Bewitching Bret Page 2

  Until one night in my stables, while overseeing the mating of my horses, Essie panted in desperation to ride my cock. I should’ve known with her on top, she’d wrap her legs around my hips and not allow me to withdraw until we both cried out with the shudder of mutual release.

  Once again demonstrating so ably that when my Essie wanted something, she usually got it.

  Since we’d crossed that boundary again, I quickly lost myself in the slick comfort of her pussy in the following weeks as we knit together our next child. She hadn’t even made it to her next monthly show before her ripe womb was again full.

  Remembering her secret fear when she’d first arrived at Carston Ranch that she was possibly barren just made me chuckle nowadays. Our wife was more fertile than prairie rabbits.

  “What’s so funny?” my wife asked, interrupting my blissful thoughts of several months ago.

  I just shook my head and steered our meandering horses toward the pine copse nestled between the bluffs where the river carved through and across the plains.

  I’d have much rather she rode the Black Prince with me instead of sitting atop Nightmare all by herself. I loved to have her cuddled up close behind or in front of me in the saddle. Her warmth mingling with mine. Her ebony curls blowing out from under her bonnet and tangling with my long dark hair like when we fucked. Slow and steady, building to a shattering release.

  But with three children to care for and four men to satisfy, it was rare these days that Essie and I had such time alone to ourselves. I cherished the fleeting moments and tried to make the most of each opportunity when it arose.

  Like today.

  “That looks like a good spot.”

  I pointed ahead near the river’s edge where clusters of the rich, sweet huckleberry fruit grew wild and untamed. They were still in the sunlight this early in the day, but the area would be nicely shaded within the hour, a perfect location to spread the quilt for lunch. A perfect location for fucking under the endless Montana sky.

  We dismounted, and I got to work laying out the quilt and the basket containing our lunch.

  Essie planted a fist on her rounded hip. “It’s a bit early for lunch, don’t you think?”

  I peered at her from under my hat, hoping the heat of my stare and the noticeable rise in my trousers would incite her to action. “Do you need help working up an appetite first?”

  She just grinned and thrust a bucket into my hands. “We could always do what we came for and pick huckleberries.”

  Though nothing could hide the flush of pleasure in her cheeks as her gaze drifted below my belt to where my hand gripped the outline of my already hard cock.

  I shook my head with a groan. “Work, work, work. You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

  She tucked a basket into the crook of her arm and moved out of my reach. “I want to get the last of these huckleberries from the bush before the first frost.”

  I looked into the bright, blue sky and sniffed the air. “It’s early enough in the month. There’s plenty of time for picking.” I quickly sidled up behind her and pressed my erection deep into the folds of her skirt and between her ass cheeks. “And today is ripe for fucking.”

  The hitch of her breath and the soft moan revealed her ready and willing body, even while her words belied what she obviously wanted as she moved away from my arms.

  “There won’t be time for much of anything once Abby arrives. I want to be able to spend as much time with her as possible during the weeks she’s here.”

  Essie plucked berries one-by-one and inspected them before dropping the fruit into her basket, as if she’d been doing this her whole life. As if she’d never been a prim and proper maiden of high society.

  How our wife had changed in the five years since she’d arrived at Carston Ranch. A timid and unsure kitten had grown into a loving and affectionate feline who wasn’t afraid to fight for those she loved – and what she wanted.

  Oh, she’d always had a bit of a stubborn streak. I’ll never forget the look on Cole’s face when he’d told me about the fight over her nineteen trunks when he’d picked her up at Fort Union. I got an even better tale about it all from Drew, our resident story spinner. That boy could weave a yarn that set everyone to chuckling or hootin’ and hollerin’.

  Damn, how I wished I’d been there for that little confrontation. To see the surprise on my brother’s face that some little spitfire dared to challenge his authority. To see the fire in our wife’s eyes when she stood up for her things. She rarely showed that side of her personality to me.

