Naughty Marietta

by Nan Ryan

  “Ahhh,” Cole groaned as he easily slid up into her wet warmth.

  “Ohhh, Cole, Cole,” she echoed his ecstasy.

  Matching Cole’s lust with her own, Marietta gripped his ribs and began the erotic, rolling motion of her hips. Thrusting, she held him prisoner with her strong gripping thighs, pounded him with her rocking pelvis, punished him with her gyrating hips.

  Loving it, loving her, Cole reveled in this wild, uninhibited display of fierce sexual hunger. A deep, powerful hunger that matched his own and lifted him to new heights of carnal pleasure.

  Flexing the muscles of his buttocks, driving rhythmically into her to meet each of her frenzied thrusts, Cole watched her and was as excited by the sight as the feel of her. Her heavy hair, still damp from the river, whipped around her face and shoulders, one wet lock clinging to her cheek. Her breasts, with their tightened wet nipples, danced and swayed with her sensual movements. And between her gripping thighs, the dampened fiery curls were meshed with the raven coils of his groin.

  Such a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Cole, Cole,” Marietta began to call his name as she panted anxiously.

  “Yes, baby,” he groaned, grateful her release was at hand, knowing that he couldn’t last much longer.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” she gasped as he gripped her thighs and speeded his movements, driving into her, triggering her deep and lingering orgasm.

  For several long seconds Marietta was lost in the throes of a shattering release, out of control, begging Cole for an end to a joy so intense she could stand it no longer.

  The fervent squeezing of her burning body took Cole with her into paradise. His deep groans matched her whimpering cries as together they attained the ultimate in ecstasy.

  When it subsided, Marietta sagged down onto Cole’s chest and they fought to regain their lost breaths. When finally their intermingled heartbeats slowed and they could breathe freely again, a happy Cole grinned and teased, “I almost came that time. How about you, darlin’?”

  Thirty-Five

  The sun’s last rays had faded when the pair left their grotto and plunged back out through the falls. As promised, Cole, with one arm wrapped loosely around her chest, effortlessly ferried Marietta back across the river to their campsite.

  Once they reached the shallow water, Cole rose with Marietta in his arms and carried her to the spread blanket. She squealed her protest when he sank to his knees and dumped her. He fell over onto his stomach, gasping for breath, pretending he was exhausted. He didn’t fool Marietta.

  Laughing, she gave his bare bottom a playful, open-handed slap and said, “Don’t tell me you’re actually tired after that short swim supporting my feather-light body?” She made a mock face of disgust and asked, “Do I have a weakling on my hands here?”

  Chuckling, Cole turned over, guided her hand to his groin, and said, “No, you have a weakling in your hands.”

  “You’re terrible,” she smilingly accused, released him and laid her hand on his chest. “It’s getting dark. We better get dressed.”

  “You first,” he said, too content and lazy to move.

  “Help me dry my hair?” she asked.

  “Sure, sweetheart,” he said and rolled up into a sitting position.

  Marietta snatched up a towel. She rose to her feet and stood before him, leisurely drying herself while he watched, bewitched. The flames from the dying campfire danced and flickered, momentarily lighting her tall, slender frame, then casting it in shadow. Cole caught himself straining to see better.

  Too soon she was finished. She tossed him the towel, turned and sat down between his legs. Cole enjoyed the task of blotting the moisture from her luxurious hair.

  As he worked, they talked and laughed and Cole told her, “I have a fantasy about this beautiful hair of yours, Marietta.”

  “Tell me,” she coaxed.

  “We are alone in a room where there is a nice soft bed with clean white sheets. I am lying naked on that bed and I am not allowed to move, no matter how much I am tempted to do so. You are sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. You do not touch me with anything but your hair.

  “You bend your head and let your hair spill over onto my chest. Then you slowly move down my body, letting the loose locks tickle and torture me until I can stand it no longer.” He paused, then laughed and asked, “Think I’m crazy?”

