High Plains Passion

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  Lydia whimpered, her fingertips scrabbling on the tabletop at the unexpected sensation. He gave her no mercy, settling in to pleasure her with long licks, slow and gentle, but insistent. His fingers eased back and surged in again.

  Lydia sobbed and wriggled, her body clenching as her peak neared. A cry of ecstasy broke from her, her muscles locking. Dylan held on tight with the hand on her back as she shuddered.

  As her peak passed, Dylan eased his fingers from her and gently turned her body so she had both hands braced, bending her over the table. He urged her to lower her foot so that she knelt with one knee on the chair, while still standing with the other on the floor. I like that. Keeps her open.

  He'd ignored the insistent ache in his erection until now, but the sight of Lydia's bare bottom, and below it, the glistening pinkness of her womanhood, shattered his will.

  “Take me in, darling,” he murmured, rubbing his erection against her bottom.

  She rocked her hips back in invitation. Dylan grasped his sex and sought her opening. In a single, smooth thrust he pushed fully into her body.

  Lydia whimpered.

  “Are you all right, darlin'?” he asked. “Do you feel any pain?”

  Her dark hair tossed around her shoulders as she shook her head. “It doesn't hurt. It feels intense and… big. A bit overwhelming. But I don't feel any pain.”

  “Oh, good.” He eased back and surged in again. The clenching tightness of her juicy well caressed him with wanton pleasure.

  Dylan tried to take his lady slow and easy, but soon his gentle glides gave way to hard, powerful thrusts that rocked her forward and claimed every inch of her for himself.

  Lost in the sensation of Lydia's luscious body, he almost didn't notice her reactions; that is, until she squealed and her body locked down on him. The extra tightness of her second orgasm overwhelmed him, and he exploded with a roar.

  Lydia squeaked as Dylan's deflating erection eased out of her. He sank onto the chair and scooped her onto his lap. The wood groaned at their combined weight, but held. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Wow, it was different this time. Not just 'nice' but really intense, powerful. Did our crazy circumstances make the difference, or am I adjusting? Probably some of both. She had to admit that the physical connection of sex had been just what she needed to reconnect to the man she loved after such a frightening day.

  “Do you have to go again?” she asked wistfully, trailing her fingers down his chest.

  “Pretty soon, yes,” Dylan admitted. “We need to round up the posse. We think we know where they're hiding, and it's close. Be careful, Lydia.” His voice turned grim.

  “All right, Dylan. I'll be careful. But you do the same. I don't want to lose you.” She slipped her arms around his chest and squeezed him tight.

  “I'll do my level best to come home in one piece, but you know I can't make any promises. These are deadly dangerous men and their leader has a personal vendetta against me.”

  “I know,” Lydia admitted. “I'm not pretending otherwise, Dylan.”

  He shifted and the seat groaned.

  “Um, do you think we might continue this upstairs,” she suggested. “I don't think this chair will hold us much longer.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Come on then.”

  She rose to her feet, startled to discover her knees wobbling. That was some intense loving. Grinning, she gathered up her scattered clothes. “If I take this blouse to Becky to fix, she'll know exactly what happened and tease the life of out me.”

  “She has no stones to throw,” Dylan commented.

  “She's not offering any,” Lydia replied as she mounted the stairs. Dylan ran a proprietary hand over her bare bottom. “But you can't expect her not to tease.”

  “Jesse would too,” Dylan commented. “I'm awfully glad that young man has come to town. He might just make the difference.”

  “I'm glad to hear it,” she said. “I like him a lot. His wife too.”

  They cleared the landing and proceeded directly to the bedroom. Lydia dumped her pile of fabric on the floor to deal with later and pulled back the sheets on her neatly-made bed. Stretching out naked, she reached out her arms to Dylan and he joined her. She rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked one hand down her body inciting tingles as he brushed against her distended nipple. I wonder if he's going to want more, once we catch our breath.

  Dylan chuckled quietly.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just thinking of something that happened earlier.”

  “Tell me.” Lydia rolled over and rose up on her elbow, staring down into Dylan's eyes. He toyed with the ends of her hair.

