by Merry Farmer
“Yes,” he said, letting out his breath. It was as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. “Yes, I do want all of those things. I want all of those things and more. I want you. In every way.”
“And I want you,” she replied. “In every way.”
She leaned fully into him, stretching to bring her mouth to his, meeting him in a kiss. Her fingers brushed the side of his face, combed through his hair. Her tongue teased against the line of his lips, and without hesitation, he opened to her. He wanted her, all of her, so much. When she sighed, he slipped his tongue against hers, exploring her with longing so deep it reached his soul. His world was complete with her.
So many things had come clear to Emma in an instant. She’d been wrapped up in fear for so long, worried that she might repeat the mistakes her sister had made, anxious that determining her own path might hurt her mother. But her life was her own, and her desires, the things she longed for, were central to that life. Dean would never hurt her. He was a noble, caring man, and if he gave his life for a cause he believed in—as Alice’s Harry had—she would hold her head high and love him still. But in her heart, she knew it wouldn’t come to that.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered against his cheek as she paused in her flurry of kisses to catch her breath. “I am yours in every way.”
“I know,” he replied, a smile growing on his face. “And I am yours.”
“Then make me yours.” Her heart fluttered with daring at the bold statement. Shivers of desire sizzled along her skin, through her gut, and into her core. She kissed him again, far from the shy, fearful miss she’d always felt she should be. She was done with being who she should be. It was time to be who she wanted to be.
Dean responded to her passion with equal heat. He shifted away from the wall, rolling her onto her back and stretching over top of her. She gave herself up to his kiss as he spread his hand possessively across her stomach. The layers of fabric between them were suddenly too much. Even the air between them was too much. She wanted to be one with him as quickly as possible, no matter what the consequences. There were no consequences. She was his and he was hers.
She reached between them to push his coat off his shoulders. Between stolen kisses, he helped her by squirming and shrugging out of the restrictive garment. Even before he had tossed it aside, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
“What are you doing?” he laughed between long, languorous kisses.
“I’m undressing you,” she replied. The buttons proved troublesome, so she reached to his waist and tugged his shirt out of his trousers. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
“Emma,” he murmured her name like a surprise blessing, propping himself above her. “I had no idea you could be so….”
“Bold?” she suggested when words failed him. “Naughty?”
To prove her point, she slipped her hand under his shirt, caressing the hot flesh of his stomach and side. The muscles under his skin tensed in response. Dean caught his breath.
“Yes,” he sighed, either in response to her question or her touch. “Oh, yes.”
His hand on her side inched higher as he looked for ways to be just as naughty as her. He found her breast, held fast by her corset under her bodice, and squeezed. She hummed in response.
“This will never do,” he whispered, kissing her lips, her cheek, the tender skin of her neck.
He secured his knees on either side of her hips and sat up just enough to use both hands to work the buttons of her bodice free. Every inch of Emma’s exposed flesh brought her to life. She breathed in restless pants as he unfastened the entire row of buttons, then went to work on her corset. The clasps snapped loose on her corset one by one until the whole garment slipped around her sides.
It was both easier and harder to breathe in only her chemise. The secret place between her legs ached with anticipation as Dean’s weight pressed down on her. He pushed her blouse and corset aside, tugging the hem of her chemise out of the waist of her skirt as she had done with his shirt. In one swift motion, he tugged it out from under her back and up over her head, exposing her chest.
She should have been ashamed of her nakedness. She should have shrunk away from Dean’s hungry gaze as he took in the sight of her bare breasts. Instead, she reveled in it. She hummed with pleasure as he closed his hands around the soft fullness of her breasts, raking her nipples to tautness. Her whole body cried out for him with unashamed want.
“You’re so beautiful,” Dean said, voice rough. He rocked back long enough to tug his shirt off over his head and toss it aside. The long necklace and pouch that the old man had given him stayed around his neck, and he seemed content to leave it there. When he shifted down to capture her mouth with his, it brushed across the sensitive skin of her stomach, sending jolts of excitement through her. The fragrant herbs it contained drove her senses wild.
The slide of flesh on flesh was everything Emma had dreamed it would be. Alice had whispered to her of the joys of the marriage bed at times when she missed Harry the most, but nothing could have prepared Emma for the blossoming of love that flushed her with heat. Dean left her lips to blaze a trail with his mouth and tongue across her neck and collarbone and down to her breast. He cupped it and pressed her into the warm wetness of his mouth. She moaned with delight as his tongue laved her nipple. No words could describe this.
Just as she was reaching a point where thought was impossible under the onslaught of pleasure, Dean stopped. He propped himself above her, his expression suddenly serious.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked. “I love you, Emma, but once we’ve crossed this border, everything will be different.”
The concern painting his expression filled Emma with a strong sense of rightness. “Yes,” she breathed, resting her hands on the sides of his face. “I want everything to be different. Nothing can ever be the same. You love me and I love you. That’s all that matters in the world.”
His seriousness melted into a teasing grin. “That could be one of the longest speeches I’ve ever heard from you.”
