“I want to feel your mouth around me.” Donald said and walked towards Alicia’s head. He positioned his engorged member towards her face and she took all of him in her mouth. Daniel bent down, picked up his pants, and grabbed a condom out of his wallet. He wanted to try Alicia on just as his brother had. While Alicia deep throated Donald, Daniel jabbed deep inside of her womb. Alicia was surprised by how riled up Daniel was. She could tell that he really wanted her because of the roughness of his strokes.
“I’m about to come,” Alicia said pulling her mouth away from Donald. Donald leaned his head down and kissed her as she called out her pleasure inside of his mouth. Donald wanted to push Daniel away from Alicia and have his turn but he decided against it. Daniel was having a hard time coping with everything around him. He needed to bust a good one.
“God, you’re so good.” Daniel barely managed to bite out. He started to grow jealous again as he was reminded that Donald had her first.
“Told you,” Donald said and placed his cock back into Alicia’s mouth. She was worn out from her explosive orgasm, but she continued to buck her hips hard against Daniel. After a few more forceful thrusts, Daniel let out a loud groan and exploded. The way that Alicia clenched her jaws when Daniel came was enough to send Donald over the edge. Donald sat on the floor as he caught his breath from his orgasm while Daniel fell into a chair. Alicia remained lying on the table, sweating all over, with a grin on her face. Even though her world crumbled around her in just a month, these two men brought the pieces back together. She knew that she’d eventually marry one of these men because the way that they just pleased her, she wasn’t trying to let them go. Until she is forced to choose one of them, she’d happily partake in both of their delicious Brazilian bodies.
Hellfire Montana
By: Linda Heart
Hellfire Montana
© Linda Heart, 2015 – All rights reserved
Published by Steamy Reads4U
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to the seller and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Warning
This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+ years old.
If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with adult content, please close this book now.
Chapter One
Growing up, my momma made sure to tell me all the evil ways of cowboys and to never fall in love with one. She said they were unpredictable, filthy, liars—the type of men to up and leave a woman at the first sign of times becoming hard. My momma reminded me every day that I was bred from a scandal, that my real father was not the general store owner I called Daddy, but was in fact a gun-slinging, no good, dirty cowboy that had run off when she told him she was pregnant with me.
It was hard to believe Momma. I looked far too much like my daddy to be the offspring of someone else, but it sure was nice to have a fantasy to hold on to whenever me and daddy weren’t getting along. In a way, I think it was all my momma’s doing that led me to be as happy as I am, because without the cowboy curiosity she sparked inside of me, I never would have met Malcolm.
Malcolm was everything my momma had warned me about. He was dangerous, foul-mouthed, insensitive, and one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen in my entire life. He was a very tall man, at least six foot two, and had messy brown hair that fell flat just above his earlobe. His eyes were a deep, leathery brown that shimmered when the sun reflected off of them at just the right angle. He was muscled, like one of those rail track workers who spent all day doing nothing but moving large pieces of metal about. Not that any of that mattered to me—he could have been a short, fat-bellied man with a month’s stubble on his chin—but it certainly didn’t help my momma keep me away from him.
Standing next to him, I looked absolutely ordinary. If you can imagine me back then, much younger, I had long, dusty blonde hair that Momma always insisted was up off my neck so it wouldn’t get tangled in dresses. My eyes were a pale blue that didn’t shine or sparkle; I was painted with a soft tan and had one or two small wrinkles in my forehead, most likely from frowning too much at Momma. I was average height at five foot three, and I had a few extra curves where most women in my day had the perfect hourglass shape. Most of the town considered me non-marriage material, past my prime, a spinster that would die living with my parents, childless. I on the other hand refused to believe that that was my fate; I was just a particular breed of woman in need of a particular breed of man.
That was the reason I decided some of my fellow undesirable woman in a special formed letter-writing group. A small group of us had decided to stop waiting around for the right man to come to our town, and chose to send letters out to other towns in hopes of snagging someone of interest through the written word. We weren’t sure that it was going to work, but we had nothing left to lose, and when the first bunch of letters arrived back in town, we were overjoyed.
Our letters had reached towns all across the country, and over one hundred men had decided to write back to us, introducing themselves and describing what sort of woman they would enjoy writing with. The very first thing we decided to do was to burn all of the letters that described what they wanted their lady friend to look like—we weren’t interested in just being pretty for these men. We knew we were not the prettiest girls in town. We didn’t need that type of thing from our chosen letter friends. Next, we all sat down together, each taking turns to read a letter, and from everything written we decided which one of us the letter should go to, trying to ensure that we weren’t wasting the gentlemen’s time—or our own—in writing to someone who would not enjoy writing with us.
