“Fuck me,” she finally said, the words slipping easily from her mouth. More easily than she thought they would. “Please, fuck me hard. I need you.”
That was all he needed. Garrett withdrew his finger and angled her hips over his steel cock. There was a moment of remembered roughness as the bulbous head slid in past the tight grasp of her pussy lips and into the snug channel. She could feel her wall weep with joy at Garrett’s hardness rocking home again, and she immediately matched his rhythm, wanting and needing more.
“Oh,” she moaned.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Sweat covered his skin, met her tongue, and she lapped at the salty sweetness. Garrett groaned at the touch of her small tongue. His large hands found their way under her skirt, which draped them, and settled upon her ass. He pulled her in closer, meeting each of his thrusts until she heard a sucking, slurping sound.
Scharlie
could feel the wetness just oozing from their joined bodies, and it spiraled her even higher. Garrett angled his hips a little, shifted them a little lower, and suddenly
Scharlie
felt every glorious, delicious inch of him as he banged away. But she was right there with him, giving as good as she got. They were now both covered in sweat, mindless of everything around.
“
Scharlie
,” Garrett gasped. “You’re so tight. So wet. I’m not going to last much longer.”
“Do it,” she whispered back. “I’m with you. Garrett!”
And just like that, he erupted with a roar. She felt his cock jerking inside as he found his release, and the knowledge that she had reduced him to losing control made her fall off the pinnacle. She convulsed, her juices blending with his, until they both shuddered in exquisite bliss.
Chapter Eight
The sun was going down, casting a molten golden glaze over the land. Long shadows extended in front of
Scharlie
and Garrett as they walked back. Only Cassidy remained at the house, laboriously cleaning up debris in and around the house.
Scharlie
hung back as Garrett went to help, and she watched the two men work side by side, admiring their sleek physiques. They contrasted beautifully, light and dark, and it made her tingle just watching them.
Her eyes seemed drawn to Cassidy because out of the both of them, he was the most mysterious. Garrett was like the refreshing drink of water in the desert. Not only did he quench her thirst, but he was rapidly becoming essential to her well-being, her survival. But Cassidy was an itch she couldn’t scratch. He got under her skin, and she couldn’t quite determine where to place him or what to do with him.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that they really hadn’t eaten all that much in the past few days. She went about setting up an open fire pit, clearing the ground, and ringing it with stone. She gathered kindling and wood and soon had a nice blaze going. She dug out of her ruined kitchen potatoes, onions, and turnips, a skillet, and a round pot that wasn’t exactly round anymore. She eyed the dented side with pursed lips and sighed.
From down in the cellar, she brought up flour and a few herbs, along with a jar of pickled corn and beets. There wasn’t any meat, so they’d have to make do with vegetables.
As the men worked by the glow of the firelight,
Scharlie
chopped and diced and cooked up a hearty vegetable stew. And as difficult as the day had been, there was something calming about fixing a meal. It was a mindless task that allowed her thoughts to be kept at bay for a brief time.
“
Scharlie
,” Garrett said from behind her.
She turned her head and saw him holding out his hand to her. He was dressed all in white, in loose clothing that rippled in the slight breeze. Even Garrett’s hair was tied back with a white ribbon.
“Come here,” he ordered, smiling.
She rose, moved the stew off the fire, and took his hand. He led her around the house to where a raised platform held a contained fire. Cassidy waited for them, also dressed in white, his garments almost identical to Garrett’s. He was staring into the flames, the light casting brooding shadows on his face, but when they approached, he looked up. He had his arms folded across his chest, and the somber look didn’t leave his face.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“This is
Harlow
’s pyre,” Garrett explained.
Scharlie
recoiled a bit at the words, but Garrett held firm to her hand, lending some of his strength.
“The Chinese do not believe in cremation, but we do believe in sending prayers and wishes along with the loved one lost,” he continued in a soft voice. “Cass and I have dressed in white to honor
Harlow
, designating our status to him as a friend and brother.”
She watched as he pulled out paper from his pocket to throw into the fire. Immediately, little flames rose to consume the small bits of parchment, releasing ash that floated upward into the night.
“This is prayer money, so
Harlow
has enough in the afterlife,” Cassidy told her has he threw in a couple of sheets to burn.
Her chin quivered, but she refused to cry. This was a time to say good-bye to
Harlow
, to celebrate who he was and the small time she was allowed to be a part of his life. She took a step next to Cassidy and held out her hand. He looked down at her, gave her a wan smile, and gave her some paper.
They all stood silently around the pyre, throwing in bits of prayer money and remembering.
* * * *
After their small ceremony, Garrett banked the remaining embers and then followed Cassidy and
Scharlie
back to where the food waited for them. They ate in silence, still wearing their white shrouds, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Instead, it seemed the past hour had brought them all closer somehow, that they now shared something deep and profound.
Garrett volunteered to wash the dishes over by the water pump, leaving Cassidy and
Scharlie
alone by the fire. He rustled around and then held out a tin cup.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Medicinal relaxing juice.”