  Then again, I never gave her reason to – unlike Cole. My oldest brother wasn’t used to being called out for his shit. He could be a hard man to deal with sometimes, always barking and bossing everyone around. But I never doubted his heart was in the right place.

  And I didn’t have to shoulder the responsibilities he bore for keeping our livelihood going. The ranch wasn’t hurting by any means. But on our own out here, so far away from civilization, life and death many times was at the whim of nature.

  Drought. Floods. Wildlife. Cold. Fire. Lightning from a dry thunderstorm this time of year could set off a blaze that licked at and wiped out everything in its path – including everything on the ranch.

  And everyone.

  I untied the tethers and removed the bits from the horses to let them freely graze and drink from the lazy river in comfort, before I sidled up near Essie to drink in the faint traces of her lavender-scented hair. Her fingers were already stained with the succulent berry juices.

  My mouth watered – and it wasn’t for huckleberries.

  I imagined sucking on those stained fingertips, curling and stroking my tongue along her skin. Drinking from Essie’s succulent vine. Savoring the sweetness of her juices as I lapped up every drop from her delicious pussy. My cock stiffened and twitched, just like my tongue did when I impaled it into her welcoming heat.

  But instead of doing all that and more, I did what my wife wanted and pricked my fingers repeatedly on the dying berry shrub as the bush neared the end of its life cycle. Sharing a heated glance here. And there. Playing out the game Essie had arranged for our day together, just waiting for the moment when I reeled her in like a trout on a line.

  Because, as even those early interactions demonstrated years before, Essie could only resist my advances for so long.

  I popped a few huckleberries in my mouth and spit out the seeds, the rich juice coating my tongue and sliding effortlessly down my throat like our wife’s sweet essence. I almost moaned aloud. Essie glanced at me and smiled.

  I stopped chewing. “What’s so funny?”

  She sauntered up to me, her skirts I so desperately wanted to remove swishing in the breezes as she peered into my bucket. “Why, I do believe you’ve eaten more than you’ve gathered, my love.”

  My gaze slowly drifted away and followed hers. The bottom of my bucket was barely covered with the deep blue fruit. I shrugged with a grin. “I always love the sweet taste of juice in the mornings.”

  Her lips pressed together as if she fought against a grin that wanted to come out and play. More likely, she pictured all the times I’d awakened her in the mornings with my tongue buried between her thighs as I drank from her delectable vine.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  I leaned in. “Then I’ll just make room for more.”

  She had the audacity to laugh out loud at my words then as she tried to dart away. I dropped the bucket and snatched her around the waist to hold her tight against my erection as I ground against her.

  “What’s so funny now?” I growled with naked desire.

  Heat bloomed in her cheeks and spread down her neck and burgeoning chest – and it wasn’t from the plentiful sunshine.

  “You, my love, have eaten so much you’ve stained your teeth, tongue…” She stood on her tiptoes and ran her velvety tongue along my jaw. “…and you’ve got a line of juicy sweetness trailing down your chin.”

  “Th
e only sweetness I want trailing down my chin is the cream from your pussy.” My growl deepened. “Warm. Wet.” My tongue darted out in invitation. “So delicious.”

  Everything around us stilled as I stared into those fathomless blue eyes. Big as the Montana sky. Hungry as a ravenous wolf.

  There was no doubt. We both wanted her juicy sweetness trailing down my chin. On my tongue. Down my throat.

  Her quivering hand found my smooth cheek. “Bret, my darling.”

  “Oh, Essie.” I buried my face in her hair and traced hot kisses across her neck.

  “I want you so.” She gasped as I nipped at the delicate skin behind her ear. “Need you more than words can say.”

  Her basket joined the bucket with a clatter to the ground, spilling the contents like I wanted to spill my seed. In her mouth. In her hand. Between her thighs. I didn’t care. I just needed to fuck my wife. Fuck her slow with my tongue. Taste every drop of her succulent essence.

  And I needed her now, sliding my hand beneath her shirtwaist to find protruding nipples that signaled her obvious need of me.

