The Merry Widow of Tanner's Ford (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “You’re sure you want to stay with these men tonight? You can even have my bed and I’ll take the couch.”

  “No, I’m not sure. But I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Marci trembled in Lance’s grip—or was it an embrace?—as Simon helped Nikki leave. Lance continued to hold her with an easy grip that she knew would tighten if she tensed to escape. Shortly after she heard the sound of Nikki’s car.

  “You’re mine now, and I will protect you,” repeated Lance into the silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lance had been prepared for a fun-loving woman who teased Simon by dabbing chocolate on her breasts. The wild-eyed sprite with messy clothes, her hair all over the place from a pillow fight with her much bigger sister, was a surprise.

  So was her continued arousal. Though she’d fought his hold on her, she was not frightened. Not by a long shot.

  He was hard long before he arrived home. But his cock turned to steel at Nikki’s description of him spanking, tying up, and tasting his woman. He’d wanted Marci since he realized his twin was not joking about what she was pressing into Simon’s mouth. He was surprised he hadn’t got a dozen speeding tickets the way he’d sent his truck roaring toward Climax. The name of the town perfectly suited what he wanted to provide the hot little fox.

  One look and his spirit entwined with hers. He felt her pussy quiver, her expectation of his demands, and her determination to stand tall. This woman, tiny as she was, had something in her that proclaimed she would fight to the death to protect those she loved.

  A warrior, just like him, but with a different strength.

  She was female, designed to create and nurture life. It was hard to “see” those of his blood, but faint lines linked Marci to Simon. He could not see his own.

  She bristled when he informed her of his protection, and control. That was her way, to challenge before accepting. As he’d told Simon, he would provoke her to gauge her reactions. Though he felt that she was the one, he needed to prove it to himself and Simon, and to let Marci prove it to herself. She would not accept them fully into her life unless and until she knew her strengths were accepted, and that they cared more for her than themselves. She must also accept that he was in control of the relationship, not her.

  He would get her as aroused and furious as possible to see how she reacted when provoked. He hoped she’d attack him physically so he could calmly subdue her. It would be best if it happened in a private place, where his physical control could be followed by sexual. Once she knew she could trust him to care for her physically, and that he could more than meet her sexual needs, she would accept him, and her place within their family.

  But if it was necessary, he’d put her across his lap in the middle of the Climax roadhouse with everyone in town looking on. He’d have to apply his hand on top of her clothes, of course. But she’d get the real thing sooner rather than later.

  He didn’t show off. He took charge and did what was required.

  Marci was a complex woman. She had bad memories, needing to be exorcized as if they were demons. When she rushed forward with her soft weapon he let her attack his brother, but only once. Then he had to touch her. An elbow in the gut was nothing to a man who worked with horses. His warning, as expected, had provoked a reaction. But it went far beyond the fury he expected.

  He felt her terror as she fought a memory. He had to tamp down his need to destroy anyone who’d harmed this woman. He released her, just enough to keep her safe.

  Declaring that she belonged to him, and that he would protect her, sealed their lives.

  He would let Simon marry her, since such trappings meant more to his brother. It wasn’t necessary to him, as he felt the link and knew it would last forever.

  Unfortunately, Marci didn’t feel it. He would give her time to adjust to her new reality. Part of that adjustment was getting used to his touch.

  * * * *

  Marci accepted the feeling of calm assurance that flowed from Lance. It took a moment, but she realized his words didn’t spring from arrogance, but from an unshakable confidence that he would protect her. The flip side of that concerned her more. He expected her to obey him. That concept would take some discussion. Unless his definition of the word was different from hers, it was not happening. No matter how hot and wet it made her.

  This was 1988, for God’s sake! Men did not control their wives in return for protecting them from saber-toothed tigers! Women had jobs, and lives, and could bring home the bacon just as easily as men.

  She’d dreamed of turning a house into a warm, loving home for her herself, her husband, and their family. That dream had died with her marriage to Ted. But she had another chance now.

  She’d had the society wife and perpetual volunteer life. It had satisfied her, but only because she had no other choice. Now, she did.

  Given a choice, she wanted to be a full-time wife and mother. She wanted to raise children and cook the bacon her he-man brought home to her. She wanted to surprise him at the door now and then in little more than a negligee, spike heels, and a smile.

  Providing a comfortable home to raise a family was a damn good choice of career, even if it went against what society now said women should want. She was not going to be like those old sitcoms from the fifties, wearing an apron and high heels with perfect makeup and hair as she vacuumed the carpet.

  She bit back a smile. She might do housework wearing only an apron and heels if her husband was about to arrive home. She’d scrub a floor on her hands and knees wearing a really short skirt, knowing he was likely to walk past and see her. The more she thought of it, the more she realized all the opportunities to present her availability and eagerness for hot sex. If she married Simon, she’d get Lance as well. Even more opportunity to have her needs met, and to enjoy meeting theirs.

  As she relaxed against Lance she felt his large, hard cock press into her lower back. Her body must be on autopilot because it responded, flooding her senses. She inhaled a mix of pine, leather, and the faint tang of sweat. Different from Simon, but no less arousing.

