Chapter Eighteen
He was burning with fever. Elizabeth bit her lip and dipped the cloth in the cool well water. She ran it over his face, then down his neck to his torso. Too ugly for a fever, indeed. Ha! The man was more like a God than a troll, and the proof lay in his festering wound.
Footsteps on the stairs indicated the return of Clint. A slower step followed and she figured it was Old Sam.
“Doc’s at the Hennessy’s,” Clint said after a soft knock.
She bit her lip. “He’s not coming?”
He shook his head. “Can’t, ma’am. Seems like Mr. Hennessy’s got some kind of poisoning. They don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night.”
She placed the cloth in the water. “Poor Jenna.” Hennessy wasn’t worth much, but he was still worth more alive than dead.
“Dorothy’s with her,” he said. “Jenna’ll be fine.”
She probably would, Elizabeth decided. Doc’s wife Dorothy was a beautiful woman who radiated caring and warmth. She’d see Jenna through.
“Elly?”
She took a breath and faced Old Sam. “Yes?”
“McKinnely sent me up here to tell you he’s going to take over rounding up those brush tails.”
God! She hadn’t even considered the cattle. “Would you thank him for me?”
“Already been handled.” Old Sam crushed his hat in his hand. “I’ll be going with them.”
“Of course.”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the bedroom door. “You gonna be all right?”
Before, no matter what the result, her answer would have been an unequivocal “yes”. Now, she wasn’t sure. If Asa died, would she be fine?
Her silence dragging long enough, Clint answered for her. “She’ll be fine.”
“Glad you think so, young’un,” Old Sam snapped, “but last I saw, Mrs. MacIntyre had a mouth on her face. From that, I figured she could speak for herself.”
“Can’t you see she’s busy, you old coot?” Clint shot back. “She’s got more on her mind than—”
Elizabeth pasted a smile on her face and leapt into the middle of the fray before it could become an argument. “I expect Asa’s fever to break tonight.” Old Sam cast Asa’s supine body a skeptical look. She firmed her voice with an extra dose of conviction. “Everything’s going to be all right. Thank you for asking, Sam.”
He smoothed the brim of his hat. “Guess we’d better get those critters gathered up then. Asa’ll be screaming blue thunder if we don’t.”
“Yes.” She looked at Asa’s flushed face, damp from her sponging. She’d give anything right now to see him rumble, let alone generate thunder. She infused all the confidence she could fake into her voice. “He will.”
He slammed his battered hat back on his head. “Then I’ll be getting those boys moving. No doubt they’ve been lazing about rather than packing. Can’t leave ‘em alone for a minute.” He was still muttering as he disappeared down the hall.
Elizabeth looked at Clint. He stood twirling his hat in that way he had, slow and unhurried. “Aren’t you going with him?”
“Nah.”
“Don’t they need you?”
“We figured I’d be better served here, what with my doctoring knowledge and MacIntyre being sick.”
He made it sound as if it were a reasonable decision based upon illness. It didn’t ring true. She looked at him again. “For this, you’ve come into my house wearing guns?”
Her question didn’t disturb the laconic twirling of his hat. His answer reflected the same unconcern. “Must’ve forgotten to take them off in all the excitement.”
She didn’t believe that for an instant. “Mr…?”
“Just Clint, ma’am.”
“Mr. Clint. I am not a fool. I don’t believe Asa fell off his horse anymore than I believe you forgot to take off your guns.”
“Asa said you kept a man on his toes, ma’am.” His hat continued to twirl at the same lazy pace.
“I’m not finding it particularly difficult when you all persist in treating me like a child.”
His chuckle at her wry statement was as easy as his manner. He was really beginning to irritate her.
She took another breath, picked up the cup of willow bark tea and coaxed a bit down Asa’s throat. “Mr. Clint?”
“Yes?”
“Are you any good with those guns?”
“Fair to middlin’, ma’am.”
Which she took to mean he could hit whatever he wanted. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If anyone approaches this ranch, I want you to shoot them.”
