Owner of a Lonely Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Capturing Bettina probably topped that bucket list.

  When she’d mentioned the concept, an illicit thrill had rushed through him. As an upstanding lawman, especially one of the few who actually upheld the law, Crispin had never indulged in many games that were out of the straight and narrow.

  He was the one who had come up with the idea to use Taos’s future house to play in. The old stone house wasn’t quite Taos’s yet. Escrow hadn’t closed, so technically they were breaking and entering. That added to the forbidden nature of the scene.

  All the rooms were empty, the wood floors were polished, and the tinge of Pine-sol hung in the still air. Crispin had dragged Taos’s only bed from his double wide—actually flung it in the bed of his truck alongside a prisoner who had written some bad checks—and that was the extent of their illegal decorating scheme, aside from a few post-coitus beers in the fridge.

  The plan had gone off without a hitch. Handcuffing Bettina had swollen Crispin’s dick to monumental proportions. The sheer excitement of using his power to subdue the most desirable woman in the world had gone to his head—and his cock.

  Watching Bettina struggle to gulp Taos’s load spurred Crispin to greater heights. All at once, he couldn’t hold back. His orgasm took him by storm, wrenching his innards, nearly knocking him unconscious with its sudden force.

  The orgasm was so powerful Crispin stopped breathing. He just surrendered to it. He gripped the corset that barely covered Bettina’s hips in its hourglass cage and he drove his prick so far it was jammed against her cervix. Burst after burst of semen exploded inside her, each convulsion more powerful than the last.

  Taos at last clambered off the woman while Crispin was still shooting inside of her. Taos rolled onto his ass on the mattress and grinned weakly at Crispin. Bettina smacked her lips, gulped, and gasped like a beached fish. “Oh! Shiznit!” Bettina cried. “Fuck fuckity fuck!”

  Crispin smiled, too, but what broke the spell was Friendly peeking in the glass French doors that led to the backyard. He barked, just once, but it was enough to make Taos and Crispin chuckle. The intense mood evaporated, and Taos reached over and lifted the blindfold from Bettina’s face.

  Blinking, she looked around. She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows. She drank in every sight with the fresh glee of a little girl. “Heavens to Murgatroyd,” she whispered, looking from Crispin to the room, then back to Crispin.

  Taos clambered off the mattress. “Wasn’t that some cartoon? ‘Heavens to Murgatroyd.’ I want to say it was some big cat, like a cougar.”

  “I don’t know,” whispered Bettina. Her pussy still rhythmically clenched around Crispin’s pulsating dick. “I think so. Some tiger or other. Damn, you guys. Shitpickle. I think I want to marry you.”

  Crispin knew she was joking, but because he actually did want to marry her, shyness overcame him again. He kissed her so that she wouldn’t look at him any longer, knowing he was getting a “snowball” of Taos’s jism for his effort. But the bliss of being seated so deeply inside of her and plundering her mouth with his tongue simultaneously was worth it. He could even pretend such a hardass woman as Bettina was actually embracing him with love in her own heart.

  Bettina drew back and looked at him as though seeing him with new eyes for the first time. She murmured against his mouth, “Holy Jesus on a stick,” and kissed him deeply again.

  When Crispin came up for air, Taos was perched on the edge of the bed dangling two beer bottles between his fingers. He’d let Friendly in and yanked his pants back on and was the picture of the contented homeowner. He shoved the beer at Crispin before the sheriff could even disengage from the bountiful marshal beneath him. “Let’s all three get new tats.”

  Crispin set down the beer and took the cuff key from the pen pocket of the uniform shirt he’d tossed. He’d hung in enough bondage clubs to know that “aftercare” was a prime component of handling the sub. Bettina had played a beautiful sub, but it was time to uncuff her. Her arms must be aching. “What sort of tat and where? I’ve stayed a clean slate my whole life, so it better be something good.”

  “I’m a clean slate, too,” panted Bettina. She had rolled over on her side to give Crispin access to the cuffs. “I keep thinking how awful the ink’s going to look when I’m sixty. Hell, when I’m fifty.”

