Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“You will. You’ll be here,” I told her.
Madison conscripted all three of us into service working on the feast. Trimming, basting, chopping, stirring—we learned to do it all. By the time the turkey was roasting, and two pies were in the oven, I asked Madison if she needed a nap.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind relaxing for an hour or so. Anybody want to relax in my room? I could really use a massage.” She said archly.
It was a wonder we didn’t trample one another.
Madison’s room had the only real bed so far. The rest were equipped with air mattresses or a sleeping bag.
“You act like I’m a princess, “she said, “it’s only fair I share the bed.”
“You’re our princess,” Ethan had said, and I scooped her up in a fireman’s hold and ran up the stairs while she squealed.
I deposited her on the bed and Noah told her to lie face down while we gave her a massage to thank her for all the hard work she’d done in planning and cooking our Thanksgiving feast.
“It’s a chance for us to show you how much we appreciate you,” Ethan said.
“Wait, you mean slicing your own knuckle with the potato peeler wasn’t enough gratitude?” Madison teased.
“I could have bled to death,” Ethan deadpanned.
“And I performed life-saving first aid by getting you that Band-Aid,” Noah said.
Soon we had her stretched out across the bed, stripped bare and enjoying the way six hands could melt away her tension.
“Mmmm, right there,” she said as I kneaded her shoulder.
“What about here?” Ethan said as he licked between her legs. I felt her tense and then she lifted her hips, tucked her knees beneath her and sighed happily. I kept rubbing her shoulders and arms and Ethan teased her with open-mouthed kisses on her sex. When I saw that her fingers were scrabbling along the sheets for something to grip, I moved around to her head and caught her hands in mine. She lifted her head and looked at me. She said my name pleadingly. This was my dream, this farmhouse I was restoring, this woman who wanted me, the closeness in this room, the knowledge that we protected our own. She wrapped her arms around my hips and laid her face in my lap. I knew what she wanted by now.
I turned her on her side, slid into bed beside her and spooned up behind her. I kissed her shoulders, whispered to her and held her against me. One of my brothers would kiss her mouth, the other would lie down facing her and move between her legs. I would anchor her, wrap my body around hers and hold her close, speak to her and sometimes give directions as she let them wring the last pleasure out of her body for one day. We worked together seamlessly, a team designed to give her the caresses and orgasms she deserved, never comparing ourselves, never giving a thought to who played which part this time. She let us know with small words or gestures what she needed most. We were each glad to step up and be who she needed at the time.
By the time we were all spent and drifting off into a nap, the loud oven timer began to blare. We exchanged a look, none of us wanting to go check the oven or to wake her up. So, we decided that Noah would check the pies and the rest of us would sleep until the turkey was done.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that he tried to defrost the marshmallows for the topping of the sweet potato casserole, it would have been fine.
Instead, the leisurely sated nap turned into a scramble to find out what would clean exploded marshmallows from practically every surface in the kitchen.
“Defrost is for frozen things,” I said irritably to Noah.
“That is so sticky….” Madison said with dismay. “Why would you even think to put them in the microwave?”
“Well, they’re so good when they’re gooey,” he said, and we chuckled.
The mess was extraordinary. When we finally finished scraping goo out of every crevice in the kitchen, the turkey was done. I did the mashed potatoes, and Ethan put rolls in the oven while Madison showered to wash the marshmallow out of her hair.
Noah opened a bottle of wine and poured, I carved the bird because of my superior dexterity—although Ethan suggested that unless we were wiring the turkey to light up I was no more qualified than anyone else—and Madison gave the blessing over the food.
“This year, I have more to be thankful for than I could ever have dreamed of,” she began. “I’m not even talking about the new convection oven in my shop.” She smiled and squeezed my hand.
We had all joined hands spontaneously because it felt like the right thing to do.