A Wanton Woman (Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs 1)

“Brother, it’s not all about fucking,” he countered, his words sharp.

I dropped my hands back to my sides, gave my brother a meaningful look. “Exactly.”

And I’d caught him, right then. His eyes widened as realization set in. This marriage wasn’t all about fucking, as he’d originally wanted. It was becoming acquainted with Celia, talking with her, discovering her interests, enjoying her, not just her body. She wasn’t just a bride, a faceless woman coming from Texas to marry us.

Walker grunted and turned about, heading back into the hotel. I grinned, thinking about our bride. While Walker was conside

red the intense brother, the brooder, he’d held himself back. Cautious and wary. But now that he was resolved, I wondered if our new bride could handle the full effect of Walker Tate. It was going to be enjoyable to find out.

***

Celia

“I do not need that many clothes,” I told the men as they escorted me from a ladies’ dress shop, Walker’s arms laden with wrapped parcels. Luke refused to let me leave without donning a completely new outfit, from hat to boots. Now out on the street, I had to admit the clothing was quite warm against the biting wind.

During our foray inside the shop, Walker played the role of brother-in-law while Luke filled the role of my new husband. I understood all too well that marrying two men was against the law everywhere… everywhere but Slate Springs, Colorado. I did not want to draw attention to our unusual arrangement any more than the men did.

I was still coming to terms with what I’d done. Lord, I’d spent a wild and carnal night—and morning—with both of them. Luke had fucked me and I’d orgasmed with wild abandon. Just this morning, Walker had even pressed the tip of his thumb into my bottom as Luke did magical things with his fingers in my pussy. And they’d done it together. Together! I’d had two men touching me.

The only time it seemed even the slightest bit similar to a conventional marriage was this morning when Luke had taken me while I lay on my back in bed.

But what was a conventional marriage? Had my marriage to John been conventional? Did other husbands take mistresses to their beds? I had to wonder if perhaps with Luke and Walker I was, in fact, quite lucky. I’d come three times. In five years, I’d had zero orgasms with John, so I knew what Luke, Walker and I shared was… unique.

The only similarity to what I’d done with John was the position. Earlier, Luke had been on top of me, just has John had always done. But with Luke, I’d been naked and eager and wet and he’d made me come. Again. He’d done it by sucking on one of my nipples as he brushed his fingers over my clit. John had never done either of those things. I’d never even gotten wet before.

I’d loved it all with Luke and Walker. Every bit of it. I just had to reconcile what I’d been raised to believe compared to what we were doing. I should be chaste and modest. I was not. I should be meek and submissive. I wasn’t meek, but I seemed to be even more submissive than I ever thought. I’d loved the way the men dominated me. My mind, my body, my pleasure.

But they hadn’t pushed or demanded when they could have easily overpowered me. John had expected compliance, acquiescence to his husbandly needs. I’d never told him no, but I had to wonder if he would have taken me even if I’d denied him.

Walker and Luke had asked first, gained consent before they even kissed me. They were honorable, yet did an honorable man want to fuck my ass? And yet Walker seemed doubtful about something. Not me, but perhaps he had some issues as he’d been married before. Was that why he’d rejected me? Had it been too much to play with my ass? Was I too much?

I had to assume the answer was yes, but—

“You said yourself you have no winter clothing. Not even a coat or gloves. Your dresses are made of cotton, not wool. Even your stockings are for warm weather,” Luke said. “While there are premade dresses at the shop in Slate Springs, it is better to be well supplied in advance of the long winter.”

He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm as we walked down the street. My new coat, a lovely shade of blue, was thick and heavy. The kid gloves were lined with rabbit fur. But neither kept me as warm as the feel of Luke against my side, who seemed to be warm even in the coldest of weather. I assumed Walker was the same way, but he walked two steps behind us for propriety’s sake.

“The livery is just a block away. Are you comfortable walking that far for us to get our horses?” Luke asked.

They’d told me we were to ride horses to Slate Springs, stopping overnight in a town called Georgetown on the way. I’d never heard of it, but both men assured me it would be a comfortable night. By the looks in their eyes, I assumed by comfortable they meant pleasurable. My pussy, which was a little sore and definitely tender, clenched at the idea of being between them again.

I was about to reply with a simple yes when I saw someone and I stopped as if my feet froze to the ground. My heart skipped a beat as I looked across the busy thoroughfare and saw Carl Norman. He was of average height with dark hair and equally dark eyes and could hide easily among the people walking along the city sidewalk. But it was his tanned skin that set him apart. While the sun was bright, overly so, in Colorado, no one walking past had skin the color of caramel, indicative of life in a warmer climate.

Luke didn’t expect my stop and kept walking, tugging me along a step. Walker put his arms on my shoulders to keep from running into me.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, turning his head to where I was looking.

I stared across the street intently, Carl’s eyes directly on mine. Oh God, he’d found me. All my fears hadn’t been unwarranted. He was here watching me.

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a wicked smile. I gasped, then pinched my lips together. I hadn’t told either man about Carl, that he wished me dead, even threatened to kill me for what I’d done to his brother. I’d sputtered to him when he’d cornered me in the alley that I’d done nothing. I hadn’t pulled the trigger that killed two people. But Carl hadn’t seen it that way and sought revenge. Sought revenge for the only witness to his brother’s crime, who helped in his conviction, and ultimately, execution.

“Doll?” Walker repeated and I looked over my shoulder at him.

He looked across the street—God, I had to hope he hadn’t noticed Carl—then looked down at me, studied my face.

My eyes darted to where Carl was, but he was gone. I looked up and down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Had he really been there? Had my mind played a trick on me? Was I so afraid of him following me that I was putting his face on strangers?