ROMANCE: Party of Three: A Lustful Collection of Menage Romance (Menage Romance, Bisexual Romance, Stepbrother Romance)

by Brittanee Farrow

  “Hog Wild?”

  He stares straight ahead but his eyes look mischievous, and I laugh.

  “It’s perfect.” The smell of barbecue and roasted meat reach my nose, and I start to drool, so I hop out quickly, and he matches my pace.

  The menu hasn’t changed, and I order my old stand-by: braised barbecue pork butt with corn on the cob, cole slaw, and a cold beer. Chip gets the same, and we eat on the picnic tables under an awning.

  He keeps looking me up and down, and I self-consciously smooth my shirt. I’ve gained some weight since I left—my butt is rounder, my chest fuller, and my stomach softer. It’s all softer than when I was seventeen. My mind races, thinking about the extra pudge on my bare arms, when Chip reaches across the table and rubs my forearm.

  “You’re more beautiful than the first day I saw you.”

  I freeze, partially chewed cole slaw sits in my mouth, but smile after a second. Being with Chip is the closest I get to liking myself. I don’t deserve his kind words, but still they come.

  “You’re more handsome,” I admit shyly, and he waves his hand.

  “Pshaw. I know.”

  We both laugh, and eat fast, enjoying every delicious bite. As we hit the road, I watch him drive. His arms are so strong and he looks so capable holding the wheel. His jeans are worn and faded, which I know is from being outside working and sweating in them on a daily basis. He wouldn’t buy jeans already distressed. Beneath his shirt I can see a small stomach, likely from nights enjoying beer and good Texas food, yet still maintaining a strong physique. He’s real and good, and I have to stop myself from wondering what could have been if I hadn’t left.

  I force myself to look away, scanning Dallas from my own window, but I feel his hand reach for mine, and we drive the rest of the way holding hands, just like we did all those years ago.

  When we reach the ranch a few hours later, I feel transported through time. The house looks exactly the same, down to the flowers in window boxes. My father kept every design choice my mother made, even after her death, and now they continue even after his death. Even the sign is the same: Redbud Ranch. My mother chose the script and tree, and commissioned a local metalworker to build it when we began to work cattle. Being back here is like visiting a museum.

  “I thought you’d want to meet the staff tonight. The executor will be over tomorrow.”

  “Works for me.”

  Chip grabs my bags from the back, but before I can hop out of the Jeep another man with dark hair appears, opening the door and offering his hand.

  “This is Jace—“

  “Jace Michaels,” he interrupts. His eyes scan me quickly and he winks before letting go of my hand. As close as he stands, I can smell his cologne—acqua de gio. It seems strange to find anything Armani on a cowboy, but maybe some things do change.

  Chip drapes a possessive arm around my shoulders, and after less than a day back in Texas, I feel more desirable than all of my time in Miami.

  “Let’s go meet everyone else.”

  I shake hands with two other cowboys, the landscaper, horse caretaker, housekeeper, and the part time repairman who does odd jobs. Each of them is gracious, offering condolences, but once the sun sets, a bonfire is built, beers are opened, and it feels peaceful. One of the cowboys nags Chip until he digs a guitar from the Jeep and picks the strings quietly. It’s my favorite Bob Dylan song, and I sing low with a twang I’d almost forgotten ever having:

  “Ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe,

  If’n you don’t know by now.

  And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe,

  It’ll never do somehow.

  When your rooster crows at the break of dawn

  Look out your window and I’ll be gone

  You’re the reason I’m a-travelin’ on

  But don’t think twice, it’s all right.”

  Being here at my childhood home, sitting close to Chip under the stars, singing that song is too much. My eyes sting with tears, and I say a quick goodnight before retreating back to the house. Nothing makes you feel more alone than going back to your first bedroom, in your first home, and being the only person still alive in that house. The walls are steeped in memories of sleepovers, my mother styling my hair for society events, Chip scaling the lattice to sneak in and see me, slamming the door during fights with my father, packing my bags and leaving it all behind.

