by Ranae Rose
Katrina smiled as she sat the jar back down and pulled on the apron she’d hung on a peg on the kitchen wall. Brom wouldn’t have to survive off of his neighbors’ generosity anymore. She’d make sure he ate more than just sugary pies for most meals, too. If the hens had laid enough eggs, maybe she’d scramble a few and serve them up along with the griddle cakes. Before heading outside, she stirred the smoored fire and fed it a fresh log.
As it transpired, the hens had laid enough eggs. Katrina gathered eight of them into her apron and carried them carefully into the house, where she deposited them into a bowl and set them aside, seizing another empty bowl and heaping generous scoops of flour into it. There was a jar of honey, too, which would taste heavenly drizzled over the hot cakes. Maybe the smell of them cooking would wake Brom and John. How long had it been since Brom had risen to anything other than an empty house and a slice of cold pie for breakfast? The thought caused her to frown and hasten her efforts. That wouldn’t be the case this morning, or any morning, now that they were married.
The batter hit the hanging griddle with a sizzle, courtesy of the flames that had sprung up below, heating the iron as they devoured the log. It wasn’t long before she took the golden-brown cakes from the griddle and piled them on a plate, setting them on the far edge of the table, where the warm scent might rise up the stairs and to the bedroom.
The scent was apparently not strong enough to wake the men though, and so after pouring the second batch of cakes onto the griddle, she went up the stairs. The cakes were better hot than cold, by far. Her stocking feet were nearly soundless on the floorboards, apparently too quiet to notify Brom and John of her approach. When she reached the half-open door, the low rumble of male voices greeted her. Brom and John lay in bed, stretched on their sides, but definitely awake.
“I informed everyone yesterday, at the celebration, that you wouldn’t be teaching today,” Brom was saying. “On account of your injuries.” He reached out and touched John’s face, sweeping a thumb over his cheek and along the line of his jaw. His bruises were vividly purple and black, clearly visible even from the doorway.
“I could teach,” John protested, frowning. “It’s not good for the children to miss their lessons.”
“Perish the thought,” Brom said, his voice ripe with self-satisfaction. “You’d arrive to an empty schoolhouse, even if you went.”
John mumbled something Katrina couldn’t quite make out.
“Forget about your students for a day,” Brom said. “You’ve other matters to devote your attention to.”
John’s face whitened a little beneath his bruises. “Last night… Where’s Katrina?”
“In the kitchen, by the smell of it.”
John inhaled deeply, his expression softening a little. “Do you think she’s terribly upset?”
“If I’d thought she’d be upset in the morning, I never would have permitted what transpired between the three of us last night.”
John nodded faintly, but didn’t seem convinced. Katrina opened her mouth, preparing to say that she wasn’t upset, not at all. But her breath caught in her lungs as Brom pressed his lips against John’s.
She’d seen them kiss the night before, had watched and felt the same heat that was rising inside her now. But it still took her by surprise, causing her knees to wobble slightly. She gripped the doorframe, supporting herself against it as she stared, spellbound. Brom pressed a hand against the back of John’s head. His fingers tangled in John’s locks, which had been loosened and tousled by sleep. Katrina’s scalp tingled as she remembered the sensation of Brom’s fingers caressing her skull, the delicious feel of his tongue sliding past her lips and deep into her mouth to claim her. And of course, she’d kissed John too, fully and passionately, as she’d always wanted to… Stifling a gasp and feeling ridiculously naughty, she observed in silence as Brom plunged a hand between his and John’s bodies.
The sheet had slid down and pooled around their hips, affording Katrina a view of the increasingly erotic touches passing between the two men. Brom grasped John’s cock, and John wrapped his fingers around Brom’s, gripping it with every evidence of familiarity and burning need. The same burning need that was welling up inside her as she watched, causing her channel to tighten, aching in memory of being filled.
