[Siren Ménage Everlasting: Erotic Western Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, public exhibition, HEA]

Davey and Regan O'Ryan Stone bought an Oregon farm sight unseen, hungering for adventure. Davey regretted the impulse far past the point of no return, and then he died. Now, unskilled and alone on her farm, Regan fears going home a failure—as a daughter, a wife, and a farmer. With money quickly running out, she gladly accepts the offer of help from Seth Pratt, an acquaintance from the wagon train, and his friend Haywood Lawrence. One-armed Seth seeks work at the remote farm at the end of an Oregon trail with low expectations. When he finds Regan, alone and widowed, he tamps down desire. She deserves better than a handicapped man searching for his soul. She's worthy of someone like his Shakespeare-spouting best friend, Hay. Nothing could have prepared Seth for Regan's simple solution—that both men stay. On the farm and in her bed.

A Siren Erotic Romance


Jenna Stewart is a Siren-exclusive author.

Regan (MFM)
8 Ratings (3.9)
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Cover Art by Les Byerley



“Do you know this lady, Seth?” The second man split his gaze between his companion and Regan.

Suddenly heat flamed on Regan’s cheeks. Why should he have noticed her, though he certainly stood clear in her mind. Indeed, Seth Pratt had made quite an impression on all the single ladies in their wagon train. Once, despite her married status at the time they shared the trek west, he made an embarrassing appearance in her dream, too, much to her shame. Her imagined image of his naked body joined to hers had pleased her so much, she banished him from her thoughts afterwards.

She glanced at his companion, hating that he should witness her complete ignominy.

“I apologize for not recognizing you, Mrs. Stone,” Seth said. His gaze raked the yard again. “Should I speak to your husband about the job?”

“Mrs. Stone?” the other man said. Seth shot him a silencing look.

“My husband passed away just west of Cheyenne.” Seth had left the train in western Nebraska, headed, or so she heard through gossip, for the Dakota Black Hill country. At the time, that had been a relief. She thought never to see him again, never to be tempted to dream of him again.

“My condolences,” he said softly. She acknowledged his comment with a nod. “Was the man in Cold Springs correct, then? Are you really lookin’ for help?” He asked the question, but his expression started to close down as though knowing before she answered that there would be nothing for him here.

“There is a problem, Mr. Pratt.”

“My arm. I understand.” He fit his hat back on his head and tipped it at her before tapping the flanks of his horse with his heels and giving the reins a tug.

The second man said, “Hold on, there,” at the same time she cried out, “No!”

He stopped and waited.

“No, Mr. Pratt,” she said. “The problem is not your arm. I assume you would not apply for the position of farmhand if you felt you were not equal to the task.” His eyes lit with interest, and she continued. “The problem is the distance from town, and I’m alone here. I fear it’s too far to travel back and forth each day. Indeed, had I known my property was this far removed from any town, I’m sure I would have faltered in my determination to continue west.”

Seth’s brows wrinkled. “Are you safe out here alone?”

She shrugged. “I feel perfectly so.”

He didn’t seem to like her answer much, but he didn’t argue. “I see.” He sat quietly. “Ma’am, I’ll be honest with you. I need a job. I didn’t have much stake when I lit out for these parts, and I have next to nothin’ now. Folks aren’t anxious to hire a one-armed man, as you might guess. If you give me a chance, I won’t trouble you for nothin’, at least until the snow flies, and then I would need only a roof. I can bed down in the barn.”

“There are accommodations. But Mr. Barker should have explained that I am interested in hiring a man and wife, so that proprieties would be maintained.”

“Why the hell did…Begging your pardon, Mrs. Stone,” the second man said, “but I wonder why the man in town sent us out here, then.”

“Us?” Regan looked more closely at the man, so different in dress from Seth. So different in every way. His clothing spoke of money, though he wore a simple white shirt and vest under the jacket. Obvious hand tooling on his horse’s saddle and the burled-wood rifle butt protruding from a pouch on the saddle screamed taste and the money to afford it.

He smiled once more, showing good teeth and deep dimples. “Forgive me. I’m Haywood Lawrence, late of Charlotte, North Carolina, traveling the West with this disreputable reprobate. That is, until he decided he wanted to become a farmer instead of a seeker of fortunes.”

She smiled. “We have something in common, Mr. Lawrence. I hail from Asheville.”

Smoothly he swung his leg over the horse and strode to her. “‘Such stuff as dreams are made on.’” He took her hand and kissed it.

Regan blinked in surprise but couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “Asheville is the stuff dreams are made on, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Not the city, Mrs. Stone, its lovely citizens.”

“I have it,” Seth said in a quiet tone.

Startled because she had forgotten momentarily that Seth was there, she yanked back her hand and looked up.

“The man in town must have heard me tell Koda that I bought a penny candy for Francis. He musta thought I meant a woman.”

“Who is Koda?” asked Regan. Holy Mother! As surprised as she was to see Seth again, Haywood Lawrence took her breath away. Adding a third man to the mix would surely be too much.

Haywood sighed. “It’s his horse, I’m afraid. Our friend Seth talks to the horse more than he does to people.”