  She’d long ago forgone the corsets she’d arrived with for the simpler attire of a rancher’s wife, and I was so grateful for that these days. Grateful for the ease at which I stripped her glorious body naked and lay with her on the quilt, our only covering the branches that swayed gently in the cooling breeze.

  Her lips were welcoming as I slid mine over them, opening to my thrusting tongue as hers tangled with mine. Her fingers threaded deep into my long hair as I sought to release hers in a tidal wave running over her creamy skin. We both groaned when I came up for air with an idea.

  “Wait right here.”

  I clambered up with a rigid cock I didn’t even have to stroke to keep hard as I snatched up a handful of spilled berries then tucked Essie right back into my side.

  Right where she always belonged.

  Her hungry grin met mine when I held up a berry between her perky mounds and squeezed, releasing a rain of juice that puddled in the valley like a fragrant pool. Then I traced thin streams around each breast, grazing each of her twin protrusions as I passed over the dusky points.

  Dusky like my darker skin against her more milky flesh.

  “You’re going to stain my quilt,” she moaned, but did nothing to stop my ministrations.

  “We can’t have that,” I huskily acknowledged before dipping my tongue to catch the droplet that ran beneath her generous breast and threatened to spill over her side.

  I slid my tongue up and around to swirl over her hard peaks, lapping up the huckleberry juice while I teased and tugged her rigid nipples into hard railroad spikes.

  “Mmm,” she purred. “I love your wonderful mouth, Bret Carston.”

  “And I love how your body responds to it, Estella Carston,” I murmured as I nuzzled those beautiful mounds.

  I continued licking. Teasing. Sucking. Squeezing and drizzling juice down across her skin to the rim of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. All the while she stirred and writhed as my tongue continued its fevered attentions. Down. Down. Down past the tiny bump where her body cradled and protected my child.

  Instead of settling between her thighs to watch her face as I brought her to sweet release, I straddled her head with my knees on either side of her ears, my cock ready and available as it hung over her mouth like dangling mistletoe at Christmastime.

  I didn’t even have to ask. As she fisted my cock and traced her tongue over my velvety tip, I spread her pussy lips wide to take in the needy nub of her sex, glistening with the juices of her unabashed desire.

  Her hips bucked and a groan reverberated around my cock at the first stroke of my tongue through her seam. Her taste was more succulent than any berry. The juices of her pussy sweeter that any fruit. The richness of her fertile womb more satisfying than anything the earth could produce.

  And unlike the huckleberries, I’d never tire of having my fill of our warm, delicious, and always ready wife.

  Chapter Three

  Estella

  The bond between Bret and me was so infinitely precious. Throbbing like a heartbeat with the constant need that continued to draw us together. So different from the love I shared with his brothers. So vast – and only grew deeper and yet more mysterious with every passing year.

  Whereas Cole was rather rough and tumble and Drew yielding to whatever was allowed him, Bret was achingly slow and tender with his lovemaking, as if he wanted to extend our intimacy out as long as possible. To enjoy every inch of my body in every sensual detail no matter how long it took to reach climax.

  And I was more than happy to acquiesce to his languorous desires when he fevered my flesh so gloriously.

  But today, as with most days anymore, there was still work that stood in the way of spending the day wrapped in each other’s arms. I was determined to pluck up the last of these berries before winter’s frost stole them away.

  A quick dip in the river nearly froze the skin to my bones, but I wasn’t about to return home covered in huckleberry juice stains – no matter how delicious Bret had made our brief playtime.

  I stayed in the warmth of the sun’s rays to pick until the heat slowly dried my skin and hair. Bret chose to spread out over the quilt and soak up the sunlight into his already dusky skin instead of taking up his bucket again. I had no complaints. The view was especially pleasant when he rolled over onto his back, exposing his nude maleness in all its glory.

  I’d never tire of gazing upon every inch of him.