  “No. I think you’re very innovative. Thank heavens. And, if we ever get back to civilization where there are still such things as beds, we might give your fantasy a try.”

  Cole grinned. “I can hardly wait.”

  When a full white moon rose over the darkened canyon, Marietta and Cole, fully clothed now, lay on their backs atop the blanket, yawning, holding hands, counting the stars in the heavens. Twigs snapped and crackled in the dying campfire and somewhere in the distance a lonely whippoorwill called to his mate.

  It was a warm, beautiful summer night and Marietta, listening to Cole’s deep, drawling voice as he pointed out a constellation of brilliant, clustering stars high above, was engrossed. And content. Happy beyond belief. She loved lying beside Cole in this ruggedly beautiful canyon. And she loved the fact that this ruggedly beautiful Texan was, surprisingly, a tender, caring man whom she had seen unselfishly hand over every cent he probably had in the world to the destitute Longleys.

  When Cole fell silent, Marietta said softly, “Know something, Texan? I have found you out.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes.” She raised onto an elbow and smiled at him. “You’re a kind, gentle man. And I learned from Mrs. Longley that you are an attorney.”

  “Was an attorney, Marietta. And only for about five minutes.” He turned his head and looked at her. “I’m a convicted felon. Felons cannot practice law.”

  Marietta smiled. “Mmm. You’re a felon because of Hadleyville?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell me about Hadleyville. Mrs. Longley said you were a hero for what you did there and that—”

  “I’m no hero, Marietta. Never was. Far from it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. All I did was follow orders,” Cole said, setting her straight.

  “Oh, Cole,” she murmured.

  “A price was put on my head,” he continued. “I spent seven years eluding the authorities, moving from town to town, job to job, hiding out, lying low.”

  “And finally they caught you?”

  He nodded. “I attempted to rob a bank and they nabbed me.”

  Marietta frowned and said, “Why would you take such a chance when…when…” She paused, thought it over, then said, “I know why! You did it for the Longleys. You knew how badly they needed money. That’s why you robbed that bank. You meant to give the money to them. Didn’t you? You risked your life for Mrs. Longley and Leslie.”

  Cole shrugged and gave no reply.

  Marietta urged, “Oh, Cole, please tell me the rest. They caught you and meant to hang you?”

  “I was standing on the gallows with the noose around my neck,” Cole said, “when your grandfather’s attorney arrived with the documents necessary to stop the execution.”

  “Thank the Almighty,” she said.

  “No, thank Maxwell Lacey, your grandfather. He is a very powerful man, Marietta. He pulled the necessary strings to spare me. God knows what markers he called in. I owe him my life and I’m grateful to him.”

  Marietta wrinkled her nose and steered the conversation away from her grandfather and back to Cole and his life before the war. Coaxing him sweetly, drawing him out, she listened, intrigued, as he talked of the happy times when he was a boy back in Weatherford.

  He spoke fondly of his tall rancher father and his pretty, genteel mother. Said they had loved him and spoiled him and made his childhood carefree and happy. He reminisced over the good times he and Keller Longley had shared, telling her about their many escapades and laughing about the numerous pranks they had pulled together. Even though he had hated
to leave Keller behind, the fun and adventure had continued when he went away to university to read law.

  As she listened, Marietta couldn’t help being envious; it was evident that Cole had crammed enough adventure into his life to provide ample excitement for a dozen men.

  Cole laughingly confided that back in the days of his golden youth he had never encountered a problem that couldn’t be solved. Said he’d had more than his share of fistfights, but had always come out the victor. And what hard muscle alone could not fix, his intellect could. Life had been joyful and exciting.

  Then the war had come. Overnight things had changed forever.

  Cole stopped talking.

  Marietta, plucking gently at the buttons of his shirt, said she knew he had lost both his parents. Peggy Longley had told her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Cole nodded, gave no reply. Then she couldn’t keep from asking, “Were you married, Cole? Was there…is there a wife waiting somewhere in Texas?”