  The floral quilt still smells like the fabric softener my mom used, and the house seems small yet too vast and empty at the same time, so I sneak out to the barn. Once I find Penny’s stall, I slip inside, but she still wakes up. She doesn’t spook, like some horses would, but nuzzles me.

  “Hey, pretty girl. Mind if I crash here?” I was never allowed to sleep in the barn growing up, but it’s by far the coziest place on the ranch. She whinnies, and I take that as a yes, bunking on the stack of hay to the back under a saddle blanket. The smell of hay and horse relax me, until I pass out, exhausted.

  Wild Rides

  Chip finds me the next morning, before it’s light out.

  “You slept out here?”

  “Yeah. The big house is too big. And quiet.”

  He nods, not prodding.

  “I was just going for a ride. You want to give Miss Penny some exercise?”

  “Do we have time before the executor?”

  “He won’t be ‘round ‘til the afternoon.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Penny stamps impatiently as I saddle her, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s got as much spirit as ever, and when we begin to gait, she is still as natural as part of my body. I whoop, and she speeds up, flying over the brown earth as we chase the dawn.

  Chip is a better rider than me, but he hangs behind, taking a bit to catch us when we stop for water.

  “Can’t keep up?” I tease.

  “I just like the view from back there,” he laughs, stepping forward.

  Before I can think he pulls me to him, grasping my ass with one hand, holding my head with the other. His kiss is urgent, like a thirsty man finally having a drink, and I go limp, mirroring his movements. I haven’t showered in over a day, haven’t brushed my teeth, but none of it matters. He is all primal desire and I am aching for his touch. When he releases me, we break apart only for the time it takes to shed our clothes. He pulls a blanket roll from behind his saddle, spreading it haphazardly, and we drop to our knees before we begin kissing. It’s so comforting and familiar, his touch tender but strong, and as he pushes me back I give myself up, willingly.

  Our urgent kissing slows as he surveys my body. I cover my doughy stomach, but he gently pulls my arm away and begins to kiss me everywhere. Knees, thighs, belly, fingers, elbows, shoulders. He dawdles at my neck, nipping slowly, and I turn to a puddle. As I lay, overcome with how good it all feels, he turns to my breasts. Kneading one with his left hand, he takes the other in his mouth, sucking my nipple, softly then harder, and my back arches, trying to touch every inch of my body to his. He takes a finger and slides it inside.

  “Diana, you’re so wet.”

  “Chip, I need you inside.”

  He leans back, and then slips his hard cock into me. I forget to breathe, shocked at how good the sensation feels. It’s been so long. He cradles my face, slowly sliding himself in and out, speeding up each pump. His thrusts grow longer, and he strikes a place inside me that feels good beyond all reason.

  “I’m about to come,” I pant, “oh, don’t stop, it’s so good.”

  My words spur him on, and with a few more thrusts I’m falling apart, my orgasm tingling through every part of my body. As he feels the trembling of me around him, he comes, spurting inside. His brow is furrowed with the intensity, and I can feel the pulses of his cock each time he comes. We are torn apart with pleasure, and lie next to each other for a while, letting the sun bring us back down to Earth.

  Always prepared, Chip offers me a handkerchief and I clean up what I can before we get dressed again. I still have
tiny aftershocks of our love, and the ride back only draws out the pleasure. He looks at me knowingly.

  “You look beautiful,” he smiles. “You’re glowing.”

  I blush, and look away. Only Chip can make me feel desirable when I’m covered in dirt and sweat, with wild hair.

  After I take care of Penny and muck her stall, I head to the house for a much-needed shower. Miss Norris, the housekeeper, asks me if I like pancakes, and promises she’ll have them for me after my shower.

  As the water runs over me, it turns brown in the bottom of the stall. A piece of hay falls from somewhere, and I laugh. I had forgotten the feeling of galloping over the land, how good another person’s touch could feel. Redbud Ranch is perhaps the hardest place for me to reconcile in my mind. Memories clash of fights with my father and the great times I had riding or being with Chip. It’s still confusing how so many opposing emotions are tied up in this place.