He don’t quote Shakespeare day and night,” Seth grumbled.

“Well then, who is Francis?”

“That would be me,” Haywood said, with a glare at Seth. “Though no one calls me that who doesn’t want a fight.” Seth raised his brow and shrugged. Haywood turned back to Regan. “I was christened Francis Haywood Lawrence, but I much prefer Haywood to my first name. Or rather, Hay, which I hope you will call me.”

“Oh, I…uh.”

Seth stared at Hay. “I thought you were catchin’ a boat downriver to the coast. Somethin’ about lumber?”

Hay’s gaze didn’t waver from Regan. “Perhaps not. Never fear, my friend,” he tossed over his shoulder to Seth. “‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.’”

Seth said something impossible for Regan to decipher.

She forced her gaze from Hay. “I’m sorry the position won’t work out, Mr. Pratt,” she told Seth. “However, it’s too late for you to go back to town tonight. Why don’t you stay and ride back tomorrow?”

“It wouldn’t be right. I was so wrapped up in my own troubles that I didn’t stop to think.” For the first time, worry clouded Seth’s startling blue eyes. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that might cause you or your reputation harm, Mrs. Stone.”

“Who will know if you camped out or slept in comfort, Mr. Pratt?” Regan smiled. “My parents raised me to be a proper young lady. But when I lay in my safe, snug bed in my father’s home, I imagined how it would feel to be wild and carefree. To do something scandalous. You would be fulfilling a childhood dream if you stayed for the night.” Holy mother of God! Had she really said that? How would he take her words?




“Unbutton your dress,” he whispered. “I need to feel your skin.”


He leaned away from her and watched as she followed his instructions. Her hands shook, but she obeyed. With each inch of skin she willingly revealed, his desire grew.

He edged the dress away, exposing her neck, luscious, smooth, and white, then her collarbone. The soft round top of her breast came into view above her chemise. He used every bit of willpower to keep from ripping the remaining buttons and feasting on her bareness.

“Such a pretty dress.”

“I have to see the banker or I would have worn something more plain.”

“I’m glad you wore this. I’m glad you’re dressed your best for him and are half-bare for me.”

“Do you want me to take off more?” Her voice held a breathlessness that set his heart to racing.

“I want you naked. Naked and glassy eyed with need for me.” Where had he found the words? He’d never said anything like that to a woman before. He’d never wanted a woman as much.

She rose. The lap rug fell to the floor of the buckboard, her dress twisted around her ankles. Half sitting, half stumbling, she fell onto his lap. Her lips sought his.

This time she took charge, exploring his mouth while his hand slipped beneath her chemise to touch and then hold her breast. Her nipple fit into his palm, hard and rough. He kneaded the tender flesh of her tit. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, he bent her back on his half arm and took her breast with his mouth, through the fine linen. In seconds the fabric became transparent from his hot breath. His tongue flicked her nipple, red as a raspberry with just as much texture. He bit her lightly, enjoying her gasp of surprise. She held his head to her, arched her back, and invited him to take more.

Oh, his cock ached, throbbing with need. He reached to the hem of her dress where it hung loose and rubbed her lower leg, just above her leather boot. Then he found her calf, muscular from the weeks of walking to arrive in the West. Her stocking was smooth as silk, and he realized it must be silk. She was a lady, after all. A garter held it snugly on her thigh, but he passed it by, moving over her satiny-smooth skin to find the treasure he sought.

At last, he reached the center of her heat. The scent of arousal rolled off her in waves, escaping the confines of slip and dress to fill his nose. Her undergarment, damp and warm, gave no resistance when he ripped it off. Instead of the shock he might have expected, Regan merely groaned and flexed her hips up to meet his fingers when he pulled the thin material barrier out of the way.

Wet. She was so wet. His fingers slipped and slid along her lips, and he fit two digits into her passage easily. If her husband died outside Cheyenne, then she had been without a man for a few months. He wanted to be the man to break her long sexual dry spell. The way she freely gave of herself told him their coupling would provide a great deal of pleasure to both of them.

He sucked her tit and stroked her pussy, running his thumb over her clit. Regan killed him by writhing on his lap, saying without words that she wanted more. He gave it to her. He crooked his fingers and rubbed the secret spot he knew from experience that women loved, all the while circling her clit with his thumb. Lightly biting her nipple, he sent her over the edge.

Her pussy gripped his fingers, and cream coated his palm. She trembled on his arm, holding his head to her breast so tightly he couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to.

Suddenly she went limp. Seth rested his head on her breast while he calmed himself. With little effort, he could swing her around, lift her skirts, and nestle her on his raging erection. From her response to his touch, he knew he could make her come again, and maybe a third time, before giving himself some much needed relief.

Bringing her to a sitting position, he removed his hand from beneath her dress. Her eyes shone bright. She tilted her lips into a saucy smile. They were red and swollen from his kisses. No woman had ever looked more beautiful. Using his middle finger, he painted her mouth with her pussy juices. She stared into his eyes, licking his finger and then taking it into her mouth to suck.


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