The Private Stable [Iron Spur Ranch 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Stacey Espino

gasped, not bothering to push him away.
    He proceeded to tug the material over her hips and down her legs. “Stop ain’t a safe word, darlin’. Not even close.” Safe word?
    “Will you look at that,” said Ethan, squatting down beside Wyatt. “She’s gone all red as if scorched by the sun. One of the worst cases I’ve seen.”
    She bent forward to look at her inner thighs. It was true. Her pale skin was irritated beyond measure, the skin dark and angry. “I’ll be fine.”
    “You can’t leave it like that.” They both hooked arms with her, escorting her to the bottom bunk. “Let us take care of you,” said Ethan. As soon as her back hit the mattress, he spread her thighs wide. Wyatt held one of her bent knees, keeping her exposed in just her panties. The situation felt way more sexual than platonic.
    Ethan trailed his fingertips along the ultrasensitive flesh of her inner thighs, sending goose bumps chasing up her legs. The more he touched her, the heavier her lower stomach felt. Her breathing came out in staggered pants. A pressure began to build, growing with every touch, look, and word. As he neared her forbidden center, his finger barely slipping under the elastic leg band of her panties, her pussy clamped down hard.
    Ethan reached for a jar on the night side table and twisted open the lid.
    “That’s an old family recipe,” said Wyatt. “It’ll have you as good as new in no time.”
    “Did you get it from your mother?” she asked, desperate for a glimpse into these men she was giving everything to.
    Wyatt frowned. “It’s Ethan’s family recipe, not mine,” he corrected. “Perfect cure for saddle soreness.”
    Ethan began to apply the cool salve. He moved so slowly, gently rubbing in small circles, as if her skin was gold leaf. Her inner thighs were extremely sensitive, each touch bringing her closer to a spontaneous orgasm. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from losing herself to his ministrations, pain always able to ground her.
    “She likes it. Keep going,” said Wyatt. He sat on the bed beside her, holding her leg open with one hand. It felt dirty and delicious. She was slowly being transformed into a sexual being, caring more about physical stimulation than anything else.
    “Take her shirt off. I want to see her tits.”
    She thought this was about taking care of her saddle soreness, not another sex party. But this was exactly what she’d wanted since last night, wasn’t it? Rather than bother to protest, she willed her body to go limp, to accept their advances and trust them with her body. If they’d wanted to hurt her, they would have done it by now.
    Wyatt slid her shirt off over her head. She’d been forced to go braless all day since she didn’t have her suitcases and her bra had been destroyed yesterday. Her breasts jiggled, and Wyatt appeared fascinated by the sight of her. He didn’t look at her with distaste, but pure, raw lust. For once, she was actually starting to feel proud of her body. It was enough to keep these handsome cowboys distracted.
    “How’s that feel?” asked Ethan.
    “It’s warm.”
    “Good. It’s supposed to treat your sore muscles, too. My grandfather said he’d never have survived some of his long haul roundups without it.” The sensual massage suddenly ceased. Ethan stood up, looking down at her. She tried to close her legs, but Wyatt wouldn’t have it.
    She wasn’t one to ask for what she wanted, but she needed these two men. She knew what it felt like to lose herself to them, and craved it. Ethan stared at her as if she was the main course, but there was a hesitation there. Why was he holding back?
    Wyatt’s kisses stole her attention. His hot mouth traveled down her bare shoulder, moving closer to her breasts. She’d never been hotter, but her skin broke out into gooseflesh. “Stop resisting, little lamb.”
    She wasn’t resisting but waiting for them to dominate her completely.
    Ethan sat on her other side, running his hand