“Any particular place?”
“Between the eyes would be nice. If you can’t manage that, try for the heart.”
There was a slight jarring in the twirl of the hat before he answered in his usual calm manner. “I take it we’re not asking questions?”
“If you do your job right, there won’t be any need.”
“No disputing that.”
She lifted the poultice over Asa’s stitches. If anything, the flesh looked angrier.
“Any improvement?” Clint asked.
“I think the swelling has increased and there are red streaks beginning.”
His resigned “damn” said it all.
Crossing to the hearth, he put another log in the fire. With the hand bellows, he pumped the flames high and hot. The three steps it took Elizabeth to reach his side seemed like an eternity. She handed him the long straight knife. He took it from her, his expression grim.
“I was hoping the poultice would work,” he said as he put the knife in the fire.
“So was I,” she admitted.
“We’re going to have to cut and burn out the infection.”
It was an unnecessary statement as they were halfway through the procedure. She watched the blade heat. The tip glowed red. Soon, the whole blade would glow and she’d have to lay it against Asa’s flesh. Listen to him scream. Smell his burned flesh. Her vision blackened at the corners. Her stomach rose.
“You want me to do it?” Clint asked.
She pushed back the nausea. “We’ve already been over this. I’m not strong enough to hold him down. You are. Therefore, I’ve got the job.” She took a deep breath. “We’re going to have to do it twice due to the way the wound curves.”
“You checked?”
At least five times. “Yes. I can’t get a clean line in one try.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Wish that bullet that creased him had stayed flat rather than bouncing off that rib.”
“If it hadn’t bounced off that rib, he’d be dead.”
Clint pushed to his feet. “You got a point.”
Part of her wished she didn’t. She didn’t know if she could do this.
“I’ll hold him down,” Clint said. “You cut out the infection.”
Elizabeth picked up the smaller knife. Working carefully, she cut away the dead and angry tissue, blocking her ears to Asa’s moans, knowing what she was going to do next would make this seem like a picnic. As she wiped at the fresh blood running down Asa’s side, she glanced at Clint. His face was as white as hers felt. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He handed her another cloth to replace the one she’d dropped on the floor. He nodded to the fireplace. “As soon as that blade’s red to the hilt, you grab it up and place it over the cut.”
She wrapped her hands in thick strips of sheet. “I know what to do.”
She just didn’t know if she could. What if she passed out? What if she failed? The quivering started deep inside. She swallowed hard and beat it back. She’d do this because she had no other choice. She thought of Asa, the way he stood up for her. The way he smiled when she lost her temper. The way he treated her, like he actually thought she was fine just the way she was. His tenderness and desire for her. She squeezed the tremors into silence. She would do this.
The blade glowed red. She took a deep breath. She grabbed the handle, stood, and swung around. The room spun. She bit her lip, but the black encroached. Pain seared her hands from the heat. It was enough to help her stay focused. She hurried to the bed. She had to do this right. She didn’t want to do it more than twice.
Clint pulled the sheets back. “Now,” he ordered. “For the count of ten, hold it there.”
She told herself she was just searing meat. She applied the knife. The scent of burned flesh rose with Asa’s howl of agony. It seemed an interminable amount of time before she hit ten. She removed the knife and returned it to the fire.
Black crept further into her vision. She knew she was seconds from passing out. It was too much. All of it was too much. She took a deep breath. The horrible scent filled her nostrils. She barely made it to the basin in time.
When the last of the spasms passed, she turned back to the fire. The knife blade glowed red hot. Ready. She moaned despite herself.
“You all right, ma’am?”
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t. She had to be. “I’m fine,” she responded.
She glanced at Clint. He was definitely green around the edges, but he was hanging in there, holding Asa steady. Doing what had to be done. She could do no less.
“Just one more time,” she breathed. She could do that. One more count of ten and she’d be done.
Clint’s voice was a soft echo. “Just one more time.”