  “No. I’ve never been married.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, unable to hide her relief. But she couldn’t let the subject alone. “Was there a special girl?”

  Cole laughed. “I thought there was. I was wrong.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was engaged to a young lady I had known most of my life,” he said without emotion. “She promised to wait until I got back from the war.”

  “And she didn’t?”

  “I hadn’t been away six months before she ran off with a New Orleans cotton broker.”

  “She married someone else?” Marietta made a face of disbelief. “Why, she must be a fool. You’re better off without her.”

  Cole grinned. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. About your life, your family, your—”

  “Some other time,” she said and yawned dramatically. She lay back down, snuggled close and said, “I’m sooo sleepy. Aren’t you?”

  “A little,” he said.

  Her lips against his throat, she said on a sigh, “Cole, can we please stay in this beautiful canyon for at least part of the day tomorrow?”

  “We’ll ride all day in the canyon,” he told her. “Then day after tomorrow, we’ll make our way back up top. Once we’re out of the canyon, we’ll begin to drop due south along the Caprock escarpment toward the village of Lubbock.” No response. “Marietta? Sweetheart?”

  Marietta had fallen asleep.

  Cole exhaled and gently pulled her closer, drawing her slender arm across his chest. He pondered her reluctance to talk about herself and her childhood. He knew nothing about her, other than the fact that she was an opera singer and that she had a rich grandfather down in Galveston whom she did not wish to visit. What about her mother, her father? Where were they? When had she left Texas?

  Cole yawned and closed his eyes. But sleep did not come. He opened his eyes and again gazed up at the bright stars he had pointed out to Marietta earlier. And he counted the days he had left with her. Days that would pass too quickly.

  He slowly turned his head and gazed at her sleeping face. She looked so innocent, so vulnerable. It struck him that hers was the face he longed to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life. He had known many women, but had fallen in love only this once.

  No. No. No. He didn’t love her. How could he? He knew what she was. Hell, he wasn’t that foolish. Cole turned his head away. He assured himself that there was no woman on earth—not even this one—with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his nights.

  All the next day, the pair rode southeastward through and around the soaring cliffs and majestic spires in Palo Duro. They stopped often to water the stallion and to cool themselves off. They napped in the shade after their noonday meal. Well rested then, they walked for a couple of miles, allowing the black to follow at a slow, easy pace.

  Come nightfall they again made camp along the banks of the river and bathed in the cool, clean water. They didn’t get dressed after their swim. In silent agreement, they stretched out on the blanket and allowed the heat of the campfire to dry their bodies.

  Lazy, relaxed, they considered putting on their clothes but never did. When the canyon winds rose and the night air chilled, Cole drew the blanket up over them.

  “You sleepy?” he asked.

  “Not that sleepy” was her whispered reply.

  Thirty-Six

  At sunrise they slowly, carefully, climbed out of the cool, cliff-shaded canyon and up onto the sunbaked Caprock of Texas. The terrain was once again brutal. Trees were few and far between. Water holes were scarce. The mercury quickly climbed past the century mark.

  If all that were not enough, at midafternoon Cole spotted dust devils swirling on the near southern horizon. A sandstorm was coming. A savage duststorm that was quickly gathering steam, sweeping toward them in the constantly blowing winds.

  Cole swore as he pulled up on the black. Marietta, dozing, her cheek resting on his shoulder, was jolted awake. “What is it?”

  Hurriedly dismounting, Cole said, “A duststorm.”

  “Oh, no. What can we do?”

  “Ride it out,” he told her and reached for the canteen. “Get down.”

  “Why?”

  “You heard me.”

  Nervously eyeing the gathering tempest sweeping toward them, Marietta dismounted. She watched as Cole slipped the bandanna from around his throat and wet it down.

  “Hold this,” he said, shoving the canteen at her.

  He tied the soaked neckerchief loosely around the stallion’s muzzle. The black neighed and blew, shaking his head up and down. While Marietta frowned, Cole yanked the long tails of his shirt free of his trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt and whipped it off.