At the end of our letter gathering, I was left with twenty-three letters from men who sounded absolutely wonderful. I took them all home with me, heading straight up to my bedroom, ignoring my momma and daddy, forgetting about supper, and spent the entire night re-reading the letters over and over, trying to decide which gentleman I would like to write back to. The few that I remember better than the rest were Jacob the barber, who lived in a town where the only available women left were all relatives of his; Tobias the saloon owner, who was looking for a lady who would not judge him for owning a saloon that was filled with saloon girls; and Flint the banker, who was looking for a woman to look past his family money to the man he was, which I always thought was strange, considering how men with money usually didn’t care, as long as the lady had a pretty face.
Then there was Malcolm. He had lied in his first letter, claiming that he raised mustangs. He had written that he needed a lady who didn’t mind getting dirty, or riding a horse with no saddle to help train them. I must have read Malcolm’s letter a thousand times, trying to convince the proper lady in me to not write him back, but it was impossible to deny the way his words drew me to him.
To the Weston ladies of letters,
I have never written a letter to someone I have never met before. I must admit that it is a strange thing to do. I’ve been spending my days taming and breeding the wild mustangs around these parts, and find myself in need of some female companionship. These horses are running me mad and I don’t get into town much, which is where one of you lovely ladies comes in handy. I would like a woman who doesn’t mind a somewhat filthy mouth, who can handle bein
g far from town, and would be willing to ride a wild mustang with no saddle if need be. I don’t care much for proper ladies; they are not built for my kind of life. I need a woman with a mind and the willingness to get her dress dirty. Not much more that I can think to write, so I look forward to your letters and someday even meeting ya.
- Malcolm Stenson
A willingness to get her dress dirty, can handle a filthy mouth, and doesn’t care much for being in town. I was all of these things, and Malcolm became my new letter friend.
Chapter Two
I was very excited to send my first letter off to Malcolm; I had barely slept due to all the butterflies flapping around in my belly. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, but I had this little voice yacking in the back of my brain, telling me not to talk so much, to leave some stuff for later letters. I decided to listen to that little bothersome voice. It was true that if I spilt everything in the first letter, there wouldn’t be anything left for the other letters, and I wanted to make this man fall in love with me, not get bored after our first letters to each other. This is what I ended up writing to him, hoping it piqued his interest enough, without giving away all my secrets, not that a girl like me had many.
Dear Mr. Stenson,
I was pleasantly surprised by your letter. It’s not every day a man is so truthful about his foul mouth. My daddy always told me a man with a foul mouth is a man not to be tangled with—is that true for you? Should I not tangle with you? I find the raising and breeding of horses to be quite marvellous. I didn’t know there was any money in horses. Then again, I’ve never ridden one before. Perhaps someday if we meet, you can teach me to ride, with and without a saddle. I’m going to shush myself before I ramble on too much and give away all my secrets, but I want to thank you for taking an interest in writing letters with the women of Weston, and I look forward to many more letters from you finding their way into my hands.
- Iris Thompson
I sent the letter off and went home, sighing as I sat on my bed and imagined all of the things he might say to me in his next letter, all the things I could say back to him in my future letters to him. My momma didn’t keep to herself her thoughts on me writing to a strange man, especially one that claimed to raise wild horses. She spent the entire time I was moping around waiting for my next letter telling me how I could end up worse off than just being a spinster, that I could end up dead in the desert somewhere. She was able to go around harassing me about such things for what seemed like ages. You see, back then, letters took a very long time to reach their destination.
The railroad wasn’t finished yet; we were all traveling by carriage or horseback. The letters stayed in the bag of a single man who rode horseback all across the country, and, let me tell you, he was not a very fast rider. I sat around waiting an entire month to receive a letter back from Malcolm, and I was so happy that he made the wait and putting up with my hassling mother worth it. His letter was filled with humor, promise and a small amount of affection, which to me meant the world. For a foul-mouthed cowboy, he was certainly one of the sweetest men I had ever met, and I hadn’t actually met him yet.
Dearest Iris,
Iris is a very interesting name, definitely unique, at least from the parts I’m from. How did you come about having a name as lovely as a sun-kissed flower? And please, call me Malcolm. You might someday be Mrs. Stenson; I don’t want you in the habit of being so formal with me if that be the case. That is, of course, if you go against what your daddy says, and tangle with a foul-mouthed man. I would also like to say it would be my honor to teach you how to handle and ride a horse. They aren’t much more complicated than a dog; they are loyal if you treat them right and remember to feed them. Now I must ask, Miss Thompson, what a fascinating woman like you might look like? I know that these letters is to make everyone look past what the face looks like, but I bet you are prettier than you let on. Be sure to let me know in your next letter, so I can be the judge of your beauty and not you.