  “That’s my thought, too.” Crispin returned the key to the pocket and helped her sit up. He slid down to untie her ankles, running his hands down her silken, shapely legs. That corset was a winner and looked especially enticing paired with the marshal’s jacket. “What’s this image of an anchor going to look like in twenty years?”

  Bettina tossed him a grateful look. “On you, fantastic. You’re stunning. You’ll be a silver fox your entire life.” Crispin’s ego soared that she would make this quip. “But yeah, Taos. What image were you thinking of? I don’t fancy any of those eagles or fake Asian script where everyone pretends to know what it means.”

  Crispin whipped the last of the rope away from Bettina’s ankle and rubbed where it had chafed. “How about a hot tamale?”

  Bettina pretended to swat him from where she sat. “That’s very flattering. But again, it won’t look so hot when I’m fifty. Besides, a tamale might just look like a dog bone. No motorcycles either, Taos. Hand me that beer.”

  Crispin sat cross-legged, massaging Bettina’s calf while she gulped the frosty beer. “We could all be Brothers of Discipline, like your motorcycle club, because that’s what we do. We discipline you.”

  Taos raised his eyebrows. “I like it. I like it!”

  Of course Bettina bristled at the idea. “I’m not wearing this corset when I’m fifty either! You think I’m going to let you tie me up when I’m fifty?”

  “Why not?” said Crispin. “Fifty isn’t old. Sixty isn’t old.”

  “Because it’s too old for games like this.”

  “Are you going to quit the service when you’re fifty? Get a desk job?”

  “Hell no. In fact, I’ve been applying to join the Fugitive Investigations unit of the Marshals Service.”

  Crispin’s heart missed a beat. He shared an anxious look with Taos. He tried to sound casual. “What does that entail?”

  Bettina shrugged. She chugged the last dregs of beer before answering. “I wouldn’t be in Witness Protection anymore. I can see where some higher-ups might have a difficulty with me seeing Taos on an intimate basis.”

  Crispin couldn’t argue with that. “Fugitive Investigations. Tracking down people who’ve fled their bail?”

  “Exactly. Or people wanted on federal warrants like gang members or homicide suspects, crime lords, the Fifteen Most Wanted, stuff like that. Some of them are wanted under the Adam Walsh Act.”

  “Oh.” Another thing Crispin couldn’t argue with. Nobody could find fault with bringing fleeing pedophiles to justice. He finally ventured what was most important in his mind. “But you’d be gone a lot of the time.”

  Again, she shrugged. “Yeah. But I’d be here a lot of the time, too. Cheer up! I wouldn’t work with Park anymore at Nellis, so I wouldn’t be your handler anymore, Taos.”

  “You’re not doing this just for me,” Taos said warningly. “I don’t want to affect your job decisions.”

  “Not just for you, knucklehead. I wanted it anyway. My office would be downtown on Las Vegas Boulevard. Don’t look so hangdog, you guys! It’s a step up, not down.”

  Crispin pouted as he took off her high heel and squeezed her foot. “I like you stationed out at Nellis. You’re right close to me.”

  “And this house.” Bettina looked around at the stone fireplace, the kitchen with new pine cabinets and marble countertops. “What is this place?”

  “It’s mine,” Taos stated. The men had agreed to allow Taos to tell Bettina. Crispin had been entertaining notions that Bettina might move to the ranch with him, and he hoped she didn’t prefer this house with its spiral staircase and 1901 ambiance. “This is what Del was bringing me the money to buy. I’
m sorry, Bettina, but I didn’t see living much longer in that tin can.”

  “But…where is everything? Your furniture? Oh, don’t stop, Crispin! That feels like heaven.”

  “Well, I haven’t exactly closed escrow yet. Ten more days. So I’m technically not supposed to be here.”

  “Ooh.” Bettina admired the men’s daring. “For a second there I imagined I might have a very quiet audience watching me.”

  “You had no idea where you were?”

  “No. No idea at all. Stop and you die, Crispin! Ah, that’s better. No. I thought maybe you’d taken me to some bondage house, you know, a private party of voyeurs.”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” Crispin earned a slap on the arm for his efforts.