They were so beautiful, in a masculine, vaguely rough sort of way – so desirable. Their attractiveness was enhanced a hundred fold by the passion they shared, an obviously strong bond between them that was manifested in the way they touched each other, the way their bodies tangled together as they continued to stroke, to kiss. Katrina’s womb clenched at the memory of how they’d both made love to her the night before. Were they both really hers? Was she really so fortunate?
Yes. They loved each other, clearly, but they loved her too – she’d felt it in the way they’d touched her the night before, the way they’d introduced her to the pleasures they were so plainly familiar with, taking care not to harm her. Judging by the way they were touching each other now, they were capable of – and enjoyed – being rougher. But they’d been careful, considerate of her inexperience. She really was the luckiest woman in Sleepy Hollow, perhaps the entire country…
Their lips parted, and John placed a hand against Brom’s shoulder, his grey eyes half-shut. “Don’t want to keep Katrina waiting…” he breathed, still stroking Brom’s cock, tenderly running a thumb over the rounded tip.
“We won’t,” Brom said, his voice low and rough. “Not for more than a few moments, anyway. God, John…”
John’s fingers were tight around Brom’s thickness, thrusting from head to base, clearly pushing Brom toward release. Brom pleasured John with equal fervor, his strokes increasingly zealous. The sight of them both so absorbed in their mutual passion was almost more than Katrina could bear. She gripped the doorframe tighter, her nails biting into the wood as Brom groaned and John followed suit. Longing gripped her heart, and a few points of her anatomy that she hadn’t been completely aware of until the night before, and yet… She wouldn’t have done anything to interrupt the display. Not for anything, even her own inclusion or gratification. Watching them pleasure each other was like floating in a dream – a visceral one that made the blood sing in her veins and her nipples harden against her shift and bodice. Brom and John – they were perfect, and they were hers.
Brom came first, or at least it seemed so – John climaxed so soon afterward that it was difficult to tell for sure who’d begun. But they both spilled their seed, wet and gleaming, over the other’s hand.
Katrina touched her skirts, pressing her fingertips into the apex between her thighs. She’d felt the warm moisture of their release in her body the night before, and on her thighs, the slick evidence of their lovemaking. But she’d never actually watched it spill from their cocks before, and the sight was thrilling. It was all she could do to stifle a gasp, afraid that if she made a sound, she’d break the spell of their passion. So she bit into the soft flesh of her inner lip, observing speechlessly as the men groaned and gasped, their hands slowing and eventually stilling on each other’s shafts. A moment later, they kissed one last time, long and lingering.
Katrina’s lips tingled, and she resolved to kiss them – both of them – at the next opportunity. Then she slipped away from the doorframe and whisked down the hallway, silent as a ghost as the men began to speak of breakfast, their voices hopeful.
By the time they appeared downstairs – now fully dressed – Katrina had pulled the third and last round of cakes from the griddle. She’d forgotten the second batch as she’d watched Brom and John from the doorway, and they’d burnt as a result. Neither of the men complained when she placed their plates in front of them though, setting a platter of sizzling scrambled eggs in the center of the table before taking her own seat.
“Excellent, Katrina,” John professed after swallowing his first bite of honey-drizzled cakes, a dreamy look in his eyes and his cheeks still flushed from his and Brom’s sensual activities.
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br /> “Excellent,” Brom echoed, spearing his second bite of jam-smeared cakes with a fork.
“Better than cold pie, I hope,” Katrina said, flashing her husband a small smile.
“Much,” he said, devouring the breakfast with gusto.
No wonder he and John were so hungry, after last night and this morning… Come to that, she was famished, too. She started on her own breakfast, unable to keep from staring across the table at the two captivating men – her captivating men. Her body was still tingling, the aftermath of the display they’d put on upstairs – should she tell them she’d watched? Yes, but later… Right now, they were all enjoying breakfast, and it would be a shame to shatter the air of domestic peace. “How do you feel this morning, John?” This seemed like a safe question, and she was eager to know. “Were your injuries soothed at all by a good night’s rest?”