  “With everything going on, that little featherbrain Ilse Jackson is bothering me with a petition…”

  “To close the whorehouse?” Lydia asked bluntly.

  He nodded. “Looked like every woman in town signed it. What I want to know is what you ladies think I can do about it.”

  “Wait, what?” Lydia crinkled her forehead in consternation. “I didn't sign that garbage. I refused. So did Kristina, Allison and a number of other women. I don't think it would have been more than half.” Anger bubbled in Lydia's belly, supplanting languid relaxation and latent desire. “That little….” She snarled. “She must have forged our names. Oooh, the next time I see her…”

  “Whoa, darlin',” Dylan said, stroking her bare skin. “You didn't sign it?”

  “Of course not. It's not just stupid, it's cruel. Those poor girls are doing the best they can to get by, but Ilse and her cronies want to take away their livelihood for the sake of their own personal discomfort.”

  Dylan's face scrunched and he looked lost. “You care that much about the fate of a few prostitutes?”

  Lydia bit her lip. “Any one of us could end up like that,” she said softly.

  “I think there might be more to this story,” Dylan guessed. “Care to share?”

  Lydia closed her eyes and admitted the truth she had kept to herself for the last five years. Please don't hate me, my love. “I used to work in a whorehouse.”

  Confusion clamped down Dylan's features until he looked like a crumpled and shrunken version of himself. “But… wait, what?… Lydia…” He stuttered to a halt, took a deep breath and tried again. “I took your virginity. How is that possible?”

  “Well, um…” She sucked in a lungful of air and released it in a sigh. “You told me your story. I suppose you'd like to hear mine?”

  “Please,” he replied.

  Lydia considered. Is this really how I want to be spending my few precious minutes with Dylan? What if something happens to him…? She realized that if, heaven forbid, Dylan did not return from his mission, she wanted to know at least that he knew the truth about her. And chooses me anyway, please, Lord, let it be so.

  “Will you kiss me once, Dylan?” she pleaded. “I'm afraid to tell you this.”

  “Do you think anything will change how I feel about you, Lydia?” he asked, his consternation resolving into tenderness. “I love you. That won't change, but I do want to know the truth about you.”

  She nodded. Lowering her face, she claimed his lips once, then settled back into his embrace. “I grew up poor, in a rough neighborhood of Boston. Both my parents were immigrants, my father from France, my mother from Italy. They met on the boat and were married before they arrived. They opened a restaurant and catered to sailors, factory workers and dockhands. It was a humble existence, but a happy one. I didn't mind. And they taught me how to cook.” She paused. I'll never stop being grateful for that.

  Dylan's hand roved down her arm and he grasped her fingers in a gentle grip.

  “The dockside area is a nightmare of disease, and when I was sixteen, typhoid fever made its way through. The population was devastated. We all got sick. My mom was the first to die. She was pregnant. They'd been trying so long for a second child.” She pondered. “I think, when dad heard she was gone, he gave up. He passed on two days l
ater. After that, I don't remember several days. Whether it was grief or fever, I'm not sure, but I survived. It took me forever to get my strength back, but I dragged myself out of bed far sooner than I should have and made my way back to the restaurant, only to find others running it.”

  “They just took it over?” Dylan demanded. “Shouldn't it have been your inheritance?”

  She shrugged. “My parents didn't ever get around to making a will. I don't know how it came about that these new people had it, but they did. I mean, I contacted the police and they explained that these men had the deed, so there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “Dear Lord, Lydia. So you were left with nothing?”

  “They were kind enough to let me take my clothing from my room.” Lydia sighed. “At first, I tried to find a job in a restaurant, but I was a kid and had no work experience. Everyone laughed at me, said playing kitchen with my mama didn't make me a chef. I got pretty hungry for a while there. I was a chubby girl, Dylan, which is probably the only reason I'm still alive.”

  His fingers trailed over her ripe figure. “I don't know about chubby, but your curves make me dizzy, Lydia. I've always been a sucker for a full-figured woman.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I wasn't chubby after surviving typhoid and then spending weeks trying to figure out what to do with myself.”

