Feeling weary all of a sudden, she ladled out a bowl of stew-soup and grabbed a piece of bread. Not really tasting her food, she finished her meal and washed out the bowl and spoon. After leaving a full bowl on the stove to stay warm, she put the rest of the stew-soup in the cooler and left the kitchen.
Two hours later she dimmed the oil lamp in the parlor and headed to bed. Stephen had stayed away all evening. Doing what, she had no idea. There certainly hadn’t been that much in the way of chores to finish up. She brushed her hair, fixed a long braid for sleep and slipped into a nightgown. White and virginal. Just like her.
Did she really intend to remain untouched her whole life? Would Stephen even stay if she insisted on it? Once again her face heated up when she thought about what they’d shared in the kitchen before he fled. She would be lying to herself to pretend she hadn’t been affected by his touch. Much too affected, in fact. It had taken all of her resolve to push him away when she was more than ready for him to strip off her clothes right there and introduce her to the mysteries of married love.
Love? No. She didn’t love him, didn’t want to love him, and did not want his love in return.
Admit it. I’m afraid.
She doused the lamp and climbed into bed. Alone. The way she’d gone to bed all her life. Having a husband hadn’t changed that. She slept here, he slept on the sofa in her bedroom.
Where is he?
After a good hour of tossing and turning, she fell into a troubled sleep, her body aching in places she’d never been aware of before.
Calliope sat up abruptly in bed, her head cocked at whatever the noise was that had awakened her. For a minute she was muddle-headed as she tried to clear her brain. Then she heard it again. A wolf’s cry. The damned wolf was back to attack her chickens.
She scurried out of bed, raced down the stairs and grabbed the shotgun from the wall over the fireplace. She burst outside, slipping a bit on the wet mud. It had started to rain, but she didn’t have time to go back for a slicker and shoes. The annoying animal had killed two of her chickens last week. She couldn’t afford to lose any more.
In the darkness, all she could see was a stealth animal slowly circling the chickens who squawked enough to wake the dead. She moved closer, using the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe the water from her eyes. The rain had turned heavier, but it hadn’t deterred the wolf, so it wouldn’t deter her, either.
She cocked the shotgun and raised it to her shoulder. The blast rang out, but instead of dropping on the spot, the wolf raced away.
“Damn.” She set the butt of the shotgun into the mud.
“Calliope!” Stephen’s voice rang through the night. She wiped her eyes once more and stared in the direction of the voice. He came through the wall of water and grabbed her to his soaked body. He wore only his trousers, no socks or shoes or shirt. “What the hell are you doing, woman?”
“The chickens. The wolf was going to get more chickens.” She shouted over the downpour and shoved back the hair plastered on her forehead.
He shook his head and leaned back to look her in the eyes. “I heard it. I was coming out. But you need to get back into the house.”
She turned to take a step and slipped in the mud. Before she had barely righted herself, strong arms scooped her up. “Hold onto the shotgun.”
Stephen strode to the house with her huddled against him, the end of the shotgun stock fisted in her hand. She was soaked to the skin and had begun to shiver by the time he reached the front door. He reached under her and opened the door, pushing it closed with his foot.
Once they reached the parlor, he paced her on her feet and grabbed the gun from her. He placed it back onto the rack and turned. His eyes grew wide and his lips parted.
***
All the blood in Stephen’s body raced to his groin and within a matter of seconds he was hard as a rock. The rain had plastered Calliope’s nightgown to her body, revealing every inch, curve and dip. He swallowed and whispered, “My God, you’re beautiful.”
Seeing where his eyes led, she looked down at herself and squeaked. She pulled the gown out, but the weight of the water drew it back so it was plastered to her once more. She crossed her arms over her breasts, then re-considering, placed her hand at the juncture of her thighs.
“No. No, don’t cover yourself.” He moved toward her, almost as if drawn by an invisible cord.
She shivered, whether from desire or the cold he didn’t know. “You need to get out of that gown. I’ll make a fire to warm you.”
“I don’t have anything else to put on.” She attempted to step around him, but he was having none of that. Holding onto her arm to keep her from running, he plucked the wool knitted blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around her.
