Ivy sighed. If she was to continue learning the telegraph, she should learn all of this equipment as well. “No, I wasn’t cussing. He just wants honey. He’s gone back to Sherman Summit, so you won’t meet him today. I’m filthy, and I don’t even know where my bedroom is.”
“I should like to know that as well,” said Harley, looking back to his lens. “That bathtub Neil mentioned sounds intriguing.”
And, perhaps Ivy’s biggest shock in a thoroughly shocking day, Harley uttered some flowery sentences in a language presumably Spanish directed at the black-haired maid.
The maid seemed pleased by his commands or requests and immediately scurried off. That was how Ivy got her very first, and most luxurious, bath in Dakota Territory.
Chapter Six
Harland Park eased into the tub of steaming water.
Of course, being a gentleman, he’d allowed Ivy Hudson to bathe first. So it had taken a couple hours for Guadalupe to fill not one but two tubs of water. She’d even thrown some rosemary sprigs and rosewater into the bath for Harley, as she’d apparently taken a special liking to him as one of the few people who’d bothered learning Spanish.
Now Harley gripped his cock in his powerful fist. He’d been looking forward to a good frigging for hours—no, days. Apparently the peach pits and camphor didn’t have the desired effect of cooling down his ardor, and spending time close to the bountiful Miss Hudson didn’t help either. He drizzled sandalwood oil over the bulbous head of his cock and caressed it, his thighs spreading as he slid down into the heavenly scented water.
Harley was something of a master—or at least an enthusiastic student—of all things sexual. His overabundance of carnal urges had landed him in trouble more than once. It wasn’t seemly for a British army officer to be seen translating scintillating Arabian love manuals in his tent. So that had already raised the suspicion of his superiors when he’d been assigned to investigate Indian male brothels. There had been rumors that they were catering to British soldiers, and since Harley could speak Sindhi, could pass as a local in disguise, and was a sharp observer of mankind, his superior told him to infiltrate and report back.
Only, his report had been a bit too detailed. It had been quickly squelched, never seen again, and mysteriously Harley began to be bypassed for promotions that he was obviously overqualified for. When he’d been assigned to some backwater hellhole in West Africa, he’d quit in anger and come to America. He’d imagined Americans, with their forward-thinking frontier spirit, would be more aligned with his open-minded nature.
Harley once again thought about the assignment to the male brothel. There were many rumors afterward that he had participated in the inverted activities. He had, of course, but hadn’t written it from that point of view in his report. He had been eager and willing to play with the androgynes who populated that brothel. Since they didn’t recognize him as an army officer and he freely paid them in coin, he became quite a popular client.
“Harley?”
Ivy was whispering at the bathroom door! Stunned, Harley didn’t release his cock, but his free hand reached for a towel. “Yes, my dear?”
“May I come in? A messenger has come from Dale Creek Bridge with a telegram from my father. There’s some problem with some railroad ties. Some engineering difficulty. The messenger is waiting in the parlor for your answer.”
“Yes, come in.” As there was a silk dressing screen that already shaded the tub from sight—and Harley had absolutely no fear of being seen in the buff anyway—he let go of his grip on his prick and stood, streaming water down his limbs.
Ivy’s lantern glow lit up the rose-colored screen, and her silhouette moved silently into the room. She must’ve put her lamp on a table, for her form moved closer as he absentmindedly rubbed his torso with a towel. “Do you want to read the telegram aloud?”
Ivy did so. The slope of the riverbank appeared somewhat steeper than Harley’s drawings indicated, perhaps due to recent erosion.
“I have a pen,” said Ivy, apparently settling herself on a small bench.
Harley was in no great rush to dress—just the luxury of being naked ten feet away from a luscious, desirable woman like Ivy was enough to quell that idea. He had wanted to shave, but the basin and mirror were on her side of the screen, so he continued languidly toweling himself off as he dictated a response.
It wasn’t until he was halfway done dictating the telegram that he noticed with a pleasant shock that the lamp on his side of the screen was throwing a scintillating erotic shadow on the rose silk curtain. His erection had only deflated by about half in his pondering on the scaffolding problem, and now when he lifted his arm to towel off his underarm, its formidable shadow swayed heavily, like the shadow puppet of a fist holding an apple.