She picked up the blade, welcoming the heat this time against her palms. It gave her something to focus on rather than the suffocating wall of black. Her vision was reduced to a small circle that consisted of the wound she was cauterizing and the blade she was going to do it with. She placed the blade across the wound and resolutely counted through Asa’s low groaning agony and Clint’s swearing. By the time she got to ten, she could barely see.
“Looks good,” Clint declared with obvious relief.
She took a blind step back. “We don’t need to do it again?”
“No.”
The last thing she remembered was asking Clint to take the knife. Then all went mercifully blank.
* * * * *
A week later, Elizabeth came down the stairs to find Bryce, the youngest hand, waiting in the parlor.
“How is Mr. MacIntyre?”
She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “He’s fine. Almost ready to be up and about to hear him tell it.”
The boy grinned ear to ear. “I bet he’s not much fun laid up.”
If she didn’t murder him by sundown, he’d be fortunate. “What makes you say that?”
“My pa was the orneriest thing on two legs when he got laid up with a busted leg,” the boy added cheerfully. “My ma swore he was going to drive her mad trying to do more before it was time.”
“Mr. MacIntyre is a bit ambitious in his recovery.”
“But he’s going to recover?”
“Oh, yes.” Maybe not from the wounds she’d be inflicting, but from the gunshot, definitely.
“We’re real happy to hear that.”
She assumed he meant the hands by “we”. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah.” He blushed a fiery red that went with his hair. “Mr. McKinnely brought in those brush tails. We figured on keeping them close to home, but we need a big fenced-in area.”
“Why don’t you take that fencing we set aside for the north pasture and put it around the back meadow? If there’s enough posts, we might be able to corral all of them.”
The boy flushed deeper. “That’s a good thought. Do you think Mr. MacIntyre will think so?”
“I imagine so.”
From the way the boy stood there, she assumed he wanted her to go ask. Frustration ate at her innards. What did the boy think Asa was going to say? They had the same materials to work with. The same open amount of land. The same water supplies. He continued to stare. Finally, she said, “I’ll go ask.”
She stomped up the stairs, walked past Asa’s room, and then stopped. There was no way she was going in there. The first question and he’d be struggling out of bed to supervise the construction of the corral. He was nowhere near healed enough, but, like a typical man, he wasn’t hearing that. She waited two more minutes and went back down the stairs.
“Did Mr. MacIntyre agree?”
“It’s a fine idea. Go with it.”
As the boy loped out the door, she told herself it wasn’t strictly a lie. It was a good idea.
“Elizabeth?”
The bellow came from upstairs. She ignored it, went into the kitchen and made up a tray of soup and bread. She added a glass of water. The apple pie, she ignored. The man didn’t deserve any sweets.
As soon as she cleared the top of the stairs, Asa bellowed again.
She shot him an exasperated look as soon as she cleared the door. “You hollered?”
He had the grace to drop his gaze from hers. “Was that Bryce I heard downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Guess there isn’t trouble or it’d be Clint or Old Sam.”
“Exactly,” she agreed.
She had trouble putting the tray down without spilling the soup. Asa, reaching to help, didn’t improve the situation. She blew her hair off her face in exasperation. “Would you stop that?”
“What?”
“Stop trying to help. Stop trying to get out of bed. Stop trying to make yourself sick again!” The last sentence came out as an angry yell.
Asa relaxed against the pillow. He eyed her as if she were some strange new species of animal. A potentially dangerous one. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you shout before.”
She gnashed her teeth and didn’t answer.
“Gotta admit, you don’t sound much like a lady when you do.”
She permitted herself the luxury of glaring at him.
“That’s quite a screech you got there.”
He sounded amused. She contemplated dumping the soup over his head.
“I kind of like it when you let go,” he went on.
“Excuse me?” Pure shock halted the inclination. She slowly lowered the tray.
“Ever since my fever broke, you’ve been marching around here all controlled, doing what’s necessary, nothing more.”
She moved her hands to the soup bowl. “And your problem is?”
“I haven’t even gotten one good morning kiss.”