  But apparently it inspired Bettina, for suddenly she cried out, “Petroglyphs. That’s it! Petroglyphs.”

  “What about them?” asked Crispin.

  “You wanted tats. How about we use some Paiute petroglyphs? I’ve seen some on rocks out Red Rock Canyon. Hunters, animals, wavy lines for water, things like that.”

  Taos said, “I like the idea of a bow and arrow.”

  Crispin nodded. “Yes, there’s some rock art on my ranch property. Lots of red hands.”

  Bettina said, “I like the idea of hands. Yeah. Hands.”

  Taos took their empty beer bottles back to the kitchen. “Because we put our hands all over you?”

  Bettina glared at him. “Yeah, hotshot. So I can remember your hands when you’re not there. Maybe I’ll put one on each tit.”

  Crispin knew she was serious about the hands. “I like that idea, too. Sandstone red hands.”

  “Not too big, though,” said Bettina. “I don’t want an old wrinkly hand on my ass when I’m fifty.”

  “Or sixty.”

  Crispin and Bettina shared a gaze that lingered. Crispin was hopeful that she would even talk about a hand on her butt when she was sixty.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the crowning achievement of Taos’s life, bar none.

  It had been much easier and faster to remodel the back of Taos’s building, to turn it into The Hip Quiver, Rescue’s only indoor archery range. The DelHart casino still needed some final inspections. Regulations were much stricter for a windowless place where people sat around smoking cigarettes than for a long rectangular box where kids shot lethal arrows at a wall, and that was fine by Taos. He was having a simple grand opening that had been meant to only include Crispin, Bettina, Park, Del, and Brothers of Discipline, but somehow had ballooned into much more.

  Newly minted casino manager Byron and other Brothers of Discipline mingled with the local Boy Scout troop. The scouts practiced in the shooting lanes with their recurves and smaller youth compound bows with Del as trainer. Del was Taos’s manager, as Taos couldn’t devote as much time to the indoor range as Del could. He’d quit his surf shop job a couple weeks ago, but getting the casino ready sucked up the majority of his time. The archery lanes had been set at twenty yards, but of course arrows were hitting the overhead hanging light banks, the main support beam in the center of the room, and even the Hunger Games and Brave posters plastered to the walls.

  It was a simple, clean, uplifting atmosphere, and Taos was even being congratulated by the mayor and some Chamber of Commerce folks. He felt he was becoming a regular City Hall player, greeting other businessmen on the street and going to Sam’s for a burger because he really knew who Sam was.

  Best of all, everyone knew him as Taos Hopewell, gambling czar.

  His MC was ultra-clean. They’d already done a Toys for Tots run and were joining up with other local clubs to form a Valley of Fire run to benefit abandoned dogs. His best friend was back with him, and his newest best friend was the sheriff. He was in love with his banging hot girlfriend , and he was trying to get his new home listed on the Historic Register.

  Nothing had gone wrong for a very long time, and Taos was suspicious of it.

  “You’ve done such a bang-up job of raising money, Taos,” said the city manager, “I was wondering if you could fit in a run for my favorite charity.”

  Taos raised his eyebrows. “And what would that be?”

  “Pearson’s Yogurt I Love Cats fund.”

  “Cats?”

  “Yes. Don’t you love cats, too? Who doesn’t?”

  Crispin butted in. “Richard, Taos is a well-known dog lover. He’s even got a sidecar for his dog.”

  “Animals are animals,” Richard said heartily. “Don’t you agree?”

  Taos knew he had to be politically correct. It would behoove him and his businesses if he was on the good side of the city manager. He was experienced in being tactful from his days running the motorcycle repair shop. Morons were always coming in with “basket cases,” literally baskets full of the parts they had left over from trying to fix the bikes themselves. “Sure, all animals deserve to live. I’ll look into this charity of yours, make sure it comes up to our par.”

  Richard said, “Of course it does! The fund manager is a close friend of mine. We go skiing together.”

  Taos said, “I’m obligated to look into it, give it my due diligence if I’m going to attach the club’s name to it. I’m sure it’s legit.”

  Del stuck his head around the corner. “Taos, where’d that ladder go?”

