by Barbara Dan
Lydia squealed with delight and whirled to flee. Her saucy smile suggested a pillow fight. Catching her around the waist, Bruce scooped her up and carried her, playfully struggling and laughing, back to their haven.
Grabbing the wine bottle on the way to bed, she locked her arms around his neck.
"Come play with me, Bruce." She reached down to caress him boldly.
"Enough, Lydia. I'm ready to burst," he admitted, embarrassed by the size of his erection after several weeks of abstinence.
"Poor lamb." She pressed her lips to his neck, breathing in his manly scent, then handed him the wine bottle. "Care to pop the cork?"
Clambering into bed, she shook out her golden mane. Tantalizing glimpses of breast and hip made him even more randy as he made haste to join her in bed.
Nibbling her finger, she watched him grip the bottle between his knees and wrestle with the cork. The sight of two protrusions between his legs filled her head with impish thoughts.
"Ooh, what ideas that gives me," she said with a naughty laugh.
"You are definitely a bad influence," Bruce agreed, working the cork free. "Where are the glasses, my little pigeon?" Lydia promptly produced glasses, which he filled. "To our continuing romance," he toasted her.
"To passion!" she boldly declared, watching him over her glass.
"I see you baked my favorite cake." Bruce let her lead the way, knowing how much she enjoyed their games of seduction. "What say we enjoy this together in bed, all that luscious, gooey chocolate?"
"Sounds very wicked and decadent," said Lydia, matching his light-hearted mood.
Settled comfortably against a bank of pillows, Bruce took a sip of wine. "Seems to me, I read about this years ago in Latin class."
"You mean—a Roman orgy?" Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, Lydia took her time peeling him an orange. "I see we've read some of the same forbidden literature."
"Who was that poet?" He snapped his fingers, searching in vain through the cobwebs of time, and came up empty. As a venturesome lad, he'd been too busy sticking girls' pigtails in inkwells to pay much attention to stuffy dead poets.
"Ovid." Lydia giggled, forgetting she was a vamp. "But who cares about the author, as long as you remember what an orgy is."
He ogled her plump breasts. "On with the orgy," he proclaimed and made a playful grab.
"You haven't tried the cheese yet," Lydia reminded him in a soft, seductive tone. "It's very nice," she assured him, taking a nibble.
"First let me look at you. All of you. You are distracting as hell, woman." He lifted her hair, spreading it wide in his hands, for a better look at her voluptuous curves.
Lydia blushed. "No fair, Bruce. If you get to peek, so do I." She began to peel his robe off his broad shoulders.
"What in particular captures your fancy, my love?"
"You know," she said evasively; looking him over.
"Ah, yes," he said with a teasing laugh. "I recall you're quite fond of my knees."
"Aye," she agreed quickly. "They're truly magnificent knees. No doubt about it!"
"You know what I like best about you?" he asked, passing the wine.
She took a tiny sip and shook her head.
He smiled broadly. "I'll give you three guesses what I like most about you."
"Heavens, Bruce. I have no idea what a man finds most attractive about a woman." She fell silent for a second, then brightened. "My hair?"
He shook his head.
"My eyes?"
"Wrong again. Give up?"
"Wait! I get one more chance." She looked down at herself and frowned slightly. "I suppose you're going to say my breasts. Am I right?" She smiled hopefully.
Bruce threw back his head and laughed. His hands ceased playing in her beautiful hair, and he gazed at her thoughtfully, taking in the full measure of her. "Lydia MacGregor, what I like most about you is—" He paused to give her a soulful kiss.
"What, Bruce, what?" she whispered breathlessly, when he lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes.
"Your enormous capacity for love. I never realized how much until this evening."
"But—" She gave him a puzzled look. "I thought we were talking about what we liked best about each other's bodies."
"Oh, Lydia," he groaned, "I love you, dammit. As obsessed as I am with your beauty, 'tis nothing compared to the beautiful woman you are inside. Even when you're an old lady, I'll still be madly in love with you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Moved by his passionate declaration, Lydia found herself fighting not to tear up. "Bruce, I love you, too. More than life itself," she said. "Maybe even more than your knees."