She tightened her grip. In the midst of her argument with herself that she’d only have to wash the bed linens if she chucked the tray at his arrogant head, she paused as what he said sank in. He was out of sorts because she hadn’t kissed him?
“Clint told me how you cauterized my wound yourself. I’m sorry I carried on as I did. Don’t rightly remember it, but I understand it wasn’t pretty.”
She slowly digested his words. She wondered if he knew she’d fainted like a baby afterwards. “Cauterizing a wound isn’t pleasant,” she agreed.
Red tinted his cheekbones. His gaze locked to something on the hearth. “I wouldn’t have carried on had I been conscious at the time. A man can’t help the way his mind betrays him when he’s out of his head with fever.”
She released her grip on the bowl. He was embarrassed because he’d cried out when she’d put a red hot knife to his flesh?
“Don’t imagine the scar’s none too pretty,” he added, still staring at the fire.
“Are you aware,” she asked, “how close you came to dying?”
At least she’d pulled his attention from the fire. His silver eyes skated around the vicinity of hers. “Understand it was close for a bit.”
“It was more than close.”
“That must have been scary for you.”
It had been more than scary. It had been soul-revealing. Terrifying. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
She couldn’t believe she’d let that sneak out. She’d avoided dealing with that revelation for a week. She’d been avoiding this for a week.
The hoarse whisper yanked Asa’s gaze to hers. In their green depths, he saw only a reflection of what she’d endured.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. “Besides, even if you did lose me to the undertaker, McKinnely would step in and get those cattle to the railroad. Ranch’d be in the black and you’d be sitting pretty.”
The bowl of soup came at him so fast, he didn’t have time to duck. It half-hit the pillow and his face.
“How dare you?”
He wiped his eyes and plucked a piece of chicken out of the corner of one.
Elizabeth stood next to the bed, her chest rising and falling under the force of emotion. “How dare you suggest I wanted you dead!” She threw up her arms. “You come waltzing in here, ruin our deal, play on my honor, and then you lie there suggesting I’m so shallow, one little cry of pain and a new scar is going to drive me away?”
She grabbed the bread. “Not too long ago, you were accusing me of selling you short.” The bread came hurtling at his head. “Let me tell you, Mr. High and Mighty MacIntyre. You may be as handsome as the devil, but you’re a poor example of a husband.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You are! You’re worse than Brent.” The napkin came hurling his way. It landed in a gentle plop on his chest. “You’re worse than my father!”
He felt a small kernel of hope blossom. “How so?”
“At least they never bothered to try to make me love them.” She took one step toward him, then another. “They were content with my cooperation, but not you. You had to have it all.”
“Yup,” he agreed unrepentantly. He watched her carefully. One more step and he’d have her.
Her slap, when it landed on his arm, was gentle. Full of emotion, but guaranteed not to hurt. “You kept pushing for more and now make fun of me when you get it,” she whispered.
“I didn’t make fun of you, darlin’.”
“Yes, you did. You said I hadn’t kissed you.”
He caught her wrist and tugged. “You haven’t.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, stiff-backed and ready to fight now that she’d exposed herself. He touched her hands, then raised his hand to her cheek. “I thought maybe you thought I wasn’t useful to you anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been lying here, trying to figure out why you haven’t been very wifely for the last few days.”
“I’ve been taking care of you!”
“Yeah, I know, and it’s been no different than if McKinnely had done the caring.”
“I beg to differ. McKinnely would have punched you.”
His chuckle sent pain though his ribs. “You threw soup.”
“And now I have to clean it up.” She made to get up.
He anchored her with his grip on her wrist. “Later. I want to explain.”
Her green eyes stared at him. Her lips pursed tight. Her whole demeanor said he’d better make it a good one. “It occurred to me that you married me thinking you were getting a strong man. What happened here a few days ago might have changed your opinion on what you’d married up with.”
“That’s nonsense!”
She looked so outraged, he had to smile. “Just goes to show how addled a man can get when he’s forced to live on gruel.”