  “What did you do?” Dylan asked. “Where did you sleep?”

  “I didn't sleep much,” she admitted. “It wasn't safe. I met some other girls in similar predicaments eventually and we watched out for each other. A pack of girls is safer than a girl alone, after all. We stole food sometimes. Other times we would sew a hem or run an errand in exchange for a coin. As she spoke, in her mind rolled back over the years until she was sixteen again, her belly cramping with hunger, trying not to devour an entire loaf of bread she'd swiped from a market stall, but to bring it back to her friends. “We called ourselves the Lost Girls.” She smiled without humor. “We shared whatever we had, no matter how small.”

  Lydia carried the bread into the alley where Edwina, Ruby, Beth and Rose waited. Grimly they divided the small portion into five equal pieces.

  Ruby stuffed her whole piece into her mouth at once, nearly choking herself with it. Her dirty blond hair bounced as she gnawed on the dry bite of food. “This isn't working,” she said, showering crumbs onto the wet and grubby ground.

  Beth broke off a tiny morsel of her bread and nibbled it slowly, her blue eyes tearing. She smoothed her medium brown curls off her forehead. “You're right, but what can we do?”

  “There's one option,” Edwina suggested, tugging her thick black braid.

  Lydia shuddered. “Do we have to?” Even as she ate, her empty stomach continued to cramp, answering the question before she could ask it.

  “I think we have exhausted all our other options,” Rose admitted grimly, shaking her head until her silky red hair slipped its pins again. “This hurts. I'd rather have food, wouldn't you?”

  “Of course,” Edwina agreed. “They say decent girls would rather starve. I guess I'm indecent.”

  “Me too,” Lydia said staunchly. “At least we'll be fed. We'll stick together. Maybe it won't be so bad. Have any of you been with a man?”

  “I have,” Rose said. “It's kind of gross. Dirty old man sawing away between your legs. But if you close your eyes and moan once in a while, you can pretend you're somewhere else.” She sounded so sad as she said it, Lydia knew she was lying to herself.

  Still, their meager meal exhausted, they'd linked arms and headed to the water front of Boston, where, as in any large city, houses of ill repute popped up to ease the needs of weary sailors. Hearts pounding, breathing shallow, they knocked on the door. A frowsy, middle aged woman eyed them with bored disinterest. “We're full up, girls,” she said, her voice carrying the tones of Ireland. “If you go down three doors, I know they're looking for help. Just opened up. No cook. Just the owner, who tends the bar, and one skinny girl. They'll probably take you in.”

  “Thank you,” Ruby said grimly.

  Every step down the street felt to Lydia like molasses dragged at her feet. Still, the dilapidated building awaited, a light in the window. “I don't want to do this,” she whispered under her breath.

  “No one wants to,” Edwina said, patting her arm. “But think of food. Hot, tasty food.”

  Though Lydia hated to admit it, her stomach still knew what she needed to do. “Do you think it hurts?”

  “The first time does,” Rose told her, overhearing their conversation, “but after that, it's not too bad. Remember, just imagine you're somewhere else. And it's not like we have to do this forever. Save up your pay and move on.”

  “So, just for a while then?” Lydia asked.

  The others nodded.

  It didn't help. Her empty belly threatened to invert itself inside her. She wanted to beg Rose not to knock on the door. But the knock sounded nonetheless. And the door opened.

  “What have we here?” a young man asked, stroking a dark brown mustache. Lydia found him handsome, in a rugged sort of way. His hair hung a bit too long, curling around his ears.

  “We're looking for work,” Edwina announced boldly.

  “Is that right?” he asked, looking her up and down.

  “Yes,” Ruby agreed. “The lady down the way said you might be in need of girls, to get your business started.”

  He smirked at them and suddenly he no longer looked attractive to Lydia. “I can't say any of you is a great beauty, and you all look a bit thin, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. Any of you know how to entertain gentlemen?”

  “I do.” Rose met his eyes with a challenging stare.

  “You'll have to show me,” he said. “In fact, consider this an audition. I need to be sure you won't change your mind when the paying customers turn up.”