She laughed. “Why should I hold my tongue now?” she said. “Why would I hold back the truth? I love you. I love you, Dean Meyers, and I want the heavens and the earth and everything in them to know it. I want you.”
He answered her by lowering himself over her and kissing her for all he was worth. She circled her arms around him, holding him close. Her heart, her body, her soul ached for him. This was what she was meant to have.
Dean slipped his hands around the back to find the clasp of her skirt. She arched to give him easier access. An unexpected pulse of excitement shot through her at the gesture. It felt so right to arch her hips against him. He still had his knees planted on either side of her hips, but as impatient as she was to follow her instinct and spread her legs apart, their positions allowed her intimate contact with the hard spear of his manhood. She arched higher, rubbing against him. Dean groaned in response. The sound was as good as a kiss, as tempting as a touch.
Her skirt came loose. With more clumsiness than when he’d started, Dean pushed it down. Emma helped him by wriggling free from the yards and yards of ruined silk. She reached for the waist of his trousers, undoing the closures with far more grace than she would have thought possible. He held his breath, bracing himself above her and letting her do her work. She had the front of his trousers open in no time, and as she pushed them down over the curve of his hips and backside, along with his drawers, the powerful, male part of him sprung free. He kicked out of his trousers and pushed them aside, then held himself above her on all fours, the gifted necklace dangling between them.
He was more beautiful than any words she could think of. She hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but the full length of him, hard and stiff at attention, sent a jolt of desire through her that was so intense she felt weak. A dusting of dark hair surrounded its base, and the long, thick shaft had a purely masculine grace to it. She took him in
her hand, sliding her fingers up along the underside to the flared tip, shining with moisture. He growled at her touch, his body tensing, which only encouraged her exploration.
When she closed her hand around his shaft and stroked him from tip to base and back again, he let out a long groan. “My sweet Emma.” Her name spoken with such passion filled her with fire and mischief. She repeated the long, slow stroke of his length. He gasped and shifted to balance on one hand so he could stop her with the other. “I can’t take much more of that,” he told her. “I want you too much.”
“Then have me,” she whispered, wriggling beneath him.
He hummed, low and deep, in response and shifted above her. At last, he moved his knees, freeing her to inch her legs open as she longed to. They twisted and moved together, bodies heated and sweating, until she was able to draw her knees up and to the side. The shock of cool air swirling around the part of her that pulsed so desperately for him made Emma catch her breath.
Her heart skipped a beat as he slipped his hand between her legs. At first he stroked the tender flesh of her thighs with his fingertips. She sighed with pleasure and lifted her hips to meet his touch. It was as if her body moved of its own accord, knowing exactly what it wanted before she could think of it. Every touch made her ache harder.
When he raked his fingertips through the thatch of curls between her legs and into the wet folds of flesh there, she cried out in surprise. He found a part of her that was on fire for him and circled it with light, lazy strokes. It was as if he had opened up the sun and poured out every bit of fire and pleasure straight into the center of her being. That one spot was a revelation. He teased his fingers lower, sliding one, then two inside of her. She tensed to greet him, wanting more.
With his fingers still inside of her, curling against her inner walls, he rolled his thumb across the nub of pleasure he’d found. Faster than she could have imagined, the bliss he had started moments before spiraled to such heights that she bucked against him and cried out. Wave after wave of sheer joy pulsed through her. He moaned in response, in harmony with her. Her inner muscles squeezed his fingers, but even as the tremors began to slow, she knew she wanted more.
He must have known it too. Quickly, before her pleasure had completely subsided, he withdrew his hand and moved to settle his shaft against her. Then he thrust, burying himself inside of her with one fast, sure stroke. A flash of pain as her body accepted him was immediately replaced by a sense of rightness more powerful than anything Emma had ever known. He filled her, stretching her, and she sighed.
“Emma,” he whispered as he withdrew, then plunged into her again. “My Emma.”
He continued to thrust, controlled at first, but with abandon after only a few strokes. Uninhibited groans of delight accompanied his every stroke. The Indian necklace lent its rich, spicy scent of herbs to their coupling as it rubbed between their bellies with each thrust. Dean was wild in her arms, joining with her as fully as she could ever have imagined. She loved the tightness of him moving inside of her, the tension in his back and thighs as he worked. She adored the tautness of his backside as his hips slammed into hers over and over. It was raw and carnal—naughty—but she loved every second of it. His body’s abandon made her feel free, made her feel loved.
His energetic thrusts reached a pitch and he groaned louder than before. For an instant, his whole body tensed, then gradually relaxed as his movements slowed and stopped. He collapsed on top of her, hot, damp, and loose. Emma’s soul sang with the beauty of it.
She held him there for several long minutes, enjoying the feeling of his weight in spite of the difficulty of catching her breath. None of that mattered as long as he was still inside of her. Part of her wanted to work her hips against him to see if she could coax him back to stiffness. Another part of her laughed at her own wantonness. She was as exhausted as he was after all of their adventures.
When he, at last, shook himself to alertness and pulled out of her, she felt bereft.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I shouldn’t have been so….”
“You were perfect.” She sighed and stretched. “You are perfect.”
