by Marian Tee
He stilled.
Lifting his head, he looked up, his gaze meeting hers. “Say it again,” he demanded thickly.
The commanding note in his voice somehow made everything hotter and unbearably exciting. She whispered, “Devon.” And then she was crying it out. Once. Twice. She lost count of how many times she whispered, moaned, and whimpered his name. There was no way to think, not with the way he was kissing her. All she could do was make mindless sounds of pleasure, more so when his fingers parted her open, and his tongue swept inside her hot, molten without warning, Devon bestowing upon her the most intimate kiss of all.
The kiss destroyed Harry, turning her into a quivering, moaning mass of flesh, a doll that had only awakened to his touch. For a long time, he sucked her hard, his tongue thrusting in and out of her pussy in a way that made her wonder dazedly if it was possible to break apart at the sheer weight of one’s pleasure.
Harry was only able to breathe a little again when Devon’s mouth lifted from her skin. She thought it was over – didn’t know if she was happy that it was – but a moment later, she realized the brief interval was only so he could possess her another way.
Her body became rigid with shock as she slowly felt Devon push two fingers inside her. Already made wet and slick by his kisses, her core opened to his penetration, his fingers sliding in easily. His thrusts started at a leisurely pace, allowing her to relax, and Harry’s legs fell wide open.
When Devon felt Hilary relaxing, he made his next move. He slid a third finger in, and her hips moved as if to welcome the increased thickness of his penetration. When her hips started to move of its own accord, meeting every thrust of his fingers, Devon shifted up so he could finally take her to the heavens.
His lips closed over a tiny nub of flesh, and he started to tease it into life with his tongue. A scream of stunned pleasure burst out of Hilary, and the sound aroused him even more, urging Devon to suck harder. The thrusts of his fingers moved in rhythm with the flicks of his tongue around the nub.
“Devon,” she gasped. “Please…” Her fingers dug into his shoulders hard. She needed something she instinctively knew only Devon could help her reach. “Please, Devon…”
Hearing her beg made him groan with need. It was now or never, and Devon sucked on the nub hard. In a second, Hilary was screaming again, and wetness gushed out of her core, soaking his fingers. He didn’t stop sucking, keeping at it as her body kept shaking and shaking. When the spasms started to slow down, Devon knew it was time.
He raised himself and, parting her thighs as wide open as possible, he slid his hungry cock home.
“Devon!” Harry’s eyes were wide as she felt his manhood enter her. Both of them held their breaths simultaneously when they felt his cock meet the barrier of her virginity.
“This will hurt, Hilary,” he warned her roughly.
She clung to his shoulders more tightly. “Take me, please----ah!” His hard cock broke through her barrier. A feeling of fullness struck her – oh, how full she felt – and she gasped again, the sound mingling this time with Devon’s growl of pleasure.
Devon’s arms shook and sweat beaded his forehead as he did his best to remain still, not wanting to cause Hilary additional pain. Her womanhood was the tightest he had ever felt, her inner muscles squeezing his cock like a passionate embrace that he could easily get addicted to.
When felt her body struggling to accommodate the size of his cock, her inner walls expanding, he reached down to help her, his fingers teasing her clit back into life so that her wetness would make his possession less raw and painful.
“Ooooooh…” His fingers on her clit created the most exquisite sensation and served to somewhat numb the pain of his possession. Before she knew it, there was not even a sting, just a heavy, hard, demanding throb for her to move.
And so she moved. “Devon,” she whispered as she lifted her hips, causing his cock to move further inside her. The deeper penetration had her eyes widening, and she gasped when Devon pulled out. “No!”
He chuckled, answering her protest by simply thrusting back home.
“Oh.” But then there was no time to talk, no time to think. He was thrusting in and out of her steadily now, and all Harry could do was feel and enjoy every thrust of Devon’s possession. Sometimes, it was hard and fast. Other times it was painfully slow. She didn’t know what to expect, and it drove her mad with desire, making her beat his shoulders with her fists. “You’re teasing me,” she accused.
“I guess I am,” he answered with a low chuckle before teasing her even more by kissing her breasts, sucking on her nipples hard because he knew this would make her ache even more.
“Devon!” Her body was on fire, the combined pleasure of Devon’s cock thrusting in and out of her and her nipple in his mouth making her mindless with need. “Devon, please, Devon, please, please, please…”
Devon’s hips lifted as he pulled out all the way. He shifted, wanting to hit her G-spot, and when he shoved his cock back inside, he did it as hard as he could and sucked on her nipple at the same time.
She screamed, her body flying as her second orgasm took over her completely.
As Hilary melted around him, the sobbing sound of her pleasure had Devon sucking her nipple harder and his thrusts becoming more frenzied. He shoved in and out of her, no longer in control, his mind focused only on one thing.
“Hilary!” Devon found himself gasping her name as he reached the peak of his pleasure, his seed bursting inside her even as he kept thrusting. Wave after wave of pure sexual pleasure crashed over him, and it was the longest orgasm he had ever experienced. Terrifying, too, because this orgasm not only claimed his body as hers. By the way his heart was beating hard, it appeared as if the most vulnerable part of him might belong to his wife as well.
