Carter, Beth D. - Lawless Hearts (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

BETH D. CARTER

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

“Here ya go,
Scharlie
,” Tom Kern, the
storekeep
, said as he laid two stacks of brown, wrapped bundles on the counter. “They came in just an hour ago.”

Scharlie
Thorn smiled and gave a large sigh of pleasure. Finally, after waiting for five months, the new books had arrived.

“Thanks so much,” she said, reaching out a gloved hand to touch one bundle almost reverently.

“What are they?”

“
Hm
? Oh, books, for the children,” she answered.

Tom scratched his head. “You pay for these yourself? ’Cause I don’t remember sending money in with Tommy.”

“These books are at no cost for the parishioners of
Stoddard
County
, Tom. Just my way of helping the children learn.”

She smiled at him, and she saw his eyes flicker over to the right side of her face. The old shame of her scar reared its ugly head, and she couldn’t help but turn her head away, trying to hide the ugliness on her face, which was ridiculous because there simply wasn’t a way to eradicate her disfigurement.

Her stepfather had made sure of that when he had cut her.

“Here, let me put them in your wagon,” Tom offered, coming around the counter and grabbing the heavy book stacks.

“Thank you,”
Scharlie
mumbled, following after him but keeping her head bent.

Usually, she wasn’t so embarrassed about how her life had turned out. She knew the people of Rock Ridge had grown used to seeing her and the scar that ran from her temple, down her cheek, to bisect her upper lip. She had more than gotten used to the pitying looks cast her way. But being around Tom was different because when she had been fourteen, she had been smitten with the blond-haired, blue-eyed young man. Of course, a world of change had happened since that summer, least of which had been eighteen-year-old Tom falling for Angie Bursting. Now she taught their son.

“Much obliged,” she mumbled and turned to climb into the wagon.

“
Scharlie
!” came the breathless call from Tom’s beautiful wife, Angie, as she raced out of the general store. “I have a letter for you!”

Scharlie
kept her eyes averted from Tom as she reached down to take the letter that Angie held out to her. There wasn’t a return address, but the postal mark came from St. Louis.

“Thank you, Angie,” she said as she slipped the letter into the pocket of her skirt.

She knew Angie and Tom waved at her, but she didn’t even spare them another glance as she headed out of town toward her little home located about a mile west.

She rode for a while, trying hard not to think of anything. She didn’t like to remember how that long-ago summer had changed everything. Lots of things she could forget, forgive, but her brother forever branded a killer wasn’t one of them.

If she could dig up her dead stepfather and kill him all over again, she would.

A low rumble raced across the ground.
Scharlie
looked skyward, which seemed to be turning an ugly color that she didn’t like. She flicked the horses’ reins, urging them to move a little faster since she preferred not to be stuck in the downpour when it hit. She’d had a long day at the schoolhouse, and all she longed to do that night was take a hot bath and go to sleep early.

As her horse and cart trotted down the dirt road that led to her cozy little house,
Scharlie
noticed a shape lying in her path. As she neared, she pulled on the reins, coming to a stop. The wind whipped furiously at her as she applied the brake and then stepped down onto the road.

It was a deer, a doe, and
Scharlie
realized that it was dead. The blacks of the eyes had already started to glaze over to white. From the back, the animal looked like she was sleeping.
Scharlie
walked around the poor creature and then abruptly stopped, the breath swooshing from her lungs. The doe’s face had been slashed from the high forehead, over the snout, and into the lip.

Scharlie
put a hand up to her scar as her stomach rolled. The wound looked eerily similar to her own.

She spun around, looking for…for what, she didn’t know. But suddenly she felt too vulnerable out in the open. As chill bumps settled over her skin, she hurried back to her cart. With a deft flick of the reins, she maneuvered around the carcass without looking at it.

When she reached her house, she placed the books inside the door and then ran to unhitch her horse. She secured him and her cow in the small barn before running to close up the chicken coop. Though she had a lot of land, she only had the necessary animals to maintain living in the small house that had belonged to her parents. She and her brother, Harlow, had been born here, had grown up here, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

The heavens broke as she hurried inside.
Scharlie
breathed a sigh of relief and then proceeded to secure her little home. The unease from earlier lingered, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like anything had happened. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that the doe’s wound wasn’t accidental.

Southeast Missouri
lay on the border where tornadoes frequented through the central region of
America
, close enough to take the storms seriously. After securing the windows and door, she grabbed a traveling bag and stuffed it with a blanket, a change of clothes, a flask of water, and some dried jerky. Then she peeled back the rug that hid the storm cellar door in the kitchen and opened it. She hadn’t been down there in a few weeks, and a musty smell wafted upward. She lit a lamp and walked down the ten steps to place her traveling bag on the shelves. Next she moved the books as well, because after taking four months to get them, she’d be damned if she’d lose them to the weather.

She blew out the lamp and left it there, using the light streaming from the open hatch to guide her way back up.