“I have not served you gruel.”
“It’s been a long way from steak.”
“Your stomach’s too weak for steak.”
“My stomach’s too weak for gruel.”
She sighed and looked at the mess on the bed. “Well, looks like you’re back to gruel.”
“Uh-huh.” And they made snowballs in hell. He let his fingers flirt with the collar of her shirtwaist. “So you were fretting on losing me, huh?”
“I was concerned.” Her gaze moved to something outside the window.
He smiled, amazed she could sit there so prim and proper while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress. The pulse in her throat came into view. It was tapping fast and hard. “Truth be told, darlin’, were our positions switched, I’d have been nervous about losing you, too.”
He watched as she swallowed hard, her gaze still fixed on the view outside the window. “You would?”
“Uh-huh.” He pressed his finger on her pulse and smiled when it took off racing. “I’ve gotten used to having you around.”
“Oh.”
“You honestly find those clouds so attention-getting?”
“No.” Honest as always, yet he noticed she didn’t drag her gaze away.
“‘Cause, if you could see your way to dragging your attention back here, I’ve got a mind to do some sparking.”
That had her jerking her whole body his way. “Are you out of your mind?”
If he hadn’t known how concerned she’d been, her outrage would have put canyon-deep holes in his pride. “Nope.”
He got another button free before she caught onto his game. She grabbed his hand, stopping him from getting to the flesh he wanted to pay some attention to.
“You can’t. I mean, we can’t…” She sputtered to a halt, no doubt searching for a polite term for what he wanted. She finally gave up and settled for logic. “You’re hurt.”
He rubbed his knuckles up and down the prim row of buttons she was guarding so diligently. “I’ll allow we’ll have to curb your wild side a bit.”
“I do not have a wild side!”
“Sure enough, you do, darlin’,” he countered. “And I count myself a lucky man for it.”
She stared at him, obviously looking for a reasonable argument that would dissuade him from what she saw as idiocy. He couldn’t help a smile. After having her care for him for the last week, her hands continually touching his body, her sweet scent always around, her near admission of love. Hell! Short of a bullet in the brain, he wasn’t about to be dissuaded.
“The bed is a mess,” she huffed, not yet recognizing the futility of arguing with him.
“Can’t argue that.”
He shoved the covers down. She sprang off the bed as if he’d lit a match to her posterior. “What are you doing? Get back in that bed!”
Lord, she was cute when she hovered. “You know, darlin’, I always thought nagging women were like crows, nothing but an irritation.”
Her hands landed on her hips in a battle stance. “I do not nag.”
“I have to argue there, but I’ve decided I like it.”
“I couldn’t care less.” The lace of her collar fluttered against her throat with the deep breaths she was taking. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
He eased his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m heading to your room.”
“Any particular reason?” She reached up and began re-doing the buttons he’d undone.
“Yup.” He took a steadying breath as he pushed his torso upright. “Seeing as you won’t lie with me in a puddle of soup, I thought I’d switch beds.”
“I am not lying down with you, period, so you might as well get back in that bed.”
Pain laced his side. He took a few breaths to control it. He wanted to wrap his arm around his ribs, but he knew, if he showed such weakness, she’d use it against him. “You can’t have any argument against a clean bed.”
She got the last button done up proper. As soon as the button landed in the hole, her spine snapped tight as if welcoming reinforcements. “You’re a hard-headed man, Mr. MacIntyre, but I can see you need to attempt this foolishness in order to see the sense in staying put.”
He eyed her under his brow. “That a challenge?”
“Merely a call to common sense.”
“Uh-huh.” He braced his hands on the bed. “And, if I take up this challenge, what do I win?”
“Your health.”
“And if you win?”
“You stay in bed and give up this outrageous behavior until you’re better.”
Did him a world of good to know she didn’t want him giving up the behavior altogether. “Not much incentive for me to stay put.”
Her sigh was long suffering. “I suppose you have a better wager?”
