by Debra Glass
His fingers prodded and probed. His slow, deliberate exploration was wonderful but all too fleeting. When he removed his hand, Rose did not have time to be disappointed. He dipped, catching her under the thigh to lift her. She clawed to hold onto his shoulders as she went up, up and then back down.
In one fell motion, he impaled her.
Rose gasped.
For a steep second, Eric’s passion-clouded eyes widened and then he moved, carrying her to the bed. He stayed inside her as both their bodies came down on the mattress. “Forgive me,” he said harshly as he began to pummel her.
Rose dug her nails into his back, dropping her legs open to give him full entry. It had been over two years since she had felt a man inside her. Two damn long years and now…
She closed her eyes as his thrusts pushed her inch by glorious inch across the bed. He seemed intent on assuaging some demon that raged inside him. Pounding. Groin slapping groin. A fine mist of perspiration broke out along his spine and all at once, he withdrew and plunged his hand between his legs. A harsh groan left his lips and Rose felt his sticky fluids spray across her belly.
He sagged onto one elbow, his deep breaths fanning her face. So that was it? Disappointment welled.
Rose shut her eyes against the hot threat of tears. What had she done? Why had she allowed this man to soil her?
The bed shook as he moved down her body. It was over. She knew she should get up and return to her room now but her legs were trembling too badly to move.
But then, she felt something warm and wet between her legs. Something good.
Rose’s eyes flew open and she lifted her shoulders up far enough to see Eric’s blonde head descending between her thighs. A whimper of protest escaped her lips but only because she could not bear the thought of him being so close to her down there.
“Hush,” he said against her nether lips. “Let me taste you. Let me please you. Allow me this.”
Before she could answer, his mouth latched onto her clitoris and he laved her, his wicked kiss filled with a man’s need-driven hunger to possess a woman’s body. Rose fell back on the bed and cried out as Eric’s arms locked around her hips, as his mouth drove away the last vestiges of common sense and propriety she held.
The pleasure was overwhelming, chasing away any of Rose’s inhibitions. She could hardly breathe as his tongue flicked and teased all the right spots. Staggering shocks of pleasure erupted and skeined through her. She reached for his head and tangled her fingers in his wealth of blonde hair, spreading for him, holding him against her. It was even better than she had imagined. Billy had loved her and she had loved him but this…
This was something altogether different.
Instinct took over and Rose pulled her Yankee lover’s hair hard. “Oh yes!” she cried as rapturous sensation pitched her to ecstasy.
Even a soft kiss pressed to her sensitive flesh sent tremors reverberating through her.
He lifted his head and their gazes clashed. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw her glistening cream on his parted lips. “Do you like this, Rose?” he asked silkily. The tip of his tongue darted out to lap up her cream.
“Yes,” she said, her voice but a breath.
“Then tell me what you want.” His hand moved around her thigh and several fingers toyed with her folds, with both her openings and the sensitive flesh in between.
“That.”
One finger breached her channel and slid inside. Rose resisted the temptation to close her eyes. She wanted to watch, to see everything.
“What else?” he asked.
“Your mouth.” She could not believe she was uttering the requests aloud. She had never been so bold.
His head descended and Rose trembled as bliss coursed from her core once more, unfurling down her legs, up her body, even to the roots of her hair. His expert tongue coupled with his finger was too much. And when Rose’s own hands crept over her breasts and she tugged her nipples, the moment culminated in erotic euphoria.
Every muscle in her body seized taut. Moans she realized were her own emanated from some place inside her she had forgotten existed. The second orgasm rolled through her body like a tempest and still, Eric did not stop his exquisite assault. Involuntarily, she tried to squirm away but his arm clamped tighter around her hip and he continued until the last traces of pleasure eddied away.
Rose was limp and floating as if she’d been magically transported to some other world when she realized Eric had climbed onto his knees and was reaching under her, twisting her and dragging her bottom up. She struggled and protested but her objections fell on deaf ears.
He wedged his body between her legs and with one quick thrust, he was inside her again.
Renewed sweetness radiated from her channel but Rose could not tolerate this shameful position. He was rutting her like a common animal. A beast! But oh, it felt so, so good.
His hands dug into the soft flesh of her bottom. His body slapped against hers and his scrotum pushed up hard against all those still very sensitive parts of her. And all the while, he uttered the most ribald things she’d ever heard.
“Does my cock feel good in your cunny?”
When she did not reply, a sound slap stung her bottom. Rose’s eyes widened in surprise as flames licked down her thighs. Her breath caught.
“Does it?” he demanded, his voice harsh and hoarse.
“Yes,” she hissed, debating whether to remain silent so he would spank her again. Her passage clenched at the thought and his fingers squeezed her supple ass cheeks letting Rose know he had felt it.
His movements quickened and Rose gripped the quilt in both fists and clung, bracing herself for his onslaught. She’d had no idea her body could accommodate a man this way.
Any thoughts of shame she’d held prior to this moment vanished until all that remained was the mindless joining of their bodies, his hands holding her with bruising strength and the driving rhythm of his loins pounding hers.