While the wind howled and the rain battered her tin roof,
Scharlie
settled in for the night. She took off her confining dress, unbraided her long, dark hair, and curled up on her bed in her shift with the book hidden under her bed.

The book had been dog-eared so much that the corners had turned brittle. The title had once been velvet on the front but had long since been rubbed off. And inside, the pages were the steamiest, the raunchiest acts
Scharlie
could wrap her mind around. Depraved acts of human nature and more than just sex, the book was a collection of stories from prostitutes, delineating the innermost aspects of not only the marriage bed, but what came after. It explained, in explicit detail, what men really craved away from their staid, puritan wives.

It had come to her in the most casual, most innocent of ways. She had ordered one book and received this one, the velvet-titled one. At first she had been appalled, then curious, and then turned on.

Ever since, she had faithfully read her book and fantasized. She had learned new words for private body parts, had learned to explore them. Though she wasn’t quite sure why the book had been written,
Scharlie
was only thankful it had found its way into her hands.

She turned to her favorite story where two men pleasured one woman. The concept was mind-boggling. But it churned her stomach in a delightful way. As she read, her hand slid along her thighs, the nails lightly brushing over her skin, until her fingertips found the curls hiding her sex.

John bends his head down to me and captures my lips in a deep kiss. He sweeps me up into his arms, and they take me upstairs.

Scharlie’s
fingers found their way past her damp curls to the nook hidden by the now swollen lips.

Sam reaches out to grab the edge of my shirt and pulls it over my head. I stand naked, feeling powerful as each of them stares at me in hunger, looking as if they are going to devour me whole.

“Now you,” I whisper.

The men take off their shirts as well, and they are close enough that their arms brush each other as they reach out to caress me. Sam reaches out to tweak my erect nipples. John bends down and takes one nipple into his mouth, licking and lavishing it with care.

Juice already coated the tiny bundle of nerves.
Sharlie
pressed lightly, teasing it, rubbing it up and down as she continued to read.

While John takes charge up top, Sam unties my pantaloons and eases them down, divesting me of all clothes. I shiver as he brushes his fingers over my slit in a teasing swipe. I undulate my hips, and before I know it, he is on his knees, widening my stance to suck my clit into his mouth.

Scharlie
pressed one finger into her own slit, adding pressure to the area, causing her hips to buck slightly.

With one man sucking my tits and one sucking my clit, I am in total madness. My knees buckle as a tidal wave of bliss rolls over me, and I feel John reach out to hold me up. Then, somehow, without letting go of me and the places they are ravaging, they maneuver me to the bed and we all fall upon it with a small squeak of the hinges.

John leaves my breasts and makes his way up to my mouth, kissing me deeply. I feel Sam’s fingers as they probe me, my juices coating his hand. The pressure is too much for me and builds too rapidly for me to fully appreciate what these two men are doing to me.

“Did you like your tongue bath, Beauty?”

I nod, too breathless for words.

I hold out my hands for them, bringing their massive cocks into my waiting hands. Juice is leaking from each tip, so I wet my fingers with it and use it as lube. Up and down my hand travels, slowly, as I learn how to handle both at the same time.

In and out
Scharlie’s
hand started to move, the juices flowing quickly. The scent of musk heavily lined the air.

My ministrations bring a moan of pleasure from each man. Emboldened, I dip my head forward and touch Sam’s first with my tongue, and then John’s. Back and forth, I encase each with my velvet mouth. My tongue milks the juice from each slit.

“
Uhh
,” Sam grinds out and places a hand on the back of my head.

They have shifted until they are next to each other in front of me, and I am able to place both tips just inside my mouth. My teeth scrape them, and the slight friction makes them jump.

John pulls back, letting Sam have full access. With his hand on the back of my head, he pushes all the way in and starts to hump my face. I lie still and let my tongue work on Sam, but I feel John’s hands on me as he tries to maneuver us into a different position. At first I don’t understand, but as Sam reluctantly pulls away and as John shifts me until I turn over, I quickly start to understand the intention.

The imagery burst over
Scharlie’s
mind, increasing her hand movements as she ground down on her clit, rising higher and higher, being wound tight, and waiting for the fall.

So I lie on my belly, my heart beating at a rapid pace, and I feel two pairs of hands on my legs, sliding upward and separating them. When they reach where my butt curves, one set of hands gently rubs and massages while the other dips between my cheeks.

Fingers gently brush against my puckered hole, and I shiver with a blend of fear and anticipation. One takes me from the front while the other slips into my ass channel. I am too excited to do anything but moan. John leans over me and licks my hole, and I must say, I really enjoy that feeling. And then I feel him and I can’t help it—I clench.

Scharlie
moaned loudly as she fell off the precipice. Cream splashed against her hand as her fingers milked the sensation, her body tightening in a realm of heightened sensitivity. She panted as the book fell from her fingers.
Scharlie
lay spread-eagle on her bed, languid.

Boneless, utterly content, she closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the rain, combined with complete relaxation, lull her off to sleep.