  I determine that Miss Norris’ pancakes are definitely a plus for the ranch. She added chocolate chips for me, along with sliced strawberries on the side and some scrambled eggs. My compliments are accepted with shy smiles and then an explanation of her secrets for fluffy pancakes, which she makes me promise not to share. After some coaxing, I convince her to sit at the island with me, though she will only take a cup of coffee.

  “What can you tell me about the people working the ranch these days?”

  “How much time do you have?” she asks, her face turning serious.

  The Show Must Go On

  For nearly half an hour Miss Norris gives me the low-down on the staff. As I would expect, Chip is easily the most reliable cowboy we have, but there seems to be some struggles between whom, if anyone, leads the ranch workers. Chip and Jace got in a fight a few days back, when Jace demanded time off for my father’s death. Chip was adamant that not only was that the opposite of what he would want, but now more than ever a strong presence was needed to watch the cattle and avoid anyone stepping in or staking claims.

  “It was really more of an argument,” Miss Norris corrected. “There was some shoving, but it was shut down quickly.”

  I had better speak with Jace to get his side of things, but Miss Norris then reminds me about a charity function Redbud Ranch attends every year. “I know it must be hard, having just lost your father, but it’s important someone represent the ranch.” She explains this particular program is for a failing animal shelter, the only one in the area with a no-kill policy.

  “On the off chance that you want to go, I did have a dress brought up. And I know anyone would be happy to escort you,” she smiles gently. “I’m afraid your father was the main contributor and without the Ranch’s support, the shelter will close.”

  “Of course I’ll go,” I nod. “But I had better take someone with me. I don’t know hardly anyone here anymore.”

  “If you need help, just ask. I happen to be a wizard with hair and makeup,” she winks.

  Miss Norris is such a motherly figure, and the house is spotless. She was a strong yet tender old woman. A Texas Woman. Whatever the case, she should absolutely retain her role.

  A few hours later, the executor, Mr. Thompson, arrives. He offers the cursory condolences then drives to the main points of the will and any plans for funeral services. He outlines a plan for the burial, which I agree to, and then focuses on the estate.

  “Redbud Ranch will, of course, go to you. Your father left full control of his other business holdings, which you may either dissolve or maintain. I’d suggest employing an accountant to manage the financial pieces. The Ranch itself is running well, so unless you have any changes to make, you would be in a strong position to leave the situation as-is.”

  “And if I want to sell?”

  Thompson’s face registers shock, but only for a few moments before he recovers. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, but as he pats it away with a handkerchief, he forms his answer.

  “You can, of course, sell, if that’s what you really want. I have all of the documents on current profit and projections for the next five years, so really it would be a loss in the big picture. Not to mention this is your family home.”

  “I know the history.” I curtly replied.

  “O-of course. I only meant that it may go beyond the monetary factor.”

  “Exactly. That is part of why I may wish to cut ties.”

  “Then I can also recommend a realtor.” With the stack of paperwork, he includes a list of names for other professionals and quickly takes his leave.

  Stress is building between my shoulder blades, so I soak in the deep tub, indulging in a bath fizz that smells like green tea. I sit in the water, thinking about this morning with Chip, the vast inheritance that has been thrust upon me, and what I should do. Before I realize, the water has gone cold, so I shower quickly and remember the benefit tonight.

  I still need to ask someone to go with me.

  The cowboys are back at their lodge, so I ask for Chip.

  “He actually left for the night,” Jace chimed in. “Anything I can help with?”

  “I have to attend the animal shelter benefit tonight, and am hoping someone will take pity and come with me?” I laugh.

  “I’ll be happy to. Tux okay?” he asks.

  “Sure. Seven o’clock okay? It takes a bit to get there.”

  “Absolutely,” he smiles. I study his face—cheekbones that any model would kill for, dark wavy hair, and green eyes. He stares back, and as I leave opens the door and places his other hand on the small of my back. “See you then.”

  His touch is firm—he wants me to know exactly what he’s doing. My mouth is slightly dry, and I shake off the fog, hurrying back to the house to get ready.