“Sit on the floor by the fireplace and I’ll make a fire. It’s colder upstairs than it is down here.” Before she could argue, he moved her and practically pushed her to the floor. He never made a fire so fast in his life. Within minutes he had a fire going and sat alongside her, knees bent, his arms resting on his knees as he stared into the flames.
Not where he wanted to be staring, of course.
“Feel better now?”
“A little bit. But this g-gown is still c-cold.”
“Take the gown off and dry yourself with the blanket.”
Her rapid breathing and flushed face told him she was feeling the tension in the air. He used his finger to push the blanket off her shoulder. Despite clinging to it, the weight of the cover dragged the rest of it down to pool in her lap, leaving her exposed once more in the wet gown. He groaned at the sight of her erect nipples, poking through the thin material. “Take the gown off sweetheart.”
She turned to him and with a slight smile he knew she had made a decision. She rose to her knees and gripped the edges of the gown, pulling up and over her head, tossing it behind her.
He forgot to breathe.
Calliope was magnificent. The flames from the fireplace gave her skin a golden glow, highlighting her flat stomach, womanly hips, and generous breasts. The thatch of red hair covering her womanhood drew his eyes and tightened his stomach muscles. If he’d been chilled before, still wearing his wet pants, he was about to self-combust now.
Slowly, so as not to break the spell, he moved to his knees and reached out to draw her to his body. His eyes drifted closed at the skin-to-skin contact. Her stiff nipples pressed into his chest, and she raised her arms to encircle his neck with her hands. Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you. If you don’t want me to make love to you right now, right here, say so. The sight of your perfect body leaves me with very little self-control.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you don’t want me to make love to you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Stop talking.” She leaned forward and kissed him, gently, her lack of experience making it so much sweeter. He would be the one to teach her about passion, about how a man and woman could pleasure each other in so many ways. He really wanted to take her upstairs to bed for her first time, but was afraid whatever magic held her captive would vanish and break the spell if they left this room. So on the carpet in front of the fire it would be.
Thank God Bertha was gone.
His hands slid to her rounded bottom and squeezed, pushing her against his erection.
“Ouch. You’re pants are still wet and they’re cold.”
Taking a chance on scaring the hell out of her at the sight of his pulsating manhood, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down, along with his drawers. Before she could glance down he raised her chin with his index finger and took her in a slow, drugging kiss. He moved his hands over her smooth, satin skin, sliding his palms over to cup her breasts. She moaned when he flicked a nipple with his fingernail.
They could not remain in this position for long, his hip was already beginning to ache. He eased her down and managed to free himself from the rest of his pants, kick
ing them aside as he and Calliope stretched out before the fire.
She was beautiful, and smelled of lilacs. He quickly undid what was left of her braid and spread the wet locks over the carpet. Cupping her face in his hands he kissed her first with his eyes, then with his lips. She tasted of honey and spice, and something only Calliope. He pulled away and nuzzled her neck, biting softly on the warm skin there. He moved his head down and licked her collarbone, then took her breast in his mouth, suckling hard.
Calliope arched her back at his ministrations and let out a slight moan. Stephen moved over to partially cover her body, still busy with his mouth at her breast, but moved his fingers down to touch her opening.
He groaned with male satisfaction. “You’re so wet, so warm, so ready for me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she gasped. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re doing fine, baby. Just fine.” He took her hand in his and moved it to his erection. At first she pulled her hand back, then wrapped her palm around him, and he almost exploded.
Chapter Seven
Calliope allowed Stephen to move her hand up and down his . . . well she didn’t even know what to call it. However, this did not seem the best time to ask for an anatomy lesson. Whatever its name felt soft and hard at the same time. She ran her thumb over the tip and sensed a bit of moisture. Before she could question him, he moved his mouth from her breast and rose over her.
A black curl fell over his forehead which she brushed back. His fingers continued to give attention to her woman’s place. “You are a virgin, I assume?”
“Of course!” Whatever made him ask that question? Weren’t all properly brought up young ladies virgins until their wedding day? Of course the fact that she was well beyond her wedding night was pushed to the back of her mind.
Frankly, she was tired of holding him off. The restless sleep she’d suffered had a lot