Another orgasm took her by complete surprise and Rose sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. “Eric!” she cried his name as the flutters shuddered through her. “Oh, Eric…”
He braced a hand on the base of her spine and started to pull out again but Rose twisted to look back at him. “Don’t take it out,” she blurted. “I’m barren.”
His eyes flashed and he tightened his hold on her hips and pumped until his body grew stiff. Rose watched over her shoulder as he threw his head back and groaned. A vein bulged in his neck. His muscles gleamed with perspiration. He throbbed deep inside her and up until now, it was the single most erotic moment of Rose’s life.
Eric collapsed, dragging Rose down on her side and enfolding her in his arms. As he spooned against her back, every inch of his body buzzed with life but once the sensations subsided, guilt and regret swamped him. No matter what orders Sherman had given him, no matter what trade she’d offered, no woman deserved to be played and seduced.
Then again, Eric had walked away. He’d left her room and she’d been the one to follow him. She was the one who’d removed her clothes and had made it apparent what she wanted.
Rose was so still, Eric wondered if she were even breathing. He raked her hair away from her cheek. “Rose? Are you all right?”
Her shoulders shook and a sob tore from her chest.
Panic welled. What a callous ass he was! He’d been too long without a woman. He’d hurt her. “Rose?” He turned her in his arms and cradled her, holding her while she cried softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…to hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“It’s all right,” he cooed. “It’s all right to find solace in the dark, Rose.”
This time she nodded and Eric felt the tension melt out of his shoulders. Thank God he hadn’t hurt her. “This war has been hard on us all,” he said in an attempt to comfort her.
“Just hold me,” she murmured, clutching him tighter.
Eric reached and dragged the quilt over her before he nestled her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair as conflicting emotions roiled inside him. No matter what Rose had done or had agreed to do, she did not deserve to be used. And yet, the bliss he felt from release inside a beautiful woman made him feel heavy and sated. Strangely whole.
His thoughts drifted back to the eight letters he had written to eight widows. Those men had died because of a woman like Rose. No, he thought. They’d died because of him. They’d died because he had been foolish enough to trust a woman like Rose.
That would not happen again. Not ever.
Rose was a grown woman who knew what effect she had on a man. He recalled how she had come to his office, sweet smelling with her bosom and her dimples on display. Yes. Rose knew.
And as long as that was the case, he would enjoy what Rose had to offer without a guilty conscience. He did not like being used either.
* * * * *
Rose opened her eyes as the first light of dawn crept through the window. A feeling of total warmth surrounded her and when she focused, she saw why.
Sick realization of what happened hours earlier swarmed over her. She’d thrown herself at the Yankee colonel like a wanton fancy woman! Shame flooded her. Heat welled in her cheeks. And worst of all, she had cried in his arms.
What had she been thinking?
She had to get out of here. Now. Before he awakened and she was further debased. Oh, how could she ever look him in the eye after this?
She’d been weak the night before. Weak and lonely and frightened. Fury raged that she could have been so foolish.
A soft groan rumbled in his chest as she worked her way out of his arms and off the bed. He stirred and his forehead furrowed as if he were displeased. Rose knew she should snatch up her clothes and get out of the room as quickly as possible but she hesitated.
He was even more resplendent with his mussed hair and his long, lean body partially covered by a quilt than he had been in his impeccable blue uniform. Rose’s body tightened and swelled in all the wrong places when she thought about the things she had done with him the night before. She wanted to do those things with him again. Right this minute.
She reached for him but stopped short when she heard the sound of Queenie shuffling downstairs. Rose suppressed a gasp. Queenie could never know!
As quietly and quickly as possible, Rose slid out of bed, plucked her nightgown off the floor and tiptoed from the room. Thank heaven Queenie had not ventured upstairs. Servants, even loyal ones, were the worst gossips in town. If Queenie found out, everyone in Florence would know.
Rose swallowed thickly. She had engaged in a forbidden and intimate act—with the enemy. Nothing could justify it.
Once she was in her own room, she poured water into the bowl on her washstand. The best thing for her to do was to wash his scent off her body, his taste from her mouth and figure out a way to get him out of her house.
Before tonight.
* * * * *
Hoping the Yankee colonel was still in bed, Rose crept down the stairs. She wanted to get Rueben and go down to the commissary to get their salt before Eric awakened—and changed his mind about the trade. Hopefully, she would not have to see him before he went his way for the day and she went hers. That would give her time to think up some ruse so he would quarter elsewhere.
She had debated everything from accusing him of soiling her to demanding a marriage proposal from him. Either one would be sufficient to frighten him away. But then, he would not be inclined to issue her a permit for anything, much less a precious commodity such as six barrels of salt.
And then, she would be alone and cold at night instead of finding satisfaction at the hands of a more than capable man. Perhaps it would be in her best interest to continue stealing into his bed at night. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of what he’d done to her last night. His tongue. Oh God. And the way he’d forced her onto her knees. She drew in a deep breath. Common sense tried to intrude. This was stupid. Continuing to have sex with him was wrong—and dangerous.
