Cowboy For Hire

by Duncan, Alice

  “Amy, Amy,” he murmured “This is wrong.”

  “No, it’s not,” she murmured back. “We’re going to be married.”

  “But we’re not married yet.”

  “That’s all right, Charlie. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  How inadequate those words sounded. And how delicious was the notion of spending the night with Amy n this cozy hotel room. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was violating one of his own firm principles of proper behavior. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from continuing.

  The sweet, elusive fragrance of Amy’s perfume floated like an invisible cloud around him, and the feel of her hands on his body enchanted him, and her lips were like heaven, and the lure of her body was more than any mortal man could resist. And Charlie was nothing if not mortal. Every nerve in his body cried out for her, and his sex was already as hard as it could get and throbbed for her. Lord, how he wanted her.

  And then she said, “Please, Charlie. Please make love with me. Please teach me how to love you.”

  The very last of his resistance floated away like so much dandelion fluff. He thrust aside any lingering notion that this wasn’t the right thing to do and devoted his whole energy to making this experience good for Amy. He already knew it would be good for him.

  “I’ve dreamed of this, Charlie.”

  “You have?” He had, too. He didn’t know ladies had dreams like that. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  “Yes. I never thought it would happen. I always thought I’d have to marry someone I didn’t love and never experience this sort of thing.”

  He sat next to her on the bed, and she reached for his shirt buttons. He quickly wriggled out of his suit jacket so she’d have an easier job of it. “This sort of thing?” Great. His voice was going. He sounded like a sick frog.

  “You know—making love with the man of my dreams.”

  He watched her as she maneuvered his buttons open. “Am I the man of your dreams? Honest?” He shrugged off his shirt, collar and all, giving a fleeting thought to the collar studs, but not really much minding if Amy dropped them. They could get lost forever, for all he cared.

  “Honest. Of course you are. Do you think I’d do this with anyone who wasn’t?”

  Actually, it sounded to him as though she’d planned to do just that, if she’d assumed she’d marry someone she didn’t love. He didn’t bring it up because he didn’t care about that at the moment. He was too hot and too hard and too interested in seeing what she’d do next. “May I take your shoes off, Amy?” Above all things, he didn’t want to spook her.

  “Of course.”

  So he got off the bed, knelt before her, pushed a froth of chiffon and silk aside, lifted one little foot, and removed the pretty black evening slipper from it. “You’ve even got beautiful feet,” he murmured.

  “Thank you.”

  When he glanced up at her, he saw that she was blushing. Because he still wasn’t sure if she really aimed to see this thing through, he was gentle when he ran his hand up her calf. His aim was to reach her garter eventually, but he was going to take his time in case she got scared. “Your whole body is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She put her hands flat on the bed, bracing herself. Charlie hoped that wasn’t a precursor to flight. It didn’t look much like it, but what did he know? Licking his lips, wondering if it would kill him to stop, he asked cautiously, “Are you really sure, Amy? Are you positive you want to do this?”

  “I’m positive.”

  She sounded positive. After another moment’s hesitation, Charlie decided to take her at her word. If she backed out, it might kill him, but he’d stop if she asked him to. He loved her that much. And more. “I’ll, uh, just untie your garter, then.”

  “All right. Only they’re hooks, not the tie kind.”

  Hooks? Good God. Charlie’s hand stilled on her knee. “Um, I don’t reckon I know what that is, Amy.”

  “A hook? Well, it hands from the corset, you see. Here, I’ll show you.”

  And, lithe as a newborn colt, she slid from the bed and lifted her lovely evening dress. Charlie stared, astonished. He’d sort of expected that it would take Amy ten or twenty years to overcome her reservations around him, but he guessed he’d underestimated her. Thank God, thank God.

  “See?” she said. “It’s a newfangled type of corset. I’ll show you how these things work.”

  She did. She unhooked her gray silk stockings from the garter hook and began rolling the stockings down. Charlie, worried that she’d take all the fun out of his part in the enterprise, said, “Here. I’ll do that.”

  “All right.” She smiled at him sweetly and sat on the bed again.

  He rolled the first stocking down and went to the other leg. Her legs were gorgeous. Not that he didn’t already know that. He’s seen her legs that time when Huxtable had knocked the costume tent over. He’d never expected to be able to touch those beautiful legs, though. Or take stockings off them. But he’d be able to do those things for the rest of his life if she really planned to marry him. And she must be going to, or she wouldn’t be allowing him to do these things to her now. His hands were shaking slightly as he unhooked the other stocking, but it didn’t seem to matter; he got the job done, then rolled that stocking down, too, and licked his lips again.

  “There,” he said. “All done.”

  “What now?” she asked.

  “What now?” He looked up and found her gazing at him with infinite love and amazing trust. He silently vowed that he’d never violate that trust. He would never, ever, if it was within his power, do anything to hurt her. “I reckon we have to get the rest of these clothes out of the way.”

  She smiled uncertainly. “So that nothing will remain between us, you mean?”

  He nodded. “Something like that.” He was uncertain, too.