Ivy was particularly quiet, her pen scraping the paper. He almost imagined he could hear her breathing heavily. Unashamed, Harley turned this way and that to get a better angle, the silhouette of his entire form athletic and sculpted like a Dionysian marble statue. It stimulated him, too, the idea that Ivy was drinking in the vision from her side of the screen, so of course his prick erected again until it stood out at a right angle—a very fine form indeed.
He finished dictating his advice to Mr. Hudson, and Ivy scurried off. Harley now discovered that toweling off his chest caused his cock to bob alluringly in the air. What a lecher he was, basically displaying his nude body to this hapless gal who, for all he knew, was a virgin! And the daughter of his host, no less! Since she had run off from her fiancé before the wedding, chances were she’d never fucked the poor sap, and if she’d been caring for her ailing mother for the past ten years, perhaps she never had fucked a man.
He could very well be terrifying her with his prideful, vain display, so he was a bit relieved when the letter was finished and she left to hand it to the messenger. He must absolutely go back into town and “dab it up” with those prairie flowers, as Neil Tempest no doubt would say. Then thinking of Neil Tempest had his cock hardening once more, so he stepped into a pair of long, tight drawers and cinched his rebellious appendage up near his hip.
Good Lord! There were hundreds of potent, robust Irishmen working the Hell on Wheels rails. He could easily ride out there and temporarily satisfy his overwhelming urges with a few quick bumfucks without terrorizing this poor woman with a silhouette of his enormous cock. Particularly after having just fled from an undesirable fiancé, she was probably much more interested in the exciting paranormal adventures apparently going on in town than in ogling his bull’s cock.
He did want to find a spot to set up his darkroom equipment in preparation for going to the undertaker’s tomorrow. He was just stepping out from behind the screen when again the bathroom door was pushed open, timidly and softly. Ivy’s rounded, sensuous face appeared above her lamp, and she asked quietly, “Harley?”
He was shocked to see her back again. “Yes?”
“You said you wanted to be shaved. I’m fairly good at that. I shaved my father for many years.”
Relief washed through him that Ivy had not fled in horror from his shadow-puppet show. “Certainly. That’d be very welcome.”
He may have been imagining it that her eyes swept halfway down the front of his body as he stepped fully away from the screen, bare chested, to sit before the dressing table. She smiled at him in the mirror, placing her fingers on his chin and shifting his face this way and that in the lamplight. The brushing of her silken lap against his shoulder gave rise to gooseflesh that stiffened his nipples, and her abundant bosom hovered just inches from his neck.
He was sure he would never be able to endure being shaved but nearly spit when she casually asked, “I was wondering if you’d finish telling me what the peach pits were for. You seem very well versed in Oriental arts.”
Harley wished she would get sent back home as soon as possible. He would never be able to tolerate being in her voluptuous presence without taking objectionable actions that would land them both in a heap of trouble.<
br />
* * * *
Ivy had been planning the question for several hours, but when it echoed about the room so blatantly like that, even she was taken aback.
She knew the peach pits had some erotic importance. He had already told her in the pharmacy they were to reduce “carnal appetite.” So to cover her boldness, as though she asked questions like this every day of the week, she added a few drops of water to the shaving mug and swirled the brush around in it. “I mean, why would anyone want to reduce appetite of that nature? Isn’t having a hearty appetite a good thing?”
She hadn’t expected a man of such experience to be this flustered, but he squirmed uncomfortably on his stool. He frowned, compressing his handsome brow. “I can guarantee you, when the ‘hunger pangs’ get in the way of everyday life, it’s a definite detriment.”
“Give me an example.” Harley seemed to relax when she leaned over his shoulder and touched the brush to his face. It amused her to see the gooseflesh rise on his shoulders. And she had been so titillated by the shadow of his enormous erection behind that screen she was almost afraid to think of it again. Obviously it had stimulated her to heights she’d never achieved before, to make her come back into the bathroom and offer to shave him after such a shock.
