The Unbridled by Rory Michaels
A Macon Valley Ménage Story
Travis and Matthew bid farewell to LeAnne six years ago. They assumed when she ran off to Chicago to live her dream she’d never look back at small town life. It’s what they’d wanted for her, or so they thought. When she resurfaces for a visit home, they know the time has come to make their move. They want her for themselves, and they’re sick and tired of the distance between them. They’re willing to do anything to make her stay. Now, they have to hope she can handle the idea of two of them at one time.
Warning: This short story contains m/f/m ménage a trois, light BDSM, raunchy sex, explicit sex, strong/frank language and cowboys who will melt your socks off. The heroine is mild-mannered and eager for a guiding hand sexually. If you’re looking for long, drawn-out plots and sweeping romances, or women who are tough as nails, this isn’t your book. This story has a very strong-willed alpha male in it. This is a short story that won’t apologize to anyone for any reason. If you want hot, dirty, sexy and to-the-point, you’ve found it. If not, it’s best to move right along, this isn’t the book for you.
LeAnne Dash moved around her darkroom, already knowing where everything was located. She spent so much of her time in here developing her photographs that it was actually one of her favorite places to be. Within the walls, she couldn’t hear the hustle and bustle of the busy Chicago streets below. She couldn’t smell the faint odor that seemed to seep through the walls from the apartment next door. All she could smell was her processing and developing chemicals. They smelled amazing to her.
The room, first pitched as a utility closet by her realtor, was tiny but functional as a darkroom space. It didn’t have a window, but it had a sink and was large enough to get her supplies in, along with counter space for developing. She’d painted the walls black and hung black material on the inside of the door so no light would filter in.
When she’d come across some film that, while old, had been stored properly and was in great shape, she couldn’t resist the urge to get to developing it, and quickly. Sure it was an added expense to develop things herself anywhere anymore with the advent of the digital craze. A few of the vintage shops carried the supplies she needed, and they weren’t cheap. She could order them off the internet for less cost so that was what she normally did. She didn’t care about the extra steps and hassle. She preferred to do it on her own.
As one of the photos began to develop, her breath caught. Travis Thompson was there. A man she’d not seen in six years was in it, smiling his famous, coy smile as he leaned against a tractor. He even had the ubiquitous piece of straw in his mouth. The flannel shirt he wore had its sleeves ripped out and was unbuttoned partway down his tawny, muscular chest. His faded Levis fit him like a glove and his worn boots spoke of a man who had used them well. Emotions she’d not dared allow herself to feel in years surfaced.
She remembered the day it had been taken well. It was the day she’d handed Travis her virginity. She closed her eyes, remembering what it had been like to have Travis above her. To have him there, lining up with her wet entrance, and the look of love on his face as he pushed deep into her. He’d taken her on a blanket in the very field showing behind him in the photo. He’d ended up with her virginity and her heart. LeAnne had thought she’d marry him, have his babies, and live her life in Macon Valley—their hometown. He’d gone off and joined the service, and she’d known deep down that there was someone else. Someone who held his heart, and the knowledge nearly shattered her. She couldn’t place all the blame for their failed relationship on him. LeAnne had accidently fallen in love with another man—his best friend, Matthew Bricker, who had picked college over serving his country. She hadn’t meant to develop feelings for him.
When her time came to graduate, she did, and she’d packed up her camera gear, got on a bus North, and never looked back, even though she’d wanted to.
She finished developing the photo and hung it to dry on the line before moving to the next. As each picture came to life, LeAnne found it harder and harder to hold in her emotions. Soon, she was crying while developing.
Matthew appeared in the pictures next, reminding her of the odd grouping the three of them had made. So many comments had been thrown their way. Despite it all, those had been good times. Innocent times. A time when she’d somehow managed to fall in love with two men who were nothing more than her close friends, and a time when she’d learned they had no problem bidding her farewell and not speaking to her again.
She finished developing all the pictures and cleaned up her area before heading out of the tiny darkroom and into her apartment. She washed her hands and opened a bottle of wine. She needed to forget again. She couldn’t hang onto the memories of old anymore. Already, she had trouble making relationships work. She compared the men to Travis and Matthew. They always failed to measure up.
A glass into the bottle and her cell phone rang. She answered it. “Hello?”
There was a pause. “LeAnne.”
She smiled, recognizing the voice instantly, even though she’d not spoken to its owner in nearly seven months. “Harley, how are you?”
With a sigh, the woman on the other end began to speak, “Okay, I guess. Do you have time to talk?”
Sensing something was wrong, LeAnne set her glass of wine down and focused fully on her friend from back home. “I’m all yours. What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” Harley said.
LeAnne was quiet a moment. She wasn’t expecting that. At last check her friend wasn’t dating anyone.
“And I’m married.”
“You’re what?” LeAnne grabbed her glass of wine again and took a large gulp. “Did you say married?”
“Clay Miller,” said Harley softly and then hiccupped, indicating she was crying. “And Wyatt Hews.”
Assuming she’d had too much wine, LeAnne tipped her head. “I’m sorry, did you just tell me you’re married to two men? Clay and Wyatt?”
LeAnne rubbed her temple. “That isn’t possible.”
There was a long sigh from the other end. “You know Macon Valley. You know the whispers. The ones we’d talk about when growing up.”
Seconds ticked by with no one saying a word. LeAnne cleared her throat. She knew the whispers. They were all she and Harley could talk about in their late teens. They’d been obsessed with the idea there were men who shared a woman. They’d giggle and talk about how they’d one day be one of the women two men fought over and, in the end, shared. Neither really thought it would happen. At least not LeAnne. Clearly, she’d been wrong. Harley was proof of that. “Yes.”
Harley grunted. “They’re true.”
“Ohmygod, they haven’t hurt you, have they?” LeAnne asked.
She was ready to charge home and protect her friend. They’d been through so much in their lifetime that LeAnne truly would do anything for Harley. She knew Harley would do the same for her as well. In fact, Harley had been the only person from Macon Valley to come to Chicago and visit. She’d helped LeAnne buy secondhand furniture and even helped to carry an old chair almost twelve blocks and up two flights of stairs. They’d spent the night laughing and drinking wine as they reupholstered the cushions to something more funky and modern. Thinking Harley may be in an abusive relationship sickened LeAnne.
“Harley, you’re okay, right? Have they hurt you?”
“No. Of course not. They love me so much. And before you ask, yes, I love them too.”
“Then why the tears?” asked LeAnne.
“I can’t see my toes,” said Harley. “And I have to pee all the time and I can’t get comfortable at night to sleep and…”
LeAnne lifted a brow. “How far along are you?”
“End of my second trimester. The boys don’t understand. They think it’s all so great. They are excited I’m gettin’ fat with their baby.”
LeAnne soaked in the news. She glanced at the clock. “Honey, I’m betting you’re gorgeous and just feeling pre-mommy blues. They don’t mean anything by what they say. They more than likely think it’s a compliment. You know men. Remember when my cousin’s husband told her that her boobs were getting droopy during her pregnancy and then tried to cover it with big droopy, good droopy. Like there is anything good about droopy boobs.”
The girls laughed.
“I do remember that,” said Harley. “See. You make me laugh. I need that.”
“I’m just a phone call away anytime you need me.”
“I miss you. I wanted to tell you everything,” Harley said. “I did. I just didn’t know how. I wish you were here. I need my friend right now. More than just on the phone.”
LeAnne thought it over for about two seconds before her mind was made up. “Then count on me, honey. I’m coming home.”
“You’re so busy there in Chicago,” Harley countered. “I just needed to talk.”
“I’m never too busy for you. You know that. I’ll catch a flight home.”