She caught him watching her body as she stretched, writhing against the billows of her skirt, which had formed a sort of bed under them. The spark in his eyes told her he would gladly do it all again… if he had the energy.
“I love you,” he said instead, settling beside her. He drew her hot, spent body against his, reaching around to gather whatever pieces of clothing were near at hand into a nest to shelter them.
“I will always love you,” she replied, snuggling against him. She was too hot to be entirely comfortable, but in that moment, all she wanted to do was rest in his arms. She needed sleep, but more than that, she needed the dreams that would come when she awoke. Nothing and no one could stop her from making those dreams come true.
Chapter Seventeen
Perhaps it was shamelessly wicked of him, but after sleeping for not much more than an hour and waking to find Emma naked and willing in his arms, Dean made love to her again. A voice in the back of his head told him to slow down, that there would be years’ worth of time to make love to her in every possible way, that a cave was no place to explore intimacy, but his heart and his body had other ideas.
Emma was just as eager as he was, accepting him with wild cries of pleasure that would make any man feel ten feet tall. But she was not with any man, and she would not be with any man other than him, ever. She was his, and she gave herself to him without reservation. It was enough to cause him to thrust with less restraint than he wanted to and to spill his seed inside of her with a force that left him spent and in need of a nap all over again. Not once did she complain or give any indication that their mating was anything but heavenly for her. Once they were done for the second time, she fell right back into exhausted, peaceful slumber in his arms.
The sun was low in the sky and the light outside the cave was tinted with orange hues when they awoke the second time. This time it was calls of, “Emma Sutton! Dean Meyers!” and “Katie Boyle! Aiden Murphy!” in the distance that roused them.
At first, Dean tried to ignore them. He was warm and half asleep and the honest scent of Emma and passion and the herbs from the necklace the old man had gifted him was all around him.
“Emma Sutton! Dean Meyers! Dr. Meyers! Katie! Aiden!”
Emma gasped and tensed in his arms. Reality hit him a moment later, and he snapped to full wakefulness.
“They’ve found us,” he said, sitting up and bringing Emma with him. He was surprised as much as he was alarmed.
Emma blinked at him, eyes wide. “We have to get dressed.”
A moment later, she burst into high-spirited laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. Her hair had long since come out of its careful style and formed a wild halo around her flushed and dirty face. The dust from the cave floor streaked her shoulders and arms, and if he wasn’t mistaken, his own smudgy handprint could be seen on her breast. But still she laughed, as happy as he’d ever seen her. Dean couldn’t help but laugh right along with her. He took her in his arms and kissed her one more time, long and lingering, before peeling himself away and standing to gather his clothes.
The fire he’d built when they first arrived in the cave had burned down to embers, and as soon as he was separated from Emma, the chill in the air was noticeable. His shirt had been flung to one wall of the cave and was dusty and sooty. His trousers had been squashed into a ball near the other wall where their feet had been. His jacket was as dirty as the rest of it. He dressed anyhow, certain he looked like a sorry vagabond once he was clothed.
Emma didn’t look much better. Her fine dress was clearly ruined, her underthings smudged and spoiled, but still, she was as radiant as the sun. In spite of the suspicious stains on her skirt.
“We look a fright,” she continued to giggle as she did up the buttons of her bodice.
Dean chuckled, unable to wipe the smile off his face, and attempt
ed to brush the dirt and stains from her skirt. “Let’s at least try to look like respectable frights.”
She laughed harder. “I don’t think we’ll be able to escape scandal now,” she said, though she didn’t seem the least bit worried about it.
Dean found her confidence to be a curious revelation. The Emma who had been carried off by Indians last night had flowered into someone else in such a short time. “You don’t mind?” he asked.
“I should,” she admitted. She finished with her buttons and stepped up to him, brushing his lapels, then grasping them. “I should, but I don’t. Let people think of me what they will. I love you.”
It was hard to catch his breath in the face of a declaration like that. He slid his arms around her, tugging her closer and kissing her. She opened to him willingly, and, impish with passion, he kissed her deeply. He let his hands drop to her backside, squeezing her and pressing her into his hips. After this, he didn’t think he would ever be able to settle for kissing her properly and respectfully again, and he wasn’t sure she would want him to.
“Miss Sutton! Miss Boyle!” the cries sounded from somewhere much closer than before. “Dr. Meyers! Mr. Murphy!”
Dean let out a breath, reluctantly stepping back from Emma. “We’d better not get started with that or we won’t be able to stop,” he said, arching an eyebrow.
“And that would cause a scandal,” she added. Then, with a wink, she said, “But I wouldn’t be ashamed of that either.”
He laughed and kissed her dusty nose, then took her hand and left the cave with her.
“Emma Sutton! Dean Meyers!”
“We’re over here,” Dean answered the calls this time. He led Emma to the horse from Ft. Caspar and helped her to mount. She winced slightly as she settled in the saddle, then immediately burst into rich laughter. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“A little sore,” she continued to giggle, cheeks pink. “I suppose that happens when you’ve spent all afternoon riding.”