  “Well, then, maybe I should start.” She looked him straight in the eye as she unfastened the wide velvet belt at her waist and it fell away.

  Catching himself staring rudely, Charlie gave himself a sharp shake and said, “May I help with anything?” How polite of him, considering he was offering to aid in her deflowering.

  IF he didn’t stop thinking things like that, he’d ruin the evening for both of them. So he commanded himself to pretend that they were already married, that this was the night of their marriage. This was their wedding night, and they were in love, and he was going to make it special.

  “Help me slip this over my head, please,” she said, taking him up on his offer with much more aplomb than Charlie himself could muster.

  He did as requested, and heartily approved of the way Amy looked in her underthings. She was beautiful inside and out, and he loved her for it.

  “Will you unhook this thing in the back, please? It’s pretty tight. “I’ll try to suck in my tummy, but you’ll have to pinch a little bit, I fear.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She’d turned her back to him so that he could reach her corset hooks. At his last comment, she turned suddenly and threw her arms around him. He obliged instantly with an embrace of his own.

  “Oh, Charlie. I know you don’t want to hurt me. That’s what’s so extraordinary about you. You actually care about how I feel about things.”

  Startled, he blurted out, “Of course I do. What man wouldn’t?”

  After kissing him thoroughly—so thoroughly that Charlie almost forgot he’d vowed to take things slowly and would have ravished her on the spot if he’d not caught himself in time—Amy said, “I can think of one or two.” She sounded vaguely disgruntled about it.

  It took him a few moments to catch his breath, and by that time Amy had turned again. His hands shook as he unfastened the hooks. He didn’t have to pinch her. “I can’t believe that,” he gasped when he could.

  “You can’t believe what?”

  “That any man who got to know you wouldn’t care how you thought about
things.”

  “Well, it’s true. That’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you, Charlie, because you actually seemed to care about my likes and dislikes and hopes and fears.”

  He shook his head, unable to imagine that any man worth his salt could ignore Amy’s desires. Look at him, for heaven’s sake, violating one of his most firmly held moral values and going to bed with her before the wedding. Of course, he was consulting his own desires in this particular case, too, but still….

  The corset fell away, and Amy stood before him in her drawers and camisole. She turned to face him and , very slowly, slipped the camisole over her head. He swallowed hard.

  “Lord,” he whispered in awe. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  She untied the tapes of her drawers and pushed them down, then stepped out of them as if stepping from a mound of snow. Then she stood before him, as naked as the day she was born, gorgeous perfect—and his. He felt humbled for a moment.

  The moment didn’t last long. “It’ll only take me a second,” he said in a shaking voice. And he was almost right. It took him about a second and a half to rid himself of the remainder of his evening clothes. He flung them anywhere. He didn’t care; he was in a hurry now.

  He slowed down considerably when he realized Amy was staring at his engorged sex, which was standing at attention and saluting her smartly. He glanced down at himself and had to own that such a large, masculine tool must look kind of alarming to a gently reared virgin. “I’m sorry, Amy. I shouldn’t have gone so fast. Don’t be scared.”

  “Um, I’m not scared.” She sounded scared to death.

  “I’m sure you must be. It’s … strange at first, I reckon. But don’t forget that people have been doing this since the Garden of Eden. It’s how the race of man survives.”

  “How—how, um, interesting.”

  Charlie had never considered himself much of a martyr, but his next words elevated him in his own mind to the stature of absolute hero. With leaden hart and throbbing sex, he asked softly, “Do you want to stop now, Amy?”

  He’d have done it, too. Lord above, he must really love the woman, because he was sure he’d keel over and die on the spot if she said yes.

  “She said, “No.”

  He shut his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. Opening them again, he said, “Here, Amy. Take my hand. We’ll lie down, and I’ll try to make you forget how strange it all is. It feels real good, honey. Honest, it does.”

  It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d said, It had better, but she didn’t. She only said, “All right, Charlie,” in a trusting little voice that about broke his heart—but didn’t do a thing to diminish his lusting manhood.

  He led her to the bed and carefully lifted her onto it. Her skin felt like silk and satin and all the other smooth and luscious things in the world. “Your skin is sure pretty, Amy.” Lame. That was about as lame a comment as a man could make under the circumstances. “I—I like to stroke your skin because it’s so silky.”

  Amy, bless her, only said, “Thank you. I—like to feel your skin, too. It’s so rough compared to mine.”

  “It sure is.”

  With a combination of fear and excitement that was more potent than any combination of emotions and physical sensations he’d ever experienced before, Charlie began a tactile survey of her body. As he feathered small, warm kisses over her face, his hands roved freely. “I hope my calluses don’t hurt you.”

  “They don’t hurt,” she assured him.

  And since she was at the moment thrusting her breast into his palm, he guessed she meant it. He obliged her, rubbing his thumb gently over her nipple until it pebbled and hardened. Then he kissed her there, warming her breast with his tongue, taking the nipple between his teeth and gently tugging.

  “Oh, Charlie!”

  He stopped instantly, freezing into immobility, frightened nearly to death that he’d hurt her. She grabbed his head and bent it over her breast. “Don’t stop. Oh, please don’t stop now!”