When she came back in, he’d been standing by the screen, no longer protected by its curtains. She’d never witnessed such a stimulating sight. His bare chest was so robust and well developed she wouldn’t be surprised if he could crush a man’s throat with one hand. The sprinkling of shiny dark hair on his athletic pectorals arrowed down the center of his abdomen into a delicious pelt. She was tempted with its mysteries where it plunged beneath the waist of the tight drawers that left almost nothing to the imagination.
Steamy moisture bloomed between her thighs, and she knew she had made the right choice in returning. She had wanted adventure, and here it was.
“Well. There were many times in India when I should’ve been with my regiment but was discovered in the arms of a woman. Or somewhere else I shouldn’t have been. I become entirely too distracted by situations of a sensual nature.”
“I don’t see anything wrong in that,” said Ivy.
“Oh, you would,” Harley said, almost happily. “If it had gotten you demoted.”
“Well. There seemed to be some indication that Neil perhaps has the opposite…ah, problem. What was the mention of that special tea he needed?”
“Oh, yes.” Harley chuckled. Ivy stopped him by dabbing shaving cream on his upper lip. But he’d warmed to his subject. “The prick tea. I’m sure it was a mistake on Chang’s part. Although it was amusing to see Neil’s panic-stricken reaction to being caught ordering prick tea. From what I’ve seen, the head of security doesn’t seem to lack in that department. He’s a plenty lusty fellow and certainly capably endowed. Have you ever seen such a good-looking, virile cove?”
“Yes,” Ivy breathed. You, she wanted to say but stopped herself. “I mean, being imprisoned, if that’s what he was, wouldn’t seem to give a fellow much of a chance to practice the erotic arts.” It was invigorating, discussing forbidden subjects with such a cultivated, sophisticated man. When she leaned forward one more inch to set down the shaving mug, the bare slope of her upper breasts lightly touched his hot, muscled shoulder. How she wanted to lean down and lick it! The heat would burn her tongue, but the skin shone darkly, as if exposed to sun rays, so it would feel buttery. She couldn’t allow herself to imagine Harley working out of doors, shirtless, striding about in his confident way.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. And impressed.”
She had just picked up the straight razor and was testing it with her thumb for sharpness when Harley’s meaning sunk in. Ouch. That razor was plenty sharp. “Do you mean…” She hardly trusted herself to hold the razor to his muscular throat, she was trembling with such anticipation. Anticipation of the naughty, obscene subjects they were flirtatiously skirting around. The scent of sandalwood wafted from his vibrant torso. She had never stood so close to such a virile, potent man, and odd, new sensations wracked her body.
Harley’s eyes flashed with illicit intent. “Yes. I do mean. There is nothing wrong in consorting with members of the same sex. Illicita libido has been enjoyed from Rome to Egypt. Priestly castes were centers of sodomy from Mesopotamia to Mexico.”
Ivy held her breath as she shaved his throat. Images of the robust, manly Neil merely kissing another man were so forbidden yet arousing, a drip of juice slithered down her inner thigh. Was Harley just inventing these scenarios to stimulate her? If so, it was working. Very well indeed. She tried to scoff so as not to let on how strongly his stories affected her. “I cannot picture a hale man like Neil consorting with other men.”
Harley shrugged when she rinsed the steel blade in the basin. “I am rarely ever wrong about these things. Being imprisoned with no outlet for one’s sexual urges creates odd bedfellows.”
Gritting her teeth with determination, Ivy returned the blade to the side of his face. “You know so much about it. Have you engaged in such perverted activities?”
True, he could not very well answer, not with a blade scraping the skin an inch from his mouth. Ivy felt triumphant. Perhaps she had silenced him. But in order to still his face to shave it, she had to cradle his smooth chin in her free hand. His heated, damp neck steamed against her bosom, and she wanted nothing more than to place her open mouth atop his. His cock twitched amply, straining against the thin fabric of his tight drawers—a monumental, bulging appendage when compared to the few members she’d viewed in her time. She knew if she was bold enough to kiss him, the prick would spurt drops of tasty jism, and she enjoyed having that sort of sexual power over men.