“Heck, yeah.”
Her hands were back on her hips. “I suppose you’re not going to lie down until you have your say?”
“Nope.”
She made a quick motion with her hand. “Let’s hear it.”
“If I make it to the other room, you curl up beside me for a little sparking.”
“You’re too ill for sparking.”
“Lucky for you, I see it differently.”
“So I see.” She stared at him a minute, her expression unreadable. “All right. You make it to the other room, and I’ll do what you want.”
“The term I used was sparking, but I can settle for what I want.”
She shook her head as if at the end of her rope, but he noticed her eyes crinkled at the corners while she did it. The woman wasn’t as set against the idea as she let on. Before he could push to his feet, she held out her hand and halted him. “If I win, you do as I say for the duration of your recovery. Until I say you’re recovered.”
He held out his hand. “Deal.”
She shook it. “Deal.”
She stepped back. He took long, slow breaths in preparation for the ordeal of standing up. On the fourth, he pushed himself to his feet. He made it in the direction of up, but his ribs forced him to stay humped over like an old man. Before he could stop it, a groan snaked from between his lips.
Elizabeth stood as still as a statue, watching his shuffling progression to the door. Opening the damned slab of wood was almost his undoing. The only thing that kept him moving through the mind-numbing pain was his refusal to act like a baby in front of his wife. She already had a low enough opinion of his strength. He had to brace himself on the door latch of the next bedroom. It gave unexpectedly under his hand. The jerk knocked him off-balance. Black agony swept over him. He stumbled and would have fallen, except for the shoulder inserted under his arm.
“You’re the most stubborn man.”
“Just determined,” he groaned.
“Why?”
He opened his eyes and stared at the bun bouncing along beneath his chin as they shuffled to the bed. “Sad fact is, I got this never-ending hunger for my wife, and stubborn woman that she is, she won’t appease it unless I prove myself to her.”
The little quiver that shook her bun, he put down to outrage. She didn’t respond to him, however, until she levered him onto the clean bed.
Her face was cherry-red when she did. “I don’t know why you persist in this ridiculous teasing. There’s no way you can…uhm, hold yourself, I mean…” She pushed her hair off her face in exasperation, then blurted out. “You know what I mean!”
He pulled her down beside him and went to work on the buttons of her dress.
“This is one of those times when a woman has to take charge.” He could see from her frown that she didn’t take his meaning. The angle of their position made it impossible for him to undo more than five buttons. “Like you did in the meadow.”
“Oh.”
“Though you might want to take off your dress first.”
She paused, seeming unable to take a breath.
“Please,” he added.
She sighed, told him he was a scandalous man, and went to the door and locked it before coming back. Halfway to the bed, she stopped, reached up and released her hair from its bun. It spilled in auburn glory past her waist.
He knew he was grinning like an idiot. “Lord, you’re something, darlin’.”
Her smile was shyness tinged with confidence. It took a long time for her fingers to get those buttons undone. By the time she let the dress slide down her arms to pool at her feet, he was panting like a winded race, horse and the shyness had left her smile to be replaced with sheer witchery. She stood before him in her lacy camisole, pantaloons, and delicate white stockings.
“You liked that,” she said, a wealth of satisfaction in her voice as she approached the bed. As she stepped into a beam of sunlight, he could clearly make out the curve of her waist, the soft pink of her nipples and the tempting triangle of her pussy.
He managed an eloquent, “Yeah.”
She leaned over, careful not to jostle his side. He reached up and curled his hand around her neck, urging her into his kiss. Her mouth felt good over his. She tasted hot and spicy. Womanly. “I missed you, Elizabeth.”
He felt a fool for such an emotional admission. He hadn’t meant to say it, but it had just sort of popped out. Instead of withdrawing or laughing, she sealed her mouth tighter to his. The ardor in her kiss increased tenfold. He took full advantage, sliding his hand to her breast, smiling when she gasped and pressed harder into his hand. Her nipple was already hard. He rubbed it with his thumb. It pulled up tighter. Harder. Begging for more. Her gasp whispered past his ear. Her eyelids drifted shut.