She took that cup and looked inside, seeing only a clear liquid. She brought it to her nose and smelled the pungent odor of alcohol.
“My, that’s potent,” she said with a sniff.
He smiled. “Like I said, medicinal and relaxing.”
Scharlie
sat the cup next to her carefully then wrapped her arms around her knees. She rested her chin on top and stared at him intently, just looking him over from head to toe.
She knew she was getting to him when he shifted a bit and cleared his throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you from?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was born in
Baltimore
, but lately I’ve been all over, traveling with Garrett. And
Harlow
, too, until…”
“Until Breaux Cox.”
“Yes.”
“And when will you two be leaving?”
He was silent for a while, staring into the fire. “Not sure,” he finally answered, looking at her. “Why? You anxious to see the last of us?”
The orange glow of the burning wood cast shadows over his face, making it impossible to read it.
“No,” she answered. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she saw his shoulders relax. “Just, where do we go now? I mean, from what happened in the cellar?”
“What would you like to happen,
Scharlie
?”
She shook her head in wry amusement. “You’re very evasive, you know that? With Garrett, I get straight answers, but with you, I feel like I’m pulling teeth.”
“Feelings of battle, fighting. Do you often feel like that?”
She gave a snort and rose to her feet. “Fine, Cassidy, I get it. No questions. Have a nice night.”
She headed away from the fire and homestead, moving toward the tree line. She had only gone about a hundred feet when she heard footsteps behind her.
“I was fifteen when I left
Baltimore
,” he said in a strained, halting voice.
Scharlie
halted.
“My mother had just died from the wasting disease, and my father left her grave site to marry his mistress. I hadn’t known about her till he dragged me to the church, presenting a stepmother on the very day they lowered my mother into the ground.”
Scharlie
turned. Cassidy stood there with his hands clasped on his head, his eyes looking at a spot somewhere far away.
“They had never been happy. I think my conception was the last time they actually talked to each other,” he continued, his voice now softer as the memories played out. “Two miserable people forced to be together because of society and rules, as an arranged marriage. The rigidity of living such a life makes my skin crawl.” He shivered, as if he couldn’t even stand the thought.
She wavered on what to do: go to him, comfort him, or simply let him be.
“Garrett has the gift of words,” he told her, “whereas I can never find the right thing to say. So I end up not saying anything at all. At least, not about things that matter.”
“What do you want from me, Cassidy?”
“I’m not an easy man,
Scharlie
. I detest conformity, and to love me, you have to give me what I need. What I crave.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she replied honestly.
His arms fell to his sides, and he took a step toward her. “Can you accept us both,
Scharlie
? Can you love us both?”
And then he pulled her into his body, one hand curling around her upper arm while the other hand buried itself in her hair. His kiss was hard, seeking her response and demanding her answer.
And she gave it. Garrett was the giver while Cassidy was the taker, but she willingly caved to both natures. It was what she wanted, what she longed to do. Garrett spoke to her heart while Cassidy mirrored her own insecurities. He took, and she gave, and it satisfied both.
When he lifted his head, they both were breathing hard.
“When I left home, I did some bad things,” he muttered in a guttural tone. “I learned different ways to please and appease my soul.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying, and her confusion must have registered on her face because he shook his head and let go of her. He took a step back.
“Part of me hopes you never do understand,” he said. “But a bigger part of me hopes one day you will.”
And then he turned and walked away from her, leaving her very unsettled.
Chapter Nine
The next few days were busy for them as the men framed the new barn and kitchen and then proceeded to start rebuilding. Various neighbors and people from the town stopped by to deliver food, lend a helping hand, or just visit. If anyone thought it odd that two strange men had shown up to help out the local teacher, no one mentioned it. In fact, everyone went out of their way to make Garrett and Cassidy feel welcome.
At night, though, when they sat around the campfire, the two men changed tactics on her. Instead of sex, they opted to talk, to learn more about each other, and
Scharlie
realized that this was a big concession on Cassidy’s end. She knew he wasn’t a talkative person, at least, not about himself. But she recognized the effort it took for him to try to open up, even if he just reiterated the parts he had already said. She knew all about secrets, about shame, and admired the fact he trusted her enough to try.
Garrett, however, was the glue that brought them both out of their shells. He filled in the silent gaps with amusing stories, keeping the flow of talk continuing without it feeling artificial. He had the gift of putting people at ease.
By the third day, the kitchen walls and roof were up, allowing them to move back inside. The kitchen was larger, allowing the three of them to move around each other effortlessly. The rest of the afternoon was spent putting the stove back in place and positioning the pipe. It was a heavy piece of steel, so
Scharlie
got the added bonus of watching their muscles bunch and contract. It gave her tingles in all the right places.
That night, however, everything changed.
Tom’s wife, Angie, had come by with a whole chicken, freshly plucked.
Scharlie
cut it up, coating the meat with herbs before frying it up. She added potatoes and carrots from her garden, and the delicious smell permeated the air, making her stomach rumble. The answering rumbles from Cassidy and Garrett made her smile, and they all sat down at her new table to enjoy the first home-cooked meal in her newly rebuilt kitchen.