Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Sometime in the night, a male voice commanded her to “Turn over.”
Yawning, she peeped open an eye. It was still a very dark night outside their shelter. “Turn over?”
“Hmm,” Grey Coyote said. “How am I to rub your back if you don’t?”
“You are going to rub my back?”
“Hau. But you sound shocked. Has no one ever done this for you?”
She shook her head. “No. Never.”
“Then I am pleased to know I will be the one to impart yet another new experience for you this night.”
“Yes,” she agreed, as she obliged him by rolling over.
“Hmmm,” was all he said, and then his hands were spreading themselves all over her nude body. From the top of her shoulders, down to her buttocks, and even then, no place was left untouched. He massaged her there, in the junction between her legs, and she caught her breath.
Dear Lord, it was pure enchantment. As his hands found the knots in her muscles and gently assisted them to let go, Marietta did also. She closed her eyes, content.
“Hmmm,” she groaned, as his hands worked over her buttocks, his caress discovering again the place on her body most feminine and wet. His massage didn’t stop there, however. He continued rubbing her, her legs, her calves, her feet. She sighed deeply.
Up once more came his touch, his fingers finding her moist recess, and as he touched her there, she felt the same rousing sensation afresh, there, in the pit of her stomach.
Before she could roll over to accommodate him, he had joined with her, there at her back.
It was unusual, she thought, committing the love act this way.
Yet it was so erotic she found herself meeting her pleasure almost at once.
He followed her, spilling his seed into her, and one more time, wrapped in one another’s arms, they fell into an exhausted sleep.
The pattern, however, had been set, and they made love over and over the night and morning through, as though on the morrow they might find this had all been no more than a lovely, passionate dream.
As she drifted off to sleep, the last memory before being consumed with slumber was a kiss on her neck, followed by masculine arms shrouding her in his warmth. She curled herself into those arms, and strangely, she was aware this was, perhaps, the happiest moment of her life.
How odd, she thought sleepily.
Yes, indeed. How odd.
She awoke, blanketed with warmth and fully content, though very much alone. Was it as she feared? Had it all been a dream? She sat up, bringing the buffalo robe with her, and scooting forward toward the opening of their little nook, she peered outside.
Grey Coyote was sitting quietly before her, facing her, about five or six feet away, skinning what looked to be a recently killed deer. As she brought her face into prominence in the entryway, he looked up at her, and his entire countenance broke into a most engaging smile.
“You are awake at last,” he said.
“Yes.” Curiously, she gazed toward the sky, noting that the sun was directly overhead. To her horror, she realized she had slept well into the noon hour. Is this what happened to a woman when she found a lover? “It is late. You should have roused me.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes beauty needs its sleep.”
She grinned at the compliment. “I will dress and help you with your chores.”
“Must you?”
“Must I what? Help you?”
“Must you dress?”
She giggled slightly. “Yes. I’m afraid I must.”
He gave her a quick shake of his head, then quietly muttered, “Shame.”
She beamed back at him, but she disappeared nonetheless into their shelter, where she hurriedly pulled on her clothes.
What she really needed, she decided as she glanced down at the evidence of her recently surrendered virginity, was a bath. She stopped. For a moment, shame engulfed her.
She had given away her virginity to a man she did not intend to marry. He might call her his wife, but she had not lost sight of the reality of the situation.
What did this make her? A woman of the world, or was she still simply herself?
Oh, if only there were a way to confide in a sister, a friend or a mother…someone who could guide her. But there was no one.
Marietta sighed. Well, right or wrong, intuition told her she could trust this man. He would have to be her teacher. This decided, she promised herself she would enjoy every minute of the instruction.
Smiling, she glanced down at herself. Oh dear, she really did need a bath. Lucky for her, they were camped near a stream.
Scooting again toward their shelter’s entrance, she opened the flap slightly and asked, “Mr. Coyote?”
“Who is this Mr. Coyote?” he mimicked, but he smiled at her all the same. “Am I not your husband?”
She grimaced. “Perhaps. Now, Mr. Coyote, I need a bath.”
“You say perhaps that I am your husband?” Again, he smiled at her, but apparently he didn’t intend to pursue the subject.
Instead, he nodded toward the stream. “A bath would be very good, I think. And we have much water. Come…” he gestured toward her, “…if you are quick about it, I will scrub your back.”