  Taos chuckled. “Another arrow in the light bank?”

  “This one’s in the ceiling downrange.”

  “Excuse me,” Taos told Richard.

  Crispin came with him. They would have to haul the twenty-four-foot extension ladder straight through the party in the main bow sales room to reach the indoor range.

  “You’re so antsy today.” In fact, Crispin had been antsy for a couple of weeks, ever since they’d played the capture game with Bettina. The game had brought the three of them closer to each other, and maybe that was unnerving Crispin. He’d been a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor since his divorce.

  Intimacy made Taos nervous, too. He hadn’t lost Naomi that long ago, and at first he’d imagined his dallying with Bettina was all in good sport, to pass the time. That hadn’t lasted long. He’d fallen hard for the curvy marshal, and if God had sent her to Taos to make up for His extreme fuckup in taking Naomi from him, all the more reason Taos needed to hang on tight to Bettina.

  It scared Taos still, this love business. And with Bettina about to embark on a new career flying around the US hunting down fugitives from justice, security was on everyone’s mind. And Crispin had been acting nervous and insecure for a while now. It was just a feeling Taos had.

  “You’d be right,” said Crispin. The men paused in the storage room, just staring at the ladder. “I’ve been antsy and on edge ever since Bettina told us about that whole Fugitive Investigations thing.”

  Taos exhaled with relief. “Me, too, man. I don’t like the idea of her being gone so much.”

  Crispin finally looked at Taos with his clear blue eyes. “Really? Because I was thinking more about the whole her-getting-shot-at thing.”

  “Oh, that, too, of course. I could do without that. In Witness Security she doesn’t get shot at too often. If guys play along with the rules, no one is tracked down. I read that that not one WITSEC participant who followed the rules has been harmed in the history of the program.”

  Crispin grinned. “You’re a fine one to talk. Taking off to meet Delano like that, scaring the stuffing out of us.”

  “We’re all fine now, aren’t we? Anyway, so you’re just antsy about her new job?”

  “That’s not all of it.” Now Crispin looked at Taos from under long, shaded lashes. He had something up his sleeve, some plot.

  “Spit it out, brother,” Taos said warningly.

  Crispin took a step closer. “Don’t worry. It’s all good.” He slipped a few fingers into his jeans pocket and withdrew a ring box.

  Taos’s stomach sank as the doom of the box’s symbolism hit him. “Mongolian clusterfuck,” he breathed.

  Crispin frowned. “Well, I d
idn’t quite expect that reaction.”

  Taos wiped his face with his hand. “No. I mean, you’re right, it’s all good. I appreciate you giving me a heads up.”

  “Well, we’re all in this together, right? And I want you to know, I’m not expecting you to bow out or anything. If she agrees to marry me—and that’s a big if—I don’t expect anything to change. Except I want her to give up that ridiculous house she’s been living in with her damned brother.”

  “That guy’s bad news,” agreed Taos. “So you’d want her to move to your ranch, I assume?”

  “Of course. That’s what married people do. I know you want to stay in your new house to be close to the casino. But in no way does this mean we’re throwing you under the bus, Taos.”

  “Good. Because Bettina wouldn’t stand for that.” Taos was only half kidding. “She’s still my handler, now and forever.”

  “I was going to wait until we all had a chance to get inked, thought that’d be nice and romantic to ask her then.”

  “In a tattoo parlor?”

  “No, you wazzock. In some kind of ceremony afterward. With you present, of course.”

  Taos finally picked up his end of the ladder and Crispin his. They maneuvered out of the storeroom and into the hallway. “Sounds good,” said Taos. “Some sort of inking ceremony. Naomi and I did that when I got her name inked on me and she got mine.” It was the first time he’d mentioned her name aloud. He hadn’t even been able to say “Naomi” during the pretrial briefing at Bettina’s office.

  Crispin seemed to appreciate that Taos felt secure enough to talk to him about Naomi. “Okay, then, it’s a deal. I’ll find some verbiage to say to Bettina. But I’d really like to ask her to marry me now, today. I’m feeling a sudden urgency about it for some reason. Maybe because she’s going to that training camp for eight weeks.”