  She heard steps and swung her eyes to Simon as he appeared in the doorway. He had the same bulge in his pants. His stance was equally possessive. She had not seen this side of him before. Or at least, not to this extent. Was it because Lance held her?

  She wanted to be protected, loved, and to belong to a family. Finally free of her controlling, abusive husband, the last thing she wanted was to find another. Though she wanted their bodies, she had to push back at Lance’s controlling ways. It was best to start as she meant to continue.

  “You are not going to force me into this,” she said calmly to Simon. Lance held her close, not changing his grip or pressure. “I spent too many years being controlled by a bully. The last thing I need is another one.” She tilted her head to look up. “Or worse, two of you.”

  Eyes as blue as Simon’s met hers. She expected them to be cold, but they were warm, like a cat’s dark fur in the sun. So were the hands which brushed up her arms. Each of her hairs stood on end, as if he was an energy source.

  The corners of Lance’s hard mouth curved up, barely enough to notice. “Simon tells me you wish for a family, one with deep roots, and a wide circle of good friends.”

  She swallowed, hard. Unable to look away from his intense gaze, or to speak, she gave a small nod. One of his hands curled around her shoulder as the other dropped past her waist. It was difficult to think as that trail of fire moved over her.

  “We can give you that family. But as with everything there is a cost. I am the leader of this family. I expect to be obeyed, instantly. If you disobey, you will discover there are consequences, to everything.”

  His hand caressed her right bottom cheek, an unspoken warning of a much harder touch. Nikki might enjoy the thought of being put over a man’s lap and spanked like a child, but that was not going to happen to her.

  Lance didn’t touch her like Simon, with an eager appreciation as well as a bit of rev
erence. He put his hand on her as if he had every right to use her body as he wished. She fought the instant arousal at his possession. She might like it, but she was not going to give in without a fight. She pulled away. Point made, he let her go.

  “We leave in twenty minutes.” Lance released her, walking into the kitchen as if he didn’t give her another thought. She felt cool where his hands had been.

  “Leave to go where?” she asked.

  She heard the sound of the fridge opening. “Roadhouse.”

  Marci looked at Simon to interpret.

  “It seems Lance is taking you swing dancing. I meant to take you, but not until I ditch this cast.” He lifted his foot, frowning at it. “Many of our friends and relatives will likely be there.” He flicked his eyes over her. The embers of want flickered into flames. “I’d suggest a knee-length skirt, snug top and boots. Garter belt and stockings if you have them.”

  “I don’t. Jeans and socks will have to do,” she replied wryly.

  “If you stay here, you’ll soon have them.”

  She pretended she hadn’t heard Simon’s comment. She’d always wanted to dress that way at one of the boring parties thrown by Ted’s most senior boss. She’d put her long hair up in a bun like an old-style teacher or librarian. No one would know that under her skirt there was no barrier to her pussy. Just walking, having her pussy lips rub, would arouse her. It would make it easier to listen to the boring old men complain as they tried to look down her cleavage.

  What would it be like to dance like that? How arousing would it be when your partner knew, and you knew, but no one else did? She loved to dance, not that she had much chance apart from lessons. Those lessons included the type of dancing Ted would never approve of. He’d suggested ballet to improve her posture but she chose belly dancing. It was great for her stomach muscles and core and a lot of fun. But tonight she’d be learning something new.

  Nikki had brought a pair of cowboy boots that should fit her. Someone in town might recognize them as they came from the church donation box. It was no different than in third grade. She was the new, girl, again. A bigger girl had pointed to a tan-colored mark on Marci’s new dress. The girl had laughed and reminded her friends how she’d dropped chocolate sauce, and the stain was still there.

  Once more, she’d been thoroughly humiliated, ashamed that she couldn’t afford clothes that had never been worn by others. She’d married Ted to escape that life. And now she was back to having nothing, and wearing hand-me-downs. But at least now it was her choice. She may feel embarrassed, but she was not going dancing in her old runners with a man wearing size-thirteen leather boots with toe-stomping heels.

  A quick shower with her hair wrapped under a cap, clean clothes, and she was ready to go. She had no makeup or jewelry to fuss with, or much choice in clothing. It reduced her decision-making time. She left her slightly damp hair loose.

  The new-to-her boots must have gotten wet and not been properly dried, as they were stiff. The soles were worn down, and the tops were well creased. Nikki had cleaned and polished them as best she could, but they still looked well beaten up. She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to shove her feet into the boots. After all Nikki had done, they were too small. She took a closer look at the faded ink inside the boot, and then groaned. They were a half size too small.

  She threw them to the floor in frustration at missing an evening of dancing. Even if Lance didn’t stomp on her toes, he wouldn’t be able to stop half-drunk cowboys from tromping on her. Lance looked her over when she stomped into the kitchen in sock feet.

  “I can’t go. They don’t fit,” she said bitterly, holding them out.

  “They might. Cowboy boots fit differently,” said Simon.

  “Sit,” said Lance.

  He didn’t quite point at the chair with his finger as if she was a dog, but she still bristled at his command. She purposefully took an extra few seconds before sitting. To her surprise, Lance hunkered down at her feet. He ran his hands over her toes and under her arches. Then he held out his hand for the boots. He grimaced as he looked them over.