John’s cheeks pinkened beneath the mottled purple and black of his bruises. “I do feel a little better, thank you for asking. I’m sure I’ll be fit to resume teaching tomorrow.”
Brom frowned a little at that, pointing a forkful of his breakfast in John’s direction. “You’re perfectly entitled to another day of rest; you may have broken bones, for Christ’s sake.” He shot an apologetic glance in Katrina’s direction before turning back to John. “You oughtn’t rush back to the schoolhouse too hastily. It could impair your recovery. Wouldn’t you say, Katrina?”
She licked a stray bead of honey from the corner of her lips, taken aback by the question. “I suppose it could. Really, John – everyone saw what happened yesterday. They’ll understand if you take a bit of time for your health.”
John grimaced at his breakfast. “I know they saw. That’s why I don’t want to hide away here – people are already gossiping about me. What will they say if I abandon my responsibilities as schoolmaster over a few bruises? I may not be much of a brawler, but I can teach, and I intend to do that, at least, as best I can.”
“You held your own in that fight,” Brom said vehemently, gripping his fork so tightly Katrina half expected the metal to bend in his fist. “Dirck fought unfairly, with the help of several other men.”
“You couldn’t have helped what happened,” Katrina agreed, a flash of anger heating her blood as she remembered the sight of John pinned beneath Dirck, his head bouncing against the floorboards as Dirck hit him with all the malicious force he could muster. Her stomach clenched, the few bites of breakfast she’d eaten turning to stone. She’d been so afraid that John’s face would be badly broken, irrevocably changed… The bruises, severe though they were, were nothing compared to the damage he easily could have sustained.
“Perhaps not,” John said, “but that doesn’t make the defeat any less bitter.”
Had the honey Katrina had poured over her plate of griddle cakes ever really tasted sweet? It was sour in her mouth now, and she swallowed it out of reflex. “Dirck was drunk,” she said, desperate to banish the frown from John’s face. “And completely out of line. Everyone saw that.”
“You’re right,” John agreed, though it was plain that the event still troubled him.
Katrina forced down another bite of breakfast, eggs this time. “Brom helped you. That’s still a victory, isn’t it? He loves you. He has every right to fight for you.”
The blush staining John’s cheeks deepened. “Be that as it may, let us hope that no one else ever realizes that.”
Brom grunted his assent, glancing first at John, then at Katrina.
Now it was her turn to blush, contemplating what she’d just said. Of course the rest of the village thought of Brom and John as simply friends. If they suspected anything more… Her heart leapt into her throat, seized by momentary panic. But she was here now, Brom’s wife – surely no one would ever suspect the true nature of the relationship between the three of them, what they’d done the night before… No, no one in Sleepy Hollow would ever suspect such a thing. At least, not without a good reason. It just wasn’t done. Her insides warmed at the notion of naughtiness, a secret forever kept between the three of them. No one would ever know.
The men finished their breakfasts in record time, and Brom stood, pushing back his chair. “Breakfast was wonderful, Katrina.”
John agreed, and rose too.
Brom held up a hand to stop him just before he reached the door. “You needn’t come along.”
John frowned. “Surely you could use some help tending the animals.”
“It’s nothing I can’t manage on my own. You should stay indoors and rest.”
John’s face turned to a mask of stubbornness. “I’m only bruised, not crippled. If I’m going to stay here, I’m going to do more than lounge about and allow Katrina to fatten me with her excellent cooking.”
The corner of Brom’s mouth twitched, and for a moment, he looked as if he might laugh. Perhaps the warning look in John’s eyes stopped him though, for he only shrugged. “If you insist.”
Left to her own devices inside the house, Katrina surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye. There were a number of improvements she intended to make – the house needed a woman’s touch. But as she made a mental list of tasks, it wasn’t housework her mind focused on, but what she’d witnessed in secret that morning. Her body was still tingling with excitement and longing. God willing, the day would pass by quickly so she could slip into bed with Brom and John again.