  Sure he had lost his mind, Marietta stood holding the canteen, staring at him. Swiftly, he ripped one of the long sleeves from the shirt, then the other. He tossed both torn sleeves over Marietta’s shoulder while he put his shirt back on.

  He grabbed the sleeves, held both out and said, “Pour water over them. Wet them down thoroughly.” She nodded and poured. “That’s it,” he said, and handing her one of the soaked sleeves, said, “Tie it over your mouth and nose.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Cole, I don’t—”

  “Do it,” he commanded and she did.

  Cole tied the other sleeve around his lower face, climbed back into the saddle and reached for her. When she was seated behind him, he said over his shoulder, “Bury your face against my back, close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”

  Marietta didn’t argue. Already the winds were swirling the loose dirt around them and just ahead a solid sheet of golden dust looked to be impenetrable. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms tightly around Cole and felt the stallion go into motion.

  In seconds the storm had completely enveloped them. Blowing sand stung their faces like the jabbing of hundreds of tiny needles. The fine sand filtered into their hair and down inside their clothes and the wind deafened them with its relentless howling. The black labored on through the roar and whine of the wind-driven sands, whickering his distress.

  “It’s okay, boy.” Cole patted his neck and tried to calm the poor creature. “You’re doing fine. Keep going. You’ll make it.”

  Marietta, curious by nature, foolishly opened her eyes and was immediately sorry. Grains of sand stung like fire. Tears immediately filled her eyes and spilled down her dusty cheeks. She pressed her face against Cole’s back and wondered how long they could survive such a terrible storm.

  The howling winds and whirling sand continued to assault them for more than an hour, growing steadily worse until finally it reached a loud crescendo of wailing and roaring that was frightening in its intensity.

  Then it stopped.

  The wind tapered off.

  The sand stopped eddying.

  Cole drew rein. He yanked the wet shirtsleeve down off his face and turned in the saddle to ask, “You okay? You hurt?”

  Marietta tugged the dirt-crusted sleeve down from her mouth and nose
. Sand crunching between her teeth, she told him, “I’m all right, but there is not one inch of flesh on my body that is not covered with sand.” When he laughed, she said, “You think that’s funny? How about you in a shirt with no sleeves? You look silly, Texan.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s cooler this way” was his reply. “You should try it.”

  After two miserable days when they endured several brief but fierce sandstorms and tolerated the oppressive heat and constantly blowing winds, a hot, unhappy Marietta shouted with joy when they approached the outskirts of a small settlement.

  “We’ve finally reached Lubbock,” Cole said. “How would you like to make the rest of the journey by train?”

  “Can we get a sleeper?” she asked.

  “Sure thing,” he replied and kicked the black into a canter.

  The dusty little settlement rising from the bleak South Texas Plains was not much of a city. It boasted only one saloon, one hotel, one general store, one livery stable and a tiny train depot.

  But Lubbock, Texas, looked awfully good to Marietta. It was the first settlement they had come across since leaving tiny Tascosa, a hundred miles back up north in the Panhandle.

  “Cole,” she said, ignoring the stares they drew as they rode down the street, “is Lubbock the prettiest place on earth or is it just me?”

  Cole grinned and said over his shoulder, “It’s beautiful, but nonetheless let’s hope we won’t have to stay overnight.”

  He guided the black directly to the train depot. He dismounted, tied the lathered, alkali-crusted horse to the hitch rail and went inside. Marietta eagerly followed. She stood at his elbow while Cole asked the ticket agent when the next southbound train would be leaving Lubbock.

  “In exactly one and a half hours,” said the man. “You going to Abilene?”

  “Galveston,” Cole told him. “Book us a sleeping compartment if one is available.”

  “Certainly, sir,” said the agent.

  Cole paid for the tickets, stuffed them in his breast pocket, took Marietta’s arm and ushered her from the depot.