“You like that,” he whispered into her mouth, no less satisfied than she’d been.
She nodded, squashing her nose into his cheek.
“Ease up here, and I’ll make you feel even better.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. The bed dipped as she braced first one knee and then the other beside his hip. Her hands straddled his torso. She smelled of sunshine and vanilla. Of woman and rising need. He could never get enough of her. He stroked her breasts with his fingers, smiling as the calluses caught on the delicate material of her camisole. Her gaze met his. With taunting slowness, she lowered her head, letting him feel the whisper of her breath, the heat of her body, the promise in her emerald eyes. Her hair fell around him, a silky curtain as she slowly, delicately, traced his smile with the tip of her tongue, sending a frisson of sensation licking through his body. When she raised her head, his smile rested on her full lips, but there was a provocative quality there now. A sultry cast that had his heart pumping and his cock pounding with anticipation.
Keeping her eyes locked with his, she eased her breast toward his mouth. It hovered just out of reach. He couldn’t lift his head to capture her pouting nipple. He waited for her to realize she had to lower herself more. If possible, her smile grew broader as she daintily prodded his lips with the swollen tip. He opened his mouth and accepted the sweet offering against the cushioning softness of his tongue. She tasted all the sweeter for the anticipation. He plumped her breast with his fingers, bringing her harder against his mouth, laving her through the cotton of her camisole, using the damp material to increase the friction of his caress.
Her soft moans were sweet music to his ears. When she threw her head back and groaned, he pulled the cotton underthing away. She was hot against his tongue. The slightest hint of salt tanged her flesh. He swept the crest of her breast, catching more of her essence before drawing her deeply into his mouth. He suckled strongly, discovering what she liked. Her cries of delight and then protest when he pulled back, had him hotter than the Fourth of July.
“Just switching sides,” he explained.
She adjusted her position to make it easier on him.
Her moans were pretty constant by the time she said, “I want you.”
He kissed the hard nipple hovering above his face. “Not yet.”
She pulled back. Her hands at the button fly of his long johns made mincemeat of his determination. As each button popped its hole, his cock received a dancing caress.
“Now.” She clearly wasn’t in a mood to be denied.
He slid his hand from her breast to the slit in her pantaloons. The material was wet with her juices. His fingers slid smoothly through her thick cream. He parted her folds, stroking her as he swirled a path to her vagina. As his finger breached the tight portal, she freed his cock. The cool air of the room was both a balm and torment on his heated flesh. The tips of her fingers glided up and down his length in a gentle demand that tore another moan from his throat. He gritted his teeth against the fiery demand that he take charge. Instead, he braced himself to endure. There was a lot to say for letting a woman take charge. He slid a finger into her pussy, groaning when her muscles clenched hard on him. He wanted in her now.
“Straddle me and then lean back against my knees so you won’t hurt your palms.”
She didn’t immediately move into action. She stared so long at his arousal, trapped so gently in her hand that he thought he’d embarrass himself from the enjoyment he got from her pleasure.
“I like you like this,” she informed him.
“You’ll like me a lot better in a minute.”
She chuckled and petted him. Actually petted him while he strained and jerked. She moved away, took off her pantaloons, and then, light as a feather, she straddled his hips. He curled his fingers around her ribs, supporting her. As if she’d been riding him all her life, she fell into position. With exquisite care, she settled on him, taking him in slow, delicate increments until he thought she might tear him apart.
She looked into his eyes. Her expression fierce. “You’re mine.”
He couldn’t believe it, but a laugh found its way through the searing pleasure. “No one here’s arguing.”
She repeated it again, a bit desperately. He wanted to respond, but she suddenly took his cock fully into the clenching grasp of her pussy, and his world narrowed to a tight, hot focus of building desire that allowed nothing but response to the woman who held him so close. She was in control and loving it. He could do nothing but surrender and glory in the wildness she denied having.