A Wild Woman (Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs 2)

Little did he know our bride.

As soon as we had her to ourselves, with no sibling chaperones, we’d learn more about her, too. Like if she was ticklish behind her knees, the taste of her. While Spur had licked her pussy, I hadn’t. The one night hadn’t been enough. I ached to have her taste on my tongue, to swallow down every bit of her cream as she came all over my face.

“Time to go, precious.”

I thanked the minister as I shook his hand, then guided her down the center aisle and out the front doors, not waiting to see if anyone else followed. I would have tossed her over my shoulder again, but I wanted her eager for me, not angry, once we were in Spur’s bedroom and I was stripping her bare.

“Gentlemen, this is where we say goodbye,” Spur said to the Dare brothers as he offered a handshake.

“You’re leaving?” Piper asked.

Jed put his hat back on his head. “We’re not leaving, we’re leaving you alone. Don’t worry, we’ll be in Slate Springs for a while.”

He looked pointedly at Spur, then at me, a tacit warning. If we did anything to bother Piper, they’d be there to give me a second black eye.

“Good,” Piper said, smiling. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“The next day,” I countered, narrowing my eyes at Jed and Knox, daring them to argue. They’d gotten what they wanted, now they had to leave us alone so we could fuck their sister good and hard. The only time we’d seen Piper when she wasn’t contrary or wanting to shoot someone was when she’d come a few times. Maybe all she’d needed all along was to be well fucked and I was more than happy to test that theory.

She looked at me, a small frown of confusion crinkling her brow.

“Two husbands, two days, precious,” I explained.

When her brothers groaned, I bent down and tossed her over my shoulder once again. Fuck it. I’d had enough waiting. It was time to make her ours. Fully. Completely. Irrevocably.

***

Spur

Lane carried Piper all the way to my house and up the stairs. While it was a small town, I lived several blocks from the church and no doubt we’d be the talk of the town readily enough, especially the way she carried on. Of course, if everyone in town had assumed us dead, then the talk would be even more than just carrying our bride like a sack of grain. News of death was frequent, especially in so remote and inclement a location. It was rare, if not never occurring, that someone came back from the dead.

Seeing Piper’s lush ass taut beneath the fabric of her dress as it swayed on Lane’s shoulder made me feel far from dead. In fact, my blood was pumping through my veins, and my cock. Since her brothers had been with us, I’d willed away the cock stand as best I could when arguing with Piper. I didn’t want to show them how much I loved seeing her all riled up. She had no guile, no social politeness to her when she was angry, and when it was directed at Lane and me, I just wanted to kiss and fuck that anger away.

A little explanation didn’t hurt in diminishing her ire either. Fortunately, Lane had finally shared about Lil and given a two-sentence description of his childhood before his mother died. Piper hadn’t cared about the stigma of his past, about Lil’s profession, any of it. It had been easy for him to tell her the truth. Why he’d worried I had no idea, but Piper wasn’t one of those stuffy old biddies who would faint at the utterance of the word nipple or pussy, let alone learn of our backgrounds in a whorehouse.

“I like seeing your things in my bedroom.” I picked up a stocking that dangled with its mate over the side of the bed. It was so delicate and feminine and it reminded me of our physical differences.

Lane put Piper down and she gripped the brass footboard to steady herself, then looked around at the room in disarray. Besides the stockings, a dress slung over the chair, a hairbrush and loose ribbons on the dresser. The bed was unmade and while I was usually fastidious in my household chores, seeing the indentation from her head in my pillow, the sheets tangled from where she slept, was arousing.

Hell, everything was arousing.

She’d thought that we hadn’t desired her enough, that we’d need to slake our lust with a whore and then that we were dead. I could only imagine the emotional turmoil she’d been in for two weeks. How could she trust another man if we’d behaved in such a way, after only knowing her a day?

Perhaps we had a second chance. A second chance for all of us to trust each other. A second chance to show her that our cocks were meant just for her. That we would always be hard around her, need her, want her.

Enough. It was time to claim our bride again… for the first time.

“We need to know, precious, what you’re thinking. If you’re upset with us. Mad. Happy. Sad. Whatever. Tell us.”

She looked up at Lane with those red-fringed eyes. “Nervous.”

I sat on the side of the bed, still holding the stocking.

“Are you afraid of us?” I asked. She never had been before.

“No. Not afraid. Worried.” She looked down at the wood floor, then to me. “I know now there hasn’t been anyone else. I believe you, but I’ve spent the past two weeks thinking otherwise and I worry if I measure up.”

“To an imaginary woman?”