And that would never do.
Chapter Eight
A week later, Harry was alone in the patio, reading a beginner’s manual on ranching, when she was alerted to the whirring sound of multiple helicopters at the helipad. Even now, the thought that her new home had its own helipad felt very strange, and the fact that Devon owned two helicopters was even stranger.
There were so many similarly strange things about her life really, she thought ruefully, that she had simply decided the best way to cope with such strangeness was not to think about it at all. If she allowed herself to dwell on the evidence of Devon’s impossible wealth, she had a feeling she would cry…and wouldn’t stop crying because then it would become evident to her that she was not the woman for him.
The increasingly loud sound of helicopters descending on the helipad, which was at the back of the main house, was a welcome distraction, and Harry pushed all thoughts of Devon’s wealth away. Leaving her book on the sofa, she hurried out of the house to see who had been allowed to enter Primrose Ranch. By now, Harry was aware that the entire property was protected with state-of-the-art security, and only known guests of Devon were allowed entry.
She halted midway when she saw three helicopters in total, and she shifted uneasily as uniformed guards rushed to open their respective doors. There appeared to be only one passenger per helicopter, the extravagance of which made her even more uncomfortable.
The passengers were all males, tall and powerfully built like her husband, and when they came close enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of their faces, she realized that they were none other than Devon’s closest friends.
Devon had never introduced her to them, hadn’t even talked about them to Harry, but she recognized them nevertheless. Every day, she would spend an embarrassing number of hours just researching Devon online. It was that or ask Devon, and the latter she could never do, Harry thought sadly, because Devon didn’t want to talk to her so much these days.
The tall, dark-skinned man with ebony hair was Lyon Hardwall, the half-Apache oil baron.
Behind him was an equally attractive man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Sean Northwood was supposedly the playboy of the group as well as
being the billionaire owner of America’s most successful stud farm.
Last to come out of the helicopter was cattle rancher Nicholas Sutherland, a green-eyed blond who was just as attractive and wealthy as his friends.
Before she could retreat and hide, the trio turned to her in unison, and Harry froze.
Sean was the first to approach her, an easy smile on his handsome face. He was dressed the most plainly among the three, if “plain” was the right word for designer shirts and jeans that cost thousands of dollars each.
He offered his hand and said charmingly, “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Sean Northwood, a friend of your forgetful husband. I believe you’re Hilary?”
She shook his hand very briefly, mumbling, “Yes, sir.” She felt inadequate and intimidated by the three, who were all billionaires in their own right. She supposed Devon was one, too, but in truth, it was only the financial aspect of his life that she had not researched about at all.
She didn’t like thinking of him richer than what was ordinary. When he was with her, Devon never acted like he was some hotshot billionaire, was always dressed for ranch work, and this allowed Harry to bury her head in the sand and pretend he was not what he really was.
With Devon, she could be herself.
But now that she was face to face with his extremely sophisticated friends, Harry knew pretending Devon was a simple rancher was pointless.
Devon’s friends exchanged looks of surprise at Hilary’s shy demeanor. How could a woman as her handle a man as worldly as Devon?
When Devon’s wife turned to him again, Sean said meekly, “It would be a pleasure if you called me just Sean, ma’am.”
“Sean,” she repeated and with a nervous smile, she told him, “Most people call me ‘Harry’.”
Sean’s dimple flashed. “Interesting. But Harry it is then.” He gestured to his companions. “These are Lyon Hardwall and Nicholas Sutherland.”
“We’re friends of Devon, too,” Lyon murmured, his voice darkly musical.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry,” Nicholas said with a brief but warm smile.
She shook hands with the other two and after, she said apologetically, “Devon isn’t here, though. He’s in Dallas. One of the ranches there suffered from a fire, and he’s making sure everything’s taken care of.” It was true, although Harry only knew it because George, Devon’s most trusted forehand, kept her informed, probably out of pity.
What the hell was Devon playing at, Sean wondered. Just one week into marriage, and Devon was already spending most of his time away from his wife. It definitely had everyone in Texas talking, and Sean felt a pang of pity when he saw the haunted look in Hilary’s eyes. It was obvious enough that she, too, was aware of the rather sorry state of her marriage.
“I’m sorry you missed him,” Hilary said finally, feeling like she had to fill the awkward silence between her and Devon’s friends.
“It’s alright.” Lyon was the one to speak this time. “I’m sure he’ll hurry to get back to your side as soon as he’s done with work.”
She forced a smile. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, ma’am,” Nicholas answered.
“Not at all.” As she started to walk towards the house, the three following her, Harry said with a look over her shoulder, “I’ll also send a text to Devon so he knows you’re here.”
Maybe, Harry thought with rising hope, Devon would come home earlier because his friends are here.
When Devon’s wife was no longer facing them, the three friends exchanged grim looks once more. Devon had asked them not to attend his wedding because it would make things too personal. This, they understood, but when Devon refused to invite them to meet his bride even after a week, they all knew something was up.