She had unburdened herself after her physical release last night. She’d cried without reason or warning in his arms like a sniveling child. It was an act she’d thus far been unable to explain to herself. The man was her enemy. He was a part of the army that had left her a widow.
Well. She would simply have to keep her emotions in check. That was all. There was no room for emotion in what she had taken on herself.
As Rose walked through the foyer, the scent of bacon and coffee filled her nostrils. Her stomach grumbled. It was too bad she would have to gulp down her breakfast on the seat of the wagon this morning.
Although the kitchen was a separate building from the house, Queenie had brought breakfast in and had placed it on the dining room table. “Good morning,” Rose said as she began wrapping warm biscuits and bacon up in a napkin.
“Where you going?” Queenie demanded. “You not gonna sit down to eat?”
“Not this morning,” Rose said. “I’ve got to get Rueben to hitch up the rig so we can go get the salt.”
Queenie arched an eyebrow. “The rig’s done hitched up.”
“What?” Rose did not wait for an answer. Clutching the napkin containing the biscuits and bacon, she hurried out the back door fully expecting to see Rueben atop the rig’s seat.
Instead, it was Eric who was seated on the wagon.
Rose gaped.
“Good morning, Mrs. O’Kelley,” he said far too cheerily for Rose’s comfort. The mocking way he tipped his hat infuriated her.
She stalked across the back yard to the wagon. “I think after last night, we are on a first name basis, don’t you, Eric?”
A lopsided grin tugged at his lips. Rose’s gaze lingered there as thoughts of what he had done with those lips just hours ago filled her mind. She swallowed and forced her errant brain back to reality. “Are you confiscating my rig like you confiscated my house? Because Rueben and I were about to use it to go down to the commissary. I have two permits for salt, you see.” With that, she flashed him her own smile.
The humor never left Eric’s eyes. “Then climb aboard, Rose, because I happen to be headed to the commissary as well.”
No! Rose tried to keep her face devoid of emotion. “Really, Colonel. I couldn’t take you away from whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing for the Union Army.”
“Trust me, my dear,” he said. “You’re not. Now climb up.”
Any further protest would only serve to make her look as if she were up to something. Her mind grappled for some solution.
Eric held out his hand to her. Rose stared at it. How would she be able to get the salt to the cave where she and Rueben had been hoarding supplies for the Confederates and citizens of Florence? With Eric, she would be forced to bring all six barrels of salt back here. What would he think when he saw her meager stores in the shed?
He was not a stupid man. He would know she was trying to hide something and that would prevent him from issuing her future permits—despite their trade.
“Rose?”
She snapped out of her trance and took his hand. For now, she had little other choice than to climb onto the wagon with him. Gathering her skirt in the other hand, she stepped onto the running board and allowed him to pull her up. There was no mistaking the interest in his eyes at the sight of her stocking-clad calf. And Rose could not deny the lightning that coursed through her hand where he touched her. She swallowed thickly as she sat and arranged her skirts.
Rueben stared from the shadows of the carriage house. The way he shook his head alerted Rose that Eric was not the unwitting interloper he pretended to be. He’d staged this little wagon trip, no doubt to see where she planned to store six barrels of salt.
Damn him. She hadn’t anticipated him quartering with her—just as she hadn’t anticipated going to his bed the night before. If he was as quick-witted as
she gave him credit for being, he would know she was lying about needing so much salt. Rose cast a quick glance at him as he clucked to the pair of draft horses hitched to the wagon. She had an idea he already knew what plans she had for the salt.
She clenched her fists in her lap as the wagon lurched forward. She half-wondered if he hadn’t paid that Yankee to stagger up to the door and pretend to be drunk so he could play the conquering hero.
No matter. She had no one to blame but herself for what happened last night. Shame heated her cheeks when she recalled how she’d gone to his room and stripped off her nightgown like a slattern. Oh, what must he think of her!
Eric steered the horses onto Court Street. Oh no. Her heart sank straight to her toes. He was going to parade her right down the main street of town for all to see. By now, every old pea-hen and gossip in Florence would know he was quartering with her—sleeping in the same house. Was it obvious they’d slept in the same bed?
Wouldn’t the old hens talk if they knew that? The ingrates. They would have their hands out for the supplies she could get for them but they would gossip about her behind her back to no end.
Three girls ogled the colonel from their upstairs window. Damn. Why did he have to be so handsome? And just when she believed it could not possibly get worse, she spied the minister of the Presbyterian Church leaving his house. Her stomach turned over hard when he gave her a wave. She shrank.
Eric seemed to notice her reaction because he leaned infuriatingly close. “Is your sour disposition because I’m the enemy or because you don’t want to be seen with me?”
Rose gulped. “Both,” she snapped, inwardly rankled that he had noticed her prickly attitude.
He chuckled and waved at the minister. Most men would have taken offense to her sharp tongue. Not Eric Skaarsberg.
“Does it not bother you to be so maligned?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“I’ve been in the South long enough to expect such reactions,” he said. He turned his head so that he was looking at her.