Laughter mingled with a deeper joy, as they hugged with a wild need to be closer than skin, to be inside each other. Feeling randy as hell and a little tipsy on her wine-sweet kisses, Bruce finally came up for air. Not wanting to rush their lovemaking, he picked up the chocolate cake situated between the candles and the cheese.
"Hoot mon! I 'd love a big slice of chocolate cake about now!"
Lydia sat up, dragging her hair back from her face. For a minute she thought he'd gone daft. But then, recalling his Herculean defense of her down on the dock, she realized that they both had good reason to feel a bit peckish.
"You know, you're right." Lydia propped herself on one elbow, and stuck her finger in the icing with an impish grin. "Guess what, Bruce? I forgot to bring a knife to cut this."
"Use a fork."
She giggled. "I forgot the forks."
He sighed and cast a longing look at the sinfully rich chocolate cake. "That's what I get for marrying such a brilliant wife."
"You're not going to let a little thing like that stop you, are you, darling?" Lydia recklessly plunged four digits into the gooey confection, broke off a chunk, and offered it to him.
"I'm game." Bruce grinned, willing to go along with whatever her creative imagination came up with, "as long as I get to feed you, too."
"Enjoy, Bruce," she purred, watching him eat from her hand. For a moment he busily devoured her hand. By the time the cake was eaten, his lips and nose were covered with frosting. Lydia giggled at the comical sight and reached for another piece.
"Oh, no, you don't, wench!" Grabbing her hand, Bruce began to suck frosting from her fingers. "Delicious!"
Lydia grabbed another fistful with her free hand and held it out. "Have some more."
"No, it's my turn to feed you," he insisted, offering his starving wife a generous portion.
"Very well, if you're not hungry anymore." She wiped the thick scrumptious frosting on both her nipples and her navel with a naughty smile.
Bruce's hot, sexy brown eyes sent her a message that almost melted the dark sugary icing. He drew the covers to the bottom of the bed, out of range. "You don't play fair, Lydia. You promised that I could feed you."
"Well?" She laughed coquettishly, gazing at his swollen member.
"Don't tempt me, woman. This could get pretty messy," he warned, looking dubious.
She pouted. "Not even a little blob?"
"We'll see," Bruce promised indulgently. "Now open your mouth like a good little girl and eat your cake."
Lydia closed her eyes and opened her mouth trustingly. Bruce placed a morsel on her tongue, at the same time lowering his mouth to sample her pastries.
"Ah, Nipples Napoleon," he said, licking and sucking noisily.
She lounged against the pillows, arching and moaning while he fed her. "No fair, Bruce. I only got one bite."
"God, but you've got an insatiable appetite," Bruce complained, trying to keep her busy, while he enjoyed the snacks she provided.
Finally Bruce ran out of cake. He licked the platter clean, pausing to tickle her navel with his tongue, and Lydia fell into a fit of giggles.
Then he took a small dollop of frosting and placed it strategically.
"Here you are, my dear," he announced, "right on the tip of me spoon."
Lydia opened languid eyes, re
ady to dispute his claim.
He flexed it at her, making it wave in a friendly manner. "Come an' get it, sweetheart."
Bounding up with all the eagerness of an overactive puppy, Lydia launched herself at him. "Well, it's about time!"
"Take it easy, love," Bruce laughed, as she pushed him onto his back. "I have other plans for it later."
"So do I," the brazen hussy replied, sucking on her treat. "Haven't tasted anything this good since my mother used to let me lick the bowl," she rejoiced.
Bruce lay panting and writhing in ecstasy. "I love your chocolate icing!"
"Secret recipe," mumbled Lydia, licking and sucking.
There was a long arduous pause before Lydia swallowed the last of the lusciously moist confection. She raised her head and grinned like a mischievous urchin with chocolate on her lips.
Her cravings heightened by their love play, Lydia surrendered possession of her prize and tumbled into his arms, kissing him feverishly. Bruce pulled her down on top of him, and she felt a nudge between her legs. His hands fondled her firm breasts, tugging the nipples gently, then Bruce slid into her with delicious slowness, his penetration just deep enough to stir the fire within.