- Malcolm
His letter made me blush, laugh and smile brighter than I had since I was a child. I felt wanted, and it was odd that after only two letters, I wanted him as well. I decided that I wanted to make him smile and laugh as much as I did with his letter, so I sat down at my desk and chewed on the feather I had creatively turned into a makeshift pen. I couldn’t think of what to write him, and I was afraid of describing myself to him. I didn’t want him to stop writing; I was genuinely worried that if he found out how ugly I was, I would never hear from the foul-mouthed horse breeder again once my hideous face was discovered. I began to cry, laying my head down on my desk, my tears glistening with the candle light as my momma entered the room. I didn’t notice her at first; I only realized she was in the room with me when I felt a soothing hand caressing my back, trying to calm me down with whispers.
“What’s wrong, precious?”
“I like this man, Momma, but he wants to know what I look like.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
“What if he doesn’t write to me again, knowing how ugly I am?”
“You are not ugly, and I don’t want to hear that out of your mouth ever again.”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Now, what else are you wanting to put into this letter of yours?”
“I want to make him laugh, Momma, but I don’t know what men like him would find funny.”
It was then that my mother smiled, as if she had a whole plan inside her head with just those words from my lips, and apparently she did. She sat on my bed next to me, and helped me to write the most fantastic letter.
Chapter Three
Dear Malcolm,
I think it’s a little too late to back out now; I am already tangled up with this foul-mouthed horse breeder and have no intentions of trying to undo it. I am, however, excited to learn how to ride those wild stallions of yours. If they are as loyal as dogs, I may like to keep one for myself, whether or not I end up as Mrs. Stenson. Now, I know that you desire to know what I look like, and I have decided not to disappoint you. I shall tell you exactly what this lady of yours looks like. I am very short, and look as if I eat nothing but sweet bread all day long. My hair is matted and dirty, my skin is covered in sunspots, and I have a lazy eye. I hope you are not too disappointed by the lack of my beauty. It is also time for tit for tat, Mr. Stenson. I will expect a perfect description of what the man I’m writing to looks like.
- Iris
I was laughing the entire time Momma and I wrote that letter. We hoped that Malcolm would realize the humor in it, instead of thinking that description of me was actually the truth. I was also hoping that Momma’s help with my second letter meant that she had better thoughts towards me writing letters to a man I had never met. I think it was the crying that turned over her new leaf. Momma always did hate seeing or hearing me cry. She would tell me that it broke her heart every time I shed a tear that was filled with anything other than joy. I felt the same way about all my loved ones. I would bend over backwards to ensure they never cried out of sadness, and now hopefully I had one more person to keep from crying.
I know I mentioned how hard it was waiting on that first letter back. Well, let me tell you a little secret: it only got harder. Waiting for a response to my last letter was terrible. I hardly slept. I was raging with jealousy when one of the other girls would talk about how many letters she had received and the wonderful men she was talking to. I wanted to talk to my wonderful man, but his letter had yet to arrive, driving both me and Momma absolutely mad. I was about ready to give up on Malcolm Stenson when a letter for me finally arrived from him.
My sweetest Iris,
I am truly sorry that this letter took so much time to find its way into your precious hands. I had some trouble come my way and had to take care of that before I could send another letter. I hope I did not cause you much worry. I happen to believe we are a match made in heaven now that I know what you look like. I myself am very short and have an insatiable app
etite for sweet bread; I also have a few very sizeable warts decorating my wrinkled face, while my head is almost completely bare of anything, including hair. We shall make the most interesting looking children, should you choose to be my wife. Yes, I did say, “should you choose”; I find myself enjoying the idea of having a lady like yourself in my home. Please respond with your answer as well as the blessings of your family, so that I know I will not be hunted down and shot for running off with some man’s daughter.
- Malcolm
I was so excited. I had a man interested in marrying me, and after only a two letters. It was more than I could ever hope for, and with any luck, my momma and daddy would be just as happy for me. I was somewhat mistaken though. My momma was happy that there was an interest in me from a man, but my daddy did not want to ship me off to marry some man nobody had ever met. He sat me down in our small sitting room, his hand on my knee and looking directly in to my eyes, and he broke the news to me that I would have to wait.
“I want to meet this man first.”
“But Daddy, he lives across the country.”
“All the more reason. I am not sending my only daughter across the country to some stranger’s arms.”
“Please, Daddy, just say yes.”
“I will, when I’ve met the man, and that is final.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
And that was that. My daddy was going to travel off to meet Malcolm before me, and when I asked, he refused to let me go with him. I thought if I went, I could just stay once daddy approved, but he said that Malcolm did not get to be anywhere near me until he approved of the match. I sat on our porch, my face covered in disappointment as I watched my daddy go off to meet the man I was dying to meet.
Romance: Yes, Stepbrother! Page 28