  Even after the dip in the cold water, Bret’s manhood already stood at attention again, his length resting on his hard and muscled belly like our babe rested inside mine. The glisten of moisture accented the dips and swells of his strong arms and broad chest tapering down to those narrow hips and sinewy thighs.

  But it was the glisten of his long, smooth and dark hair fanned out above his head that caught my eye as the breeze picked up a wisp here and there to tickle his face and shoulders. How I loved the whisper of his silken strands against my skin, hanging over me when we made love like threads that wove us together to create a beautiful tapestry.

  Before the first kiss of spring, I’d lay yet another beautiful masterpiece we wove together into its father’s capable and caring arms.

  I sighed in contented bliss. These moments when it was just the two of us were ever so fleeting. No chores. No children. None of his brothers, who I also loved so very dearly, each in his own way.

  I thought of Cole and Evan even now as they were off toward the new train depot in Glendive to pick up my sister. And Drew, as he’d willingly stayed behind at the house to watch over the children so Bret and I could have this moment. This one last day together without all the distractions our growing family provided.

  Soon we’d all be trapped together in the house throughout the long and cold winter. Though I was grateful for the additional space my men had added on a few years ago, those log walls closed in after so many months in such close proximity with the children underfoot and threatening to interrupt our pleasurable pursuits at every waking moment.

  My sister’s arrival would serve to make things even more awkward before winter even began.

  But oh, how I longed to see Abby, especially after contenting myself with the fact I’d likely never speak to her in person again when I’d chosen to leave for the Montana Territory. Her husband’s low opinion of me, rest his soul, had kept us apart well before my departure from the east coast. Since then, I’d accepted our separation as permanent.

  Which was what made her coming visit both exciting and terrifying at the same time. I just had to keep my relationship with my other husbands a secret and be able to set aside any concerns about my daughter’s looks for a few weeks.

  A few endless and aching weeks apart from my lovers.

  Nowhere in her letters had Abby stated how long she expected to stay at the ranch, but she’d have to make the return trip before winter set in. That meant Bret had to sleep away from Col
e and I in that cramped bedroom upstairs. My bed already felt so empty just thinking of the prospect of not having him by my side – and that meant one less bedroom available for company.

  The moment I’d realized I carried another child, Bret and I had discussed moving forward with the plan to move our Meghan from the nursery off my bedroom to a room of her own. Bret’s old room upstairs had sat empty these last years and would be perfect for her, at least once I dressed it up with new curtains, quilt, and a bright rug more becoming a young lady.

  We’d yet to utilize the two new second floor rooms, because Drew had been too busy with customer orders to do more than imagine new furniture. I’d already envisioned one of the large rooms for our boys to eventually share and one for the girls as they got older and we continued to add to our brood.

  When I’d first announced Abby’s visit, Evan had offered to sleep with the ranch hands in the bunkhouse or his tanning shed, but I could never abide that. He was a Carston, and no Carston was going to spend a night outside.

  At least not when there was a perfectly good house available. If worse came to worse, someone could just sleep on their bedroll in one of the newer rooms. I’d at least made curtains for the windows, so there would be a modicum of privacy.

  “The man and his wife were both naked, and they were unashamed.”

  Bret’s murmurings from the quilt stopped the stewing of my mind as his smooth voice sent a pool of liquid heat between my thighs. He lay on his side, his head propped up on his raised arm to rake his gaze over me as he stroked his growing manhood.

  I glanced down to see my body had dried and the long, dark tresses hanging down my back no longer dripped the chill waters we’d swam in earlier. Even so, my rosy nipples were still tight and peaked from the cool breezes skimming over them.

  Or, more likely, from the passion in my husband’s eyes.

  I opened my arms and raised my head to the sun. “Do you see any reason for me to be ashamed, my love?”

  It had taken too many years and plenty of loving attention for me to finally release a lifetime of growing up hearing my mother’s hurtful words. Until her death years before, she’d fussed and fretted over the size of my waist, ensuring the servants kept my corset laced as tightly as possible to try and hide the growing curves of my womanly figure.