"I, too, am hungry," he said in a low husky voice, "every time I look at you. Feed me from the fountain of your abundant love."
Eager to engage in this latest intimacy, Lydia flexed her hips and pushed against his turgid member, moving with him. As she felt him swell and pulse inside her, she straddled him and folded her arms across her chest, imitating a familiar stance of her sea captain husband. It amused her to think of herself as being in charge of pleasuring this huge Scottish rogue pirate.
"Well, lad, what will it take to get you up and back into action?" she growled in a low voice.
"Try a bust in the mouth!" he surprised her by saying, and pulled her down into his arms. He blew on her neck and tickled her.
"So you need a bit of roughing up?" She dangled her breasts in his face and proceeded to slide up and down on his hardened member.
"Gently, lass!" he protested, grasping her by the hips and guiding her in a more perfect rhythm. He tugged at her nipples and thrust deeply, while still allowing her full freedom to pleasure herself. "Take full advantage, love. Give me what-for!"
"What-for!" Lydia laughed.
Soon the bed began to shake, the drapes swaying to and fro, and the room began to pitch and yaw. The sturdy legs began to rock back and forth, moving the fourposter and its occupants across the floor. Lydia wondered if the bed would survive their passion. As her body began to hum with ecstasy, she ceased to care. If the bed capsized, Bruce would buy a stronger one. Or buy a bear skin rug.
But then, history was never made without living dangerously! She held on tight to the bedpost, panting and swaying. as he pumped deeper and harder inside her. He was so swollen and deep that they were virtually one! Her body was on fire! Loving Bruce, she couldn't get enough of him. As she neared her climax, all that mattered was that Bruce loved what she was doing to him and was giving as good as he got. Whatever "what-for" was, he was getting plenty of it!
When it was over, they both had silly grins on their faces. Bruce threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Thanks, lady," he sang out. "I'm done for!"
He urged her down beside him, both breathing hard. "Let me catch my second wind," he begged, when she began to caress his thigh. "You're a hard woman to keep up with."
"You're the one who's hard," Lydia purred, sounding like a cat licking cream.
"So I am," he agreed, slightly amazed that she had such powers over him. He let out an amused chuckle at the new glint of interest warming her violet-blue gaze. "'Incorrigible wench!"
"Oh, Bruce," she sighed, nuzzling his ear, "I love feeling you come into me and—"
"Aye, we share a special magic, love," he said, feeling his body grow turgid with desire.
"I feel like I'm going to explode," Lydia whispered, deliberately provoking his libido.
Instantly under her spell, Bruce captured her lips and began to make love to her mouth. "Tell me what you want, Lydia. Tell me if this feels good." He began to pay tribute to her breasts, suckling and gently teasing the cockled buds. Feeling her eager response, he took her in his powerful arms, and raising her hips against his engorged phallus, began to rock. "Tell me how much you want this, Lydia."
"I want it inside me," she whimpered.
"How much do you want it?" He began sliding the swollen tip back and forth like a magic wand against her warm sleek stomach. His tongue entered her mouth, imitating the loving he wanted to give her. "Do you want it slow and hot? Long and hard?" he whispered in her ear.
"Yes!" Lydia arched against him, trying to position herself for penetration, but Bruce for once was determined to prolong and enjoy her sensuality as long as he could hold out. He had what she wanted. She was his ultimate fantasy, and he wanted to give her a night they'd both remember always. He wanted to wipe out the horror of what had transpired down at the waterfront. He wanted to seal her to himself, heart and soul, for all eternity.
"Beg me, Lydia." He began to tease, touching her, yet withholding what she so desperately wanted. Her body was open to him, her arms and legs wrapped around him, as she arched and moved against him in frenzied little thrusts. "Tell me how you want me to give it to you."
With soft impatient cries, Lydia covered his face with passionate kisses. "Please, Bruce!" she urged. "Put it inside me. Deep! Love me hard. Let me feel it deep inside. Let me love you hard. I need . . . this!" Her warm hand reached down between them and guided him to the hot, moist center of her passion. "Oh, Bruce, give it to me long, and hard, and hot!"