“Would you really?” she called, as she crept toward the far end of their shelter. Once there she removed her dress, hose and shoes, which left her clothed in only her chemise and drawers. In these, she decided, she would swim, washing them and herself at the same time.
She crawled out of their shelter and then, looking over her shoulder, she cast Grey Coyote a provocative glance. “I’ll race you.”
It was a silly challenge where neither one cared who won or lost. But once she had voiced the dare, there was no taking it back, and she tore over the dry grasses and sharp stones covering her path.
She would be darned if she backed down, and she gave the race her all. Of course, Grey Coyote beat her. She hadn’t expected to truly win the race.
He caught her at the edge of the stream, and laughing, she fell into his arms. He accepted her gladly, it seemed, for he hugged her to him, bending down to press kisses to her cheeks, her neck, the top of her head, and finally to her lips.
“Good morning,” he said.
“And a very good morning to you too.” She laughed up at him.
Taking her by the hand, he led her to the stream’s bank, the cool sand refreshing upon the soles of her feet.
“Hmmm, the sand feels good.”
He nodded. “The water, also. Come.” He attempted to pull her into the stream along with him.
He had no more than waded into the water, when she sank back. “Oh no,” she voiced to him, letting go of his hand. “The water is cold.” She shivered for emphasis.
“I thought you desired a bath.”
“I do.”
“Then you should dive in and let your body adjust itself all at once.”
“Oh no, not me.”
“Then it is your intention to bathe on the side of the stream?” A smile pulled at the side of his mouth.
“No. I would simply like to take my time and adjust to the water’s coolness…gradually. That is all.”
“A-a.” He smirked. “Then I had best go back to my chores, since I think you may stand here until perhaps the sun goes down.”
She grinned at him. “Now, behave. I will not be so very long. Besides, you’re one to talk. I don’t see you diving into the water. Why, even I could stand in cool water up to my ankles. Have you bathed today?”
“Hau, hau. I have. And I bathe in the cold water every morning, even in the dead of winter.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ecenci, and yet it is so. All Assiniboine men bathe thusly, and first thing in the morning.”
She smiled saucily at him. “Prove it.”
He chuckled but hardly hesitated as he stepped out of the flow of the stream, shrugged off his moccasins and untied his breechcloth, throwing it to the side. Grinning at her, he ran straight at the water, executing a perfect dive, sending little droplets spraying everywhere.
She stepped back, but not soon enough. Cold water splashed her, wetting her from head to foot. She shivered.
“Brrrr, it is cold.”
“A-a, feels good.”
Using the tips of his fingers, he sprinkled her yet again.
“Oh, don’t do that.”
There was a devil of a smile on his face. “Don’t do what? This?” He repeated the action.
“You know very well what I asked.”
“Me? What?” He did it once more.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Sece, perhaps. But how am I to scrub your back if you do not come into the water?”
“Could you not scrub my back as I sit here on the shore?”
He shook his head. “You merely delay the inevitable. Come now, the water is not so very bad.” Diving below the surface, he swam toward her, emerging before her at the shoreline.
He stood up, in all his naked glory, letting the water rush down his body, as though it, too, adored him.
A hard, muscular chest and broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist, met her hungry glance.
Tight abdominal muscles and stomach, muscular legs, which were curiously devoid of hair.
In truth, except for the top of his head and the sprinkling of hair cushioning his sex, Grey Coyote’s body sported little hair.
This included his chest, arms, legs, even his face.
He held a hand out to her, and she stepped toward him feeling like she had been summoned.
“Are you not going to remove your underclothes?” he asked.
Immediately she felt her face flood with color. It was one matter to lie nude with this man upon a bed of buffalo robes. Factually, within the heat of passion, it was, indeed, most pleasant.
It was quite another, however, to disrobe with Grey Coyote’s watchful gaze upon her, here in the bright light of day.
He tilted his head, his look at her short of a leer. “It is a little late for modesty.”
“I beg to differ. It is never too late for modesty.”
“But I have seen all of you.”
“Last night,” she said. “This is different.”
He simply grinned. “Then come. Perhaps you may wash your clothes as well.”
She smiled. “Yes, this is my thought also.” She took hold of his hand and executed a cautious step toward the water.