And now that they had met Devon’s wife…
When Harry left them in the living room to serve them refreshments, Nicholas said abruptly, “He’s being an ass about this. It’s clear to see that she’s nothing like Aunt Mary Beth.”
“I have a feeling he’ll come running straight back here when he realizes his wife’s surrounded by three single men,” Sean murmured. “Devon’s always been a possessive bastard, and I’m sure he’s even more so with his woman.”
Lyon snorted. “Even with us?”
“We’re men. That’s all his jealous side will care about.”
****
Devon was in a black mood.
In truth, he had been so for days, ever since his wedding night. The magnitude of the passion he and Hilary shared on their wedding night had greatly disturbed him, enough to make him quietly leave her side the moment he felt her succumb to sleep.
Since then, he had done his best to stay away from the house most hours of the day and returning only late at night. If he could stop himself from taking her to bed, he would have, just for self-preservation alone. But he could not. He wanted her too much, needed her like a hunger that could never be appeased.
She was an addiction, Devon thought savagely, and like all addictions, it must be cured. The thought had him bending forward and urging his steed to run faster and gallop across the hard dry ground. But even so, it did nothing for him, and when he came back to his ranch, he was in an even blacker mood.
He had thought to outrun – hell, to run away even – the memory of the nights he spent with his wife and the knowledge that he had good as abandoned her.
But he hadn’t been able to.
Hilary had made her mark on him, just like the way Mary Beth had made her dangerous mark on his father Desmond.
Never.
The word rose in his mind as he remembered the many times Mary Beth had reduced Desmond into acting no better than a slave to love, and all because she wanted proof he loved her more than he loved the ranch.
Never.
Even when he was young, Devon had never thought of blaming Mary Beth. She was what she was, and she could never change. It was Desmond he blamed, Desmond he could not forgive for being so weak, to the point that almost all their lives had come crashing down on them because Desmond had loved Mary Beth too much.
Never.
And so when he received Hilary’s message, he deleted it without reading a word. He had to start early, had to start putting boundaries before it was too late and he became as weak as his father.
It was nine in the evening when Devon finally made it home, and the sight of his friend’s helicopters parked at his helipad had him cursing. What the hell were they doing here?
He strode swiftly towards the house, and the first thing he heard was the musical sound of her laughter, followed by the deeper baritone of other men’s laughter. Devon eventually found them at the patio, his three friends seated in a circle around his wife.
Devon whitened.
Maybe, if they had been arranged differently, he would not have minded. But they were not. His friends and his wife could almost pass for an exact replica of the last time his father had seen Mary Beth, which also turned out to be the last time his whole family saw Desmond alive.
That night, Mary Beth had also been surrounded by three men, all of them her ex-lovers. That night, Mary Beth had been furious with Desmond for choosing to oversee the construction of their Dallas ranch – the very ranch that Devon had just come home from – rather than coming home to her.
That night, Mary Beth had taunted Desmond about being happy even when he was not there.
That night, Desmond had driven away, drunk behind the wheel, and he had returned to them dead.
And now, was the past about to repeat itself?
Never.
In a cold, lifeless voice, Devon asked, “If it’s not too much to interrupt your party, may I have a private word with my wife?”
Chapter Nine
Harry jumped to her feet, a smile breaking on her face as she was about to welcome her husband back home. But her smile faded and the words she wanted to say died in her throat when she saw the hard look on
Devon’s face.
His friends also came to their feet, and she gestured to them awkwardly. “T-they arrived here this afternoon looking for you.”
“What took you so long, man?” Sean asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked at the other men. Devon was jealous.
Nicholas and Lyon nodded imperceptibly.
Devon forced himself to return Sean’s smile and clapped his friend on the back. “Work.”
Nicholas asked, “You hungry? Your wife here knows how to cook a good steak.”
“I’ve already eaten dinner, thank you.” Devon’s lips tightened at the realization that all three had enjoyed a meal with Hilary in his home – something he himself had not even experienced. He turned to his wife. “Hilary?”
She swallowed. “O-of course.”
“Excuse us,” Devon said without looking at his friends. Cupping Hilary’s elbow, he guided her out and up the stairs.
Harry’s heart raced in trepidation as she followed Devon to his study. The door had barely closed behind her when Devon spoke.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The first words out of Devon had Hilary jerking. He hadn’t shouted, but he might as well have. His tone was icy cold, and the look on his face made her feel bewildered and terrified. What had she done so wrong to make him gaze at her with such contempt?
“S-shouldn’t I have allowed them inside?” It was a stupid question, but she just couldn’t think of anything else to explain Devon’s anger.
His hand slammed down hard on the table, and the sound made Harry bite her lip. Why was he so angry? What had she done?
“Don’t play games with me,” he snarled. “You’re one woman alone with three unmarried men---”
“They’re your friends,” she gasped, finally realizing where his words were leading.
“Three unmarried men,” he stressed angrily, “who are notorious for their womanizing ways. So I’m asking you again – what do you think you’re doing?”