At her fevered touch, Bruce gave himself up to instinct . . . and to what he knew and loved most about Lydia. Slowly he eased himself inside her tight, hot little furnace, marveling at how slick she felt. She was fiery hot and fully engaged, which made the passage to ecstasy so exquisite for them both.
He pushed in deeply, then slowly withdrew until only the head remained inside. He plunged deeper, feeling her body clasp and embrace and milk him with tiny quivering spasms. He sucked her breast rhythmically until her breath quickened to match his. He drew out of her again, swollen and engorged by her tightness. As her soft eager cries heralded her climax, he flexed, reaching even deeper, seeking to become one with this fantastic woman, who filled his humdrum life with such beauty.
"I feel you kissing me deep inside you!" he breathed. "Do you feel it? We're about to touch heaven together . . . Hold on, Lydia, I feel you quivering, sweetheart."
And then he was pumping himself into her in swift powerful strokes, urgent, yet gentle. He surged deeply and held her close, rocking, caught up in his own climax and rejoicing in her own wild thrusts as she came to completion. They kissed, mouths and tongues celebrating their glorious joining, and then they fell into the well sated sleep of two become one.
* * *
When he woke at dawn, Lydia stood over him, hands on hips, legs slightly spread, her head cocked to one side. Regarding him sprawled across the bed, which had traveled clear across the room in the midst of their wild lovemaking.
"Brun shredded my nightgown and scattered it all over the lawn." she informed him. "What will our neighbors think?"
Bruce looked up, his hand running idly up and down the inside of her thigh. "That a beautiful wood nymph waylaid a poor American seaman on his way home last night?"
"What a wild imagination you have, sir!" She shook her head, looking down at him fondly. "Seriously, have you any idea what it will take to set this room to rights? It's a wreck!"
"Aye," he pulled her down on top of him and smoothed a golden curl from her face, "but what a night we had, love!"
Chapter Thirty-One
Buried on the third page, the New London Gazette carried a short item:
"Captain Bruce MacGregor and first mate
Zech Thomsen left for New York City by
overland coach the 5th November, to serve
with Commodore Stephen Decatur aboard
the USS President."
* * *
Will this war never end? Sick with worry, Lydia pushed aside the January 31st edition of the Gazette and got back to the business at hand. "Open up, Izzy darling," she begged, holding out a spoonful of mushy oatmeal.
Isobella raised her tiny fist from the bowl where she was squishing grey gruel through her fingers, whacked the spoon, and sent a blob of cereal flying.
It splatted on Lydia's cheek.
Daubing with a tea towel, Lydia threw down the soiled cloth and bolted from the table. "I'm sorry, Patience. Could you take over here, please?"
Her stomach queasy, she crammed a few salty crackers in her mouth and stumbled to the kitchen window. Gazing out at cold naked trees, gun-metal skies, and the river beyond, she shivered, clear down to the depths of her soul.
Fetching a new spoon, Patience turned to Isobella. "Now, sweet lamb, how about taking a bite? Just to make your Mama happy."
Nothing will make ‘Mama’ feel happy now, Lydia thought rebelliously, her forehead pressed against the icy windowpane. Nothing would console her. Not since the USS President had been captured off Long Island. Oh, God! The thought of Bruce, stuck in the hold of a prison ship, was intolerable, especially in this weather. What if he develops pneumonia? What if he never makes it home?
Drat! Lydia pressed her handkerchief against her mouth, fighting nausea. Her predicament was no different this time than it was last year. Only this time, her hands were tied. No amount of heroics, no amount of scheming, would bring Bruce home to her this time.
All she could do was wait.
"We're done, Mrs. MacGregor." Patience smiled triumphantly. "Is there anything else I can do?"
Shakily Lydia turned to Patience, whose ridiculous little game of spoons had somehow gained Izzy's cooperation. "Yes, why don't you give Izzy a bath, while I whip up a big batch of fudge. We'll have it for lunch."
"Fudge?" Patience eyed her strangely.
She smiled wanly. "I may not be able to rescue Bruce this time, but I refuse to let this war defeat me. We are going to . . . celebrate!"
