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She nodded to each of us. "I am pleased to meet you both. My name is Lily. Lily Snow." She turned to leave. "I really must be going." She took a couple of steps.
"Wait," Keane called after her, and she swung back to us. "May we…"
But before Keane could finish his question, two children ran to her. A boy and a girl. Lily’s face lit up when she saw them, and they wrapped their arms around her legs, one on each side. She hugged and kissed them so tenderly, I was jealous.
"We found you!" the boy exclaimed.
Lily laughed and tousled his hair. "Good for you. I have retrieved my hat. Let us be on our way home." She glanced up at us—was that a hint of reluctance in her gaze? "Thank you again, gentlemen."
And she walked away.
Keane and I stood there, stunned. She was right there, the woman we both wanted. I knew it. Keane knew it. I knew he knew it.
Why the hell didn’t she know it?
My heart clutched in my chest, and I gaped, watching her walk away, a child on either side of her, as though she’d barely noticed us.
I stared after her. The brim of her hat tilted a bit in the breeze, and I prayed it would blow off again, and I’d be able to retrieve it and have one more conversation with her.
But the hat stayed in place, and she continued sashaying out of our lives. I watched the sway of her hips as she walked. Her shapely bottom filled her skirt and I yearned to grasp it between my palms, squeeze and spank it. Do all sorts of depraved things to it and listen to her squeal with ecstasy as I did so.
Yes, she had children, but what did I care? Her affection for them only made her more appealing. I imagined her suckling our children, the many Keane and I would make with her, filling her with our seed over and over until we had to add on an additional story to our cabin at Bridgewater.
"We should follow her," Keane said, and I nodded, taking a step toward her. But before we took more than a couple of steps, a well-dressed man approached her, and the children ran to him.
Though they did not hug him the way they had hugged Lily, he took the boy and girl each firmly by the wrist, and the four of them exited the park. Lily walked a few paces behind, her head slightly bowed. The spark that had been so evident in her face had vanished, replaced with something I couldn’t quite identify. Sadness? Fear? Resignation?
If she was mine—ours—I’d know every subtle change in her expression. Each nuance of her lovely face. It would be my mission to assure her safety and happiness. To discern her thoughts and moods before she did.
Anger welled in me at the possibility she was mistreated. How could any man not cherish her, honor her as the priceless treasure she was? The damn fool.
"Something's not right," I said, staring after them. "Why the hell is she walking behind them like a second-class citizen? And look at her face. She’s got her head down, like she hopes he doesn’t notice her."
How could any man not pay attention to her?
My stomach knotted. It was bad enough she couldn’t be ours, and if I thought she was happy in her current situation, I’d set my disappointment aside. But that clearly was not the case. A woman deserved constant pleasure, in bed and out. This one was neglected by her husband on all fronts, it seemed. It was wrong. Fucking wrong.
As they neared the exit to the park, the husband turned and spoke to her. She gave him a wan smile. One that didn’t reach her soulful eyes. If she were my wife, I’d ensure a smile was constantly upon her lips, well satisfied from having her pussy eaten before she rose every morning. My mouth watered at the very idea. She’d start each day moaning with climax after climax. Greeting the rising sun with her cries of pleasure.
And every night Keane and I would fuck her senseless, her sweet body shared between us, her every need satisfied beyond measure.
But she didn’t belong to us. I’d been wrong. There was a woman in Butte for us. It seemed, though, she belonged to another.
LILY
* * *
Once my charges, Michael and Hannah, had been put to bed, I was called before my employer, Mr. Richard Garner, and his wife. I had never heard her first name spoken aloud, even by her husband.
"You wish to see me, sir?" We were in the library where he perched behind his desk with a cigar and brandy after dinner. Mrs. Garner kept her gaze focused on a bit of needlework in her lap.
"Who were those men you spoke to in the park? What did they want? What did you say to them?" The lewd implication of his words was so obvious even his milquetoast wife looked up and peered at me with beady, judgmental eyes.
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Garner," I lied. Of course I knew who he was talking about. I'd been unable to think of anything else since the encounter with Rye and Keane, a pair of gentlemen who had, in a matter of moments, awakened something in me I had not known existed. Awareness. Womanliness. Rye had close-cropped hair while Keane had long, dark tresses, held back in a leather tie. I’d never seen a gentleman with hair like that. Wild and rebellious, as I suspected Keane to be.
Rye’s eyes were the color of the sky on a clear spring morning and Keane’s were as dark as the sky at midnight. Their gazes looked not just at me, but through me. I felt… flutters. Need. Attraction. It was strange and heady but coming from two brawny men, not one, was confusing at best. Lurid, too.