  “Add boots to the list,” said Lance, looking over his shoulder at Simon.

  “Got it,” replied Simon. He winked. “Marci also need heels, garter belts, and stockings.”

  “No, I don’t!”

  Lance squeezed her foot, getting her attention. She pointed her toe as he slid the left boot over her foot. He wiggled it a bit, but her heel didn’t go down. She didn’t say anything when he did the same to her right. He didn’t seem to be the type to take “I told you so” very well. He rose to his feet and held his hands out to her. She had no choice but to put her own in his and pull herself to her feet, where she wobbled. He switched his hands to her waist. Did he hold her a bit tighter than was necessary?

  Simon pointed to the tops of her boots. “See these loops either side of your calf? Yank on them as you stomp.”

  “I’ll fall down.”

  Lance shifted, never letting go of her, until he stood behind her. His warm body, touching her from calves to head, made her shiver.

  “Trust me.”

  He expected her to bend over, pointing her bottom at his crotch, which was right behind her? She hesitated.

  “No boots, no dancing,” said Lance.

  He caressed her back cheek in an arousing manner. She’d bet dollars to donuts that swing dancing required a man to put his hands on a woman. And that Lance would use it to his advantage. But she was not going to miss a night of dancing because an arrogant jerk would be holding her.

  Make that an arrogant, arousing, sexually provocative jerk.

  “Since you ask me so politely, I’ll try it. This time,” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  She bent over. As expected, her butt rubbed up against a warm part of Lance’s body. Her face, and pussy, heated to match. She hooked her index fingers in the small loops either side of the top of the boot. It took some wiggling and stomping but she managed to get both feet in. They felt snug but not tight. They didn’t fit her foot shape, but she could stand it for the chance to dance.

  All the wiggling against Lance’s body had her eager to do more than dance, but the rest of him was off limits. Simon as well.

  “How will I get them off?”

  “I’ll wait up for you and help you out of them, and anything else you need,” said Simon. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “I will be sleeping upstairs from now on,” she forcefully declared. “Alone. With a lock on my door.”

  “But you’ll miss me,” said Simon. “Remember what I can do to make you feel better? And what if you get a nightmare again?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  The glint of humor in his eyes set her teeth on edge. Did he think that she’d have sex with him while his brother slept upstairs? Or worse, did he think she’d just hop into bed with both of them tonight?

  “You’ll leave me all alone down here?”

  Simon tried a sad puppy look on her. Luckily, she preferred cats. She gave him a feral smile in return.

  “You’ve been telling me how well you’re doing on your walking cast,” she said. “Now’s your chance to prove you can take care of yourself.”

  She walked toward the back door, getting the feel of the boots. She began her provocative plan by moving slowly, emphasizing the sway of her hips. Simon choked.

  “Those new jeans?”

  Since she was facing the door, she let herself smile. “Do you like them?”

  “Too much,” said Simon with a growl. “I don’t want half the county to be watching you dancing in them. They’re so tight if you put a dime in your back pocket I bet I could read the date on it from ten feet away.”

  Nikki had suggested a bit of jealousy might stir the pot. Turns out her older sister had a few tricks up her sleeve, even if she didn’t have practical experience.

  “Are you even wearing panties underneath?”

  She turned over her shoulder to answer Simon
. She gave him the wide smile she’d had to learn in order to defend herself from avaricious trophy wives.

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing underneath, or not, Simon. You won’t be finding out.”

  She continued toward the door. She caught the toe of her boot on a chair leg and tripped. She squeaked and flailed, but Lance caught her by the hips. Once she was upright he slid his palms over her bottom and between her legs.

  “Thong,” he said, giving her a knowing smile as he released her.

  Still tingling from where his fingers had brought fire, she huffed her fury and arousal at him.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t have man-handled me!”

  “I’m no gentleman. I’m a warrior,” said Lance with quiet intensity. “I handle my woman as I choose. Sometimes gentle, like now.” His eyes suddenly turned icy hot, his nostrils flared as if scenting her, and a wolfish smile of possession appeared. He focused his whole attention on her. It lasted for either a few seconds or an hour. All she knew was that time stood still. “And sometimes not.”

  “If you’re going to get there before the tables are all taken, you’d best head out,” said Simon.

  Marci jerked at his voice. A large, warm hand wrapped around her waist and guided her forward.

  “Don’t be late. Chores start at five,” reminded Simon as Lance escorted her out the door. Before she could take a step off the porch Lance swept her into his arms.

  “Put me down. I can walk,” she said, struggling to escape his intimate embrace.

  “No.”

  She stopped struggling to glower up at him. “What do you mean, no? I’m not a child, to be hauled around like a sack of potatoes!”

  “You’re my woman. Tonight you’ll do what I say.”

  She gasped at his calm belief that she’d accept it.

  “Why should I? Just because you’re bigger and stronger than me and I can’t stop you? That sounds like a bully to me. Not a warrior.”

  He stopped halfway to the truck. He dropped his head back and inhaled. Then he looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dark.