walked me back to my room to get dressed and packed up. When I let them in, they’d told me to pull down my pants to make sure I wasn’t wearing any panties. And since I had been, they’d spun me about, bent me over my not-slept-in bed and spanked me. That hadn’t been very playful. Not at all. After, they’d watched as I took the panties off and put my jeans back on. When they were finally satisfied and I had a very hot butt as a reminder of who was in charge of my pussy, we’d left for Barlow.

And now here I was, alone. Pantiless. I pushed off the floor, worked off my boots and left them on the mat by the door, dashed to the bathroom. I spun away from the mirror, pushed down my jeans, studied my bottom over my shoulder in the reflection. Yup, still red. A few distinct pink finger-shapes were still clear as well. This sooo wasn’t me. I always wore underwear. Always did the right thing. Okay, perhaps except for the wild hair I’d had to get my nipples pierced, but other than that, I was a good girl. I followed the rules, was meticulous—a librarian had to be—and precise. I liked order, normalcy. Yeah, that had flown out the window last night. Along with my panties. I was officially a good girl no longer.

I grinned even wider, then let it slip. It fell away entirely.

They said we knew everything about each other. They were right, to a point. While we hadn’t exactly been friends as I’d grown up, they’d always watched out for me. I’d see them and every time, their eyes had been on me. They’d come over and to say hi, check on me, specifically because of my mom. I’d always felt safe with them. Protected, even from afar. And now I could feel safe and protected up close.

But I had secrets, not like the fact that I had a very red, very spanked ass beneath my jeans. Big secrets. Nothing like the fact that I drank orange juice from the carton or always did my laundry on Sundays. That stuff they’d learn, just like Wilder had said, after we married.

But this biggie? They deserved to know.

My cell rang and I tugged up my jeans, ran to the entry where I’d dropped my purse. My heart galloped at the thought of it being King or Wilder. I had it bad, especially since they’d walked me to the door and left just a few minutes ago.

Shit. My mother. She’d already called several times this weekend, but I’d ignored them all. I had to answer this one or she’d never stop. I was alone and I could deal with her without the chance of getting King or Wilder involved. They knew she was difficult, but I’d hidden most of it from them. From everyone.

“Mother,” I said.

“There you are. I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.” She sounded cranky, as usual.

I rolled my eyes, went into my small, tidy kitchen. “I’ve been busy.”

“So disrespectful,” she chided. “I was in labor for—”

“Thirty-six hours,” I said, finishing her usual sentence, reminding me I’d been a burden for her since birth. I tugged open the fridge, rooted through the top shelf.

I heard her sniff through the phone, not because she was sad, but because she was mad. “Your brother doesn’t ignore me.”

That’s because he lives in your basement and mooches off of you for his lavish lifestyle instead of getting a job.

“What did you call for, Mother?” I checked the date on a package of cream cheese, wrinkled my nose at it, then tossed it in the trash. I waited for her answer. For the matchmaking to begin. It happened every phone call.

“I met a man. Robert. He’s a yacht salesman.”

Oh brother. She’d divorced husband number five last summer and was now living in his Santa Barbara house she’d gotten in the settlement. Now, it seemed, she wanted a yacht. If she married the guy, she’d somehow get a one out of the arrangement. Not that she even liked the water. She got seasick looking at the Yellowstone River.