  So he didn’t.

  He’d been grazing on various parts of her for a long time when he became aware that she’d spoken to him. His concentration was so entirely centered on his sexual needs—and hers; he was always conscious of making her feel good—that he hadn’t been paying attention to the sound of things. The first words that came through the sexual fog in his brain was, “Well?”

  He blinked and lifted his head. He’d been maneuvering down to the curls between her legs, taking his time. “I, uh, beg your pardon?”

  “I asked if you’d mind,” she said, as if she were repeating something she’d already said once or twice.

  Oh, God, was she going to make him stop now? He’d surely die. “Mind what?” he asked, perhaps too abruptly.

  “If I felt your body the way you’re feeling mine,” she said sweetly—oh, so sweetly.

  Charlie wasn’t sure he should believe what his ears had heard, since he was pretty sure his brain was making it all up and she’d actually aid something entirely different. He took a chance anyway. “Er, no. No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  Thank God, thank God, she began to touch him. He hadn’t misunderstood her. He groaned, unable to keep it inside any longer.

  “Oh, did that hurt?” she asked, lifting her hand from his stiff sex.

  “Lord, no, honey. That feels just fine.” He groaned again when she replaced her hand. “Just … fine.”

  All right, he’d been a good boy. He’d gone slow. It was time to take a major step here, before he exploded. With a feeling akin to reverence, Charlie let his hand creep to the juncture of her thighs, to where the soft, springy curls hid her woman’s most precious treasure.

  Heaven—or something—rained its mercies upon him; she was ready for him. He could tell by the dampness he felt and the fact that her hips lifted to meet his fingers. Her cry of pleasure helped him reach the conclusion, as well.

  “Oh, Charlie! That feels so good.”

  “It sure does, honey.” His fingers stroked her slick folds for a couple of moments; then he carefully dipped one finger into her passage. He knew there would be a barrier to his sex, but he hoped it wouldn’t be painful when he broke through.

  And as there was only one way to find out, Charlie guessed it was about time. If he didn’t do it soon, he’d disgrace himself, and he didn’t think he could stand that.

  “Um, Amy, do you think you’re ready?”

  She’d had her eyes closed, and was engaged in a blissful rhythm in time to the stroking of his fingers. Her eyelids fluttered once or twice, and her eyes looked unfocused when they sought his face. “Ready? For what?”

  He closed his eyes, too, and sighed. “For me. For the act of love. For what this is all leading up to.”

  She blinked a couple of time. “Oh. Why, certainly. I guess so.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “You know more about this than I do.”

  True. He wasn’t as experienced as lots of men, but he’d known a woman or two in his day. And since that was the case, he decided for her. With a brisk nod, he said, “You’re ready.”

  “Good.”

  She reached for him, which made it easy for him to kneel over her. He hoped she could read the love in his eyes as he gazed at her. “Help guide me in, Amy,” he said, and he took her hand and put it around his erect member.

  So she did. With one more “Oh, Charlie,” she guided him home.

  He’d never felt anything like it. She was as warm and wet and smooth as anything. Her passage was tight and seemed to suck him in. He sighed deeply and kissed her hard. “God, I love you, Amy.”

  “I love you, Charlie.”

  He came to the barrier of her virginity and paused. He didn’t want to hurt her almost as much as he needed to accomplish this deed.

  “Keep going, Charlie. I know it might hurt a little,” she said.

  He silently blessed her as the most absolutely perfect woman
in the world as he pushed past the barrier. She gasped, and he stilled, holding himself back with all the strength of character and body he possessed. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” If she wasn’t, he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it at this point.

  “Yes. I’m sure I am. Just wait a minute.”

  So he did. Charlie had always known himself to be a man of patience; patience was a virtue in any kind of ranching operation. Cattle weren’t know for their swift thinking or cooperative nature. The patience and restraint he showed with Amy, however, impressed even himself.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “Tell me when, sweetheart.”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “All right. I think I’m all right now.”

  Thank God. With a huge exhalation of breath, Charlie let himself go. He didn’t want to hurt her. He tried to be gentle. But he didn’t stop again. Since he was so close the edge, he reached between their bodies and found the nub of Amy’s pleasure and began to stroke it gently.

  She gasped. “Oh, my!”

  He began to drip sweat on her, and was sorry about it, but he was, after all, only a man. “Does that feel good?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her hips lifted. “Oh, yes!”

  He felt her climax happen, and it surprised the hell out of him. He hadn’t really expected it—not their first time together. Hell, he’d been under the impression that lots of wives only submitted to their husbands out of duty. He was so happy to find out Amy wasn’t one of them, he could have hollered his joy to the sky, except that his climax came almost as soon as he felt hers, and his voice box was occupied in crying out her name.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there afterwards, too enervated to move, but eventually he managed to move so that he wasn’t crushing her with his weight. She was such a tiny thing. Delicate. Fragile. And he’d forced his big, rough self on her. Well, perhaps not forced.

  When he thought he could speak without gasping, he stroked her stomach—which was damp with perspiration—and whispered, “Are you all right, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”