* * * * *
John really did look as if he’d been kicked in the face by a horse. Even the barn’s shadows didn’t hide his injuries. It was difficult not to flinch each time he emerged from a stall, carrying an empty feed bucket. His bruises were a livid purple, blackened in the worst places, and had formed scabs where his skin had broken when he’d been hit.
A muscle beneath Brom’s jaw twitched as the violent scene from the day before flashed into his mind, unbidden. He’d been doing his best not to dwell on it, because doing so left him sorely tempted to ride to Dirck Acker’s home and give the man some severe bruises of his own, but it was difficult, at best, with John there as a constant reminder.
“Is something the matter?” John asked, stepping into the barn aisle and fixing Brom with a critical look.
“Thinking about yesterday, that’s all,” Brom grumbled, scooping up some of the alfalfa hay the horses liked so much.
Strangely, John’s face went pale beneath his bruises. “Do you regret it?” he asked.
“Regret what?”
Now his cheeks turned pink, where they weren’t already purple. “Inviting me into your marriage bed,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“You think that’s what I meant?”
“I thought you might – regret it, that is. If you do, I’ll understand.”
Brom suppressed a hint of anger. John had certainly had his share of rough treatment lately – it wouldn’t be right to lose his temper with him. Still, to suggest such a stupid thing, when the morning had been going so well… “No. Not at all. I was thinking about the fight.”
“Oh. I see.” A few wordless moments passed them by, punctuated by a hopeful neigh coming from Torben’s stall – the stallion was eager for his breakfast. “Did you plan it?” John asked, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Last night, I mean. What we did…”
“Not entirely,” Brom said, his head swimming with the haze of memories and phantom sensations John’s words brought back. “Fantasized about it, more like. And then things fell through with you and the Jansens yesterday, and next thing I knew, you were there, in my house. It seemed natural to invite you into our bed, and then… Christ, John. It all happened, just like I imagined, and it still feels like a dream.”
John’s cheeks had flushed as Brom had spoken, and the sight of the color creeping across John’s face was pleasing despite the bruises that obscured much of his blush. Though they weren’t touching, he and John were connected by their thoughts, the shared pleasure they were plainly both remembering. The night before had been amazing; just a passing thought of it was enough to mak
e Brom’s cock harden. Finally making love to Katrina had been incredible, and watching John do it had been just as much so. It had been a challenge not to spill his seed then and there as he’d watched John take her. And then, touching the both of them, lending his efforts to drive Katrina to climax…
“I know you enjoyed it,” John said. “I thought you might regret it for Katrina’s sake.”
“She enjoyed it too. That was plain enough at the time, and did she seem troubled this morning at breakfast?”
“No,” John admitted reluctantly. “But she’s so sweet, I wonder if she would tell us if she didn’t enjoy it.”
Brom snorted. Yes, Katrina was sweet, but she wasn’t a fool. And the look on her face when John had made love to her the night before, combined with the way she’d embraced him, eagerly pulling him close and urging him to take her… Brom’s balls tightened. She liked the arrangement just as much as he did, he’d bet his best horse on it. “She would.”
John continued to frown, looking pensive.
“Don’t trouble yourself over a matter that’s not even a problem. Here, take this to Torben – he looks as if he’s considering leaping over his stall door to get a mouthful of it.” Torben was indeed eagerly eyeing Brom’s armful of hay, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
John took the hay and turned in the direction of Torben’s stall, unlatching the door and slipping past it. Scarcely a moment later, a muffled curse came from inside.
“What is it?” Brom asked, hurrying to the door, John’s soft “damn” echoing in his mind.
John rose, a hand pressed tightly against his right cheek. Blood was welling between his fingers and beginning to stream through the cracks. “Torben swung his huge nose right into mine trying to get at the hay.” John shot an uncharitable look at the horse, which had buried its muzzle in hay and was chewing in contentment, oblivious to the damage it had caused.