  Lydia's breath caught and tears stung her eyes. Hunger warred with modesty.

  “I doubt you're up to 'auditioning' all of us in one night. You look pretty hungry yourself,” Edwina commented, her bravado masking her fear, but her hands trembled nonetheless.

  “Well, you're not wrong,” he said. “I'm not a great cook. Any of you know your way around the kitchen?”

  “I do,” Lydia said, hoping she could delay the inevitable by making dinner. “Is there any food in there?”

  “A little,” he replied, “though I've put most of my money into refurbishing this dump. Why not see if you can make us all something worth eating?”

  “I might.” Lydia also tried for bravado, but failed just as badly. “If there's anything to work with.”

  “Let's go then,” the man urged.

  “Wait,” Rose said. “Do you have a name, mister?”

  “I'm Joseph. And you girls?”

  He led the way into the kitchen as they introduced themselves. Inside the room, Lydia stared in dismay at the grubby walls, floors and countertops, the rodent droppings in the corners, and the broken windowpane.

  “This place is filthy,” she exclaimed. “My mother would be horrified. Do you plan to serve customers out of this hole?”

  “Who's your mother and why should I care?” Joseph asked.

  “Her name was Stephania Carré. She and my father owned a restaurant near here.”

  “I remember that place,” Joseph said, his eyes going soft. “Your folks had a great restaurant.”

  “They did.” She swallowed hard.

  “What happened?” he wanted to know.

  “They died.” Lydia stared at her hands. “They got typhoid.”

  Joseph replied with a grimace.

  Turning away to hide her tears, Lydia grabbed a rag, sniffed it and flung it into a dark corner. Pulling the last of her clean handkerchiefs from her pocket, she pumped water into the grubby sink and added soap, quickly washing up a pot and two saucepans, leaving them to dry as she scouted ingredients. She picked weevils out of the flour, lit the sooty stove and warmed water. “This would be better if I had yeast, but
for the moment…” The girls stared over her shoulders as she explained, keeping her hands and mind busy to avoid thinking about the future. “Tinned tomatoes are not much good either, but since they're here… Joseph, do you have any cheese?”

  Within an hour, Lydia had created a hot and crunchy flatbread with spiced tomatoes and bubbly melted cheese. Joseph's other whore – a sixteen-year-old twig of a girl named Maddie – wandered down to share the repast. Then, Joseph collected Rose and left the rest of them alone.

  Over the course of the next few days, Lydia cleaned the kitchen. New food arrived and she cooked. Meanwhile, the other girls 'auditioned' for Joseph, but when Lydia's turn came, he took her aside.

  “Look, Lydia, I know why you came here, but I don't think it's going to work. You're too afraid of men, and not to be rude, but you're not that pretty. That nose, you understand?”

  After a week of food, the thought of returning to the streets hurt more than the insult. “What am I going to do?” she asked aloud, lip trembling.

  “How did you like cooking for us?” he asked.

  Not sure why the words gave her a bubble of hope, Lydia answered, “I like to cook.”

  “Did you help at the restaurant? Do you know how to cook for a crowd?”

  “Of course,” she told him.

  “Well, I can offer you a job as my chef, then. You agreeable?” his false casual answer told Lydia this had been his intention from the beginning, and the attack on her appearance had only been a cover, not that she cared. Despite the guilt his offer produced, she couldn't help but agree.

  “I cooked,” she explained to Dylan, as the memory faded and her bedroom returned to focus, “but I knew that cooking in a whorehouse was no better than entertaining the gentlemen. I would never have a work history, so like the others, all I could do was save money, and I did. Ten years I hoarded every penny. And then I set out on my own, ended up in Garden City, bought a run-down horse barn and you know the rest.”

  She stared at the ceiling, unwilling to meet his eyes lest she see condemnation there. A lot of people are willing to judge a woman because of her associations. If Dylan is one of them, I need to know. “You see, I was willing to do what they did, and only luck spared me. Sometimes I wish it hadn't. I hate that my friends became whores and I maintained my virtue, at least physically. It seemed unfair, but that's how it happened. I worked at a whorehouse… as the cook.”