But she couldn’t kiss him. She was shaving him. And they were discussing inverted men, men who performed sodomy with each other. These ideas were stimulating her so intensely she actually felt weak in the knees.
When she again rinsed the blade, he said, “I’ve dabbled in it now and again. It’s just a different manifestation of an average sexual urge. I’m a firm believer in indulging in whatever your blood demands at the moment.”
Her blood demanded that she kiss him. She scraped some more soap from his face instead. “And has your blood demanded that you become intimate with Neil?” She was hesitant to scrape over the three-inch-long scar than ran from his lower jawbone to his earlobe.
He grinned but folded his hands on top of the silken arrow that disappeared down the center of his abdomen. “If he’s so inclined. It’s all a matter of how inclined a person is, you see.”
“Well. I beg to differ. I doubt such a frontiersman as Neil would be inclined to touch another man. Doesn’t he own a cattle ranch next to that dead man’s? And he works at Fort Sanders?” Oh dear. An isolated fort packed with masculine outdoorsmen. Perhaps she wasn’t making her point very well. “How did you get this scar? It’s obviously all right if I shave over it.”
“By all means. I took a javelin through the jaw in Somalia.”
Ivy didn’t even know where Somalia was. She imagined it was somewhere near India. Her blade scratched over the imposing, deep scar. “Do the armies usually use javelins?
“No. It wasn’t an army. A tribesman took offense that we were journeying through his territory. In Africa,” he added with amusement.
Ivy was shocked he had guessed her ignorance. And she wasn’t done with her original topic yet. “But…you do like women, don’t you? I mean, kissing them, and…”
“Making love to women? Of course. But you’re venturing into dangerous territory, my dear. A man who needs to steep peach pits in tea water to dull his erection does not need to discuss lovemaking to be carried away by lust. Especially not in the presence of a buxom, intelligent creature such as yourself.”
Ivy gasped at the boldness of his statement. Her numb fingers tossed the blade into the bowl of water. Her only task left was to grab a clean towel and press it to his face. There was a bottle of rosewater on the vanity table, but s
he didn’t want this seductive libertine smelling like her father. Going behind the screen to the small table by the tub, Ivy found the bottle of sandalwood oil Harley must have used to masturbate with in the bath—she knew he’d been doing that when she’d first walked in. Men must do that often, she’d always suspected, judging from the two lovers she had had in her life.
She returned to stand behind him, watching him pat his neck in the mirror. She said thoughtfully, “I suppose I’ve gotten myself into trouble. But perhaps I don’t really consider it ‘trouble.’”
He tossed the towel onto the table and looked at her askance. He was even more exquisitely attractive when bathed, rich, dark curls hugging his head and gleaming in the lamplight. Ivy felt womanly to the core, being stared at by such an arrogant satyr of a man with such perceptive, flashing eyes. His penis bulged so blatantly she could swear she saw the thick length of it throbbing. “If it’s not trouble, then it could reasonably be called pleasure.”
Ivy uncorked the bottle and reached both hands in front of Harley. Pouring a bit of the sandalwood oil into one palm, she rubbed it into his chin. Every last nerve in her body tingled with excitement to once again feel a man’s skin against hers. She moved so close his thickly curled locks were cradled against her abdomen, so warm and silky she yearned to plunge her fingers through them. If she rolled her hips slightly side to side, the hard sinews of his back rubbed her labia against each other, pulpy and engorged with craving.
She said softly, “Yes. Some physical contact is pleasurable. Most is distinctly unpleasant. But the two men I’ve made love with have been very agreeable.”
Although his eyes were sliding closed, like a cat reveling in the rubbing of her fingers, Harley muttered, “Two men? So you’re not a virgin.”
“Oh, far from it,” she murmured. With her thumbs she massaged his cheekbones, and he allowed his head to loll back against her lap. Such full, sensuous lips. Such a strong and chiseled chin. Sliding one palm down that full, columnar throat, Ivy bent and sucked the shapely lips between hers.
Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5