  Miss Norris really is a whiz at hair and makeup. She somehow wrangles my unruly hair into a classic updo—I feel like a voluptuous Audrey Hepburn. And the makeup is exceptional, if not thick. She has managed to contour my face into a slimmer version of itself, and my lips look fuller with the classic red shade. My eye makeup is simple—winged liner and a sweep of brown in the crease of my eyelids. I’m unrecognizable.

  Her talents don’t stop there—she has picked three dresses, all in the right size. One is a bold red, floor length, with a beaded strapless bodice and chiffon skirt. The second is a deep emerald with a sweetheart neckline, intricate draping and a knot on the bust, and an empire waist that flows away from my stomach. Last is a sheath dress, cream with black lace overlay. The black lace continues to the floor, while the cream underneath stops above the knee.

  Miss Norris watches my reactions, then confirms. “The green one?” I nod, and she smiles. “It’s my favorite, too.”

  She zips up my back, and hands me a small beaded clutch, which she has already stocked with money, lipstick, and mints. I add my phone, then give her a warm hug.’

  “You’re the best.”

  Smiling, she waves from the porch and I step into the limo. I don’t think I’m Cinderella, but Miss Norris is absolutely a fairy godmother.

  Leather and Lace

  Jace is already in the limo, sipping champagne, and he offers me a glass.

  “You look good enough to eat,” he whispers, leaning in to give me my drink. His breath tickles my neck, and I am suddenly nervous. Jace is unfamiliar. We have no history and everything is a question mark. The small bit of fear is tempered with excitement, and I begin to ache wondering what’s in store.

  “Bottoms up,” I raise my glass, and down the contents without pausing.

  He looks surprised, but follows my lead and then sets the glasses aside.

  “We have a long ride.” He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his belt, then pulls me onto his lap. “How shall we entertain ourselves?”

  I blush, imagining his plans as his finger trails the neckline of my dress. He starts by the strap, just next to my collarbone, and follows the fabric down to my breast, where he pauses. His eyes sear into mine, and with a devious smile, he unzips the back of my dress. I’m left in only black la
ce lingerie, and he stares, then begins to caress my thighs, every time his thumb inching closer the peak of my need. He finally reaches and begins to stroke me, through the panties. My body strains to push myself harder against his hand, and he takes this as a sign to pull my panties off entirely. He kneels and reassumes his attentions, only his mouth is now licking, stroking, flicking me. Just the wet sound alone pushes me closer to the edge and I come suddenly, moaning loudly, clutching his hair in my hands as he still licks between my legs. I’m still coming and the sensations are too much, I have to push his head away.

  My mouth is still open in shock as he slides two fingers inside of me, swirling in the juices and feeling the clutches from inside with each wave of my orgasm. Wordlessly, he tugs his pants completely off and gives me a second to observe his thick member before he pushes inside. He’s so big that it aches, but in a good way, and he wastes no time building up momentum. The speed is fast and each thrust is hard, pushing me back into the leather seats. Despite myself, something is building inside and the more he hammers into me the stronger it gets until we both come, loudly, violently, in a tangle of limbs and arms and sweat. It’s all overpowering, and we are still for several minutes, waiting for our breath to slow down.

  The back of the limo is in disarray, with clothing strewn all over, as the lights of Dallas greet us. In a panic I flip down a mirror and assess the damage. Miss Norris used almost a whole can of hair spray, thank God, so every strand is intact. My face is flushed and a little sweaty, but most of my makeup rubbed off on Jace.

  Laughing, I find tissues and wipe him off. Then I pat the sweat away on my own face, and reapply the red lipstick tucked into my evening bag. We don’t look disheveled, just slightly overexcited. It will have to do.

  As we finally pull up to the curb of the benefit, Jace smacks my ass as I exit the limo. More color floods to my cheeks, but I can only take his arm as the cameras begin to flash. I look at Jace, to see how he handles the attention, and he could have been born a celebrity. His smile is controlled but pleasing—not too much teeth showing, head slightly cocked to outline his jaw, eyes sparkling. This is the world I ran from and he seems made for it.