My Groom Fled the Wedding, So His Father and His Guides Kept Me novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Beck's POV

Beck's POV

I count things, and the bunk room had four bunks, eleven pegs, one wood stove and one woman tied to the lower left rail.

Kit lay on her back on my mattress in the stove light with her wrists over her head.

I had tied them with a length of blue climbing rope, in a figure eight.

It was loose enough that I could slide two fingers under the knot.

I had checked it twice.

"Pulse?" Rolf said from the end of the bunk.

He was already naked, sitting on the floor with his back against the next bed.

For once he was not talking.

I laid two fingers against Kit's throat.

"One thirty," I said.

"Is that high?" she asked, and her gray eyes were enormous.

"It's right where I want it."

The room smelled of woodsmoke, wet wool and the lemon oil Jesse used on his fiddle.

Four red lodge flannels hung on the pegs by the door, the same buffalo check, the same stitched fish.

One of them was Devon's, left behind in August, and nobody had touched it.

It was a habit of mine to notice what hung on the pegs, and who was not wearing his.

I had noticed something else about Hank in four summers, and I had never said it.

Every Fourth of July, after the fireworks, when the lights went out across the lake, Hank walked down to the end of the dock alone.

He stood there for an hour in the dark.

Until that first summer of Kit's, he had watched the fireworks from the porch with a beer.

I had kept that to myself.

It was none of my business, and I was a man who knew what was none of his business, and I put the thought away.

"Beck," Kit said.

"Yes."

"You're thinking," she said.

"I'm always thinking."

"Think about something else."

She flexed her hips up off the mattress, and the thought left my head.

I stood and took off my shirt.

"Rolf," I said.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Come up here. By her head."

He rose and came around the bunk, big and bare and flushed, and knelt on the mattress by her shoulders.

His cock was hard already, thick and leaking at the tip.

Kit looked up at it, and I watched her lick her lips.

"Open," I said.

She opened her mouth.

Rolf guided himself between her lips, slowly, with one hand under her head.

He made a low, broken sound that I had never heard him make.

"Oh, shit," he whispered. "Oh, that's, oh."

"Quiet," I said. "Let her work."

"I can't be quiet. I'm a naturally loud person."

"Try."

He closed his mouth, and his throat worked, and he put his hand over his face.

I stood at the foot of the bunk and looked at her.

She was beautiful, pale and strong and flushed to the collarbone, with her braid undone across the pillow and her lips stretched around Rolf's cock.

Her breasts rose and fell, and her nipples were tight and dark in the heat.

I knelt on the mattress between her knees, put my hands on the insides of her thighs, and pushed them open.

She was wet.

It shone on her thighs in the stove light.

I put my mouth on her.

I had planned to be exact about it, a slow count, an inventory.

The first taste of her put the plan out of my head.

She tasted of salt and heat, and she shuddered under my tongue and moaned around Rolf.

Rolf swore.

I licked her clit in tight, firm circles, and slid two fingers inside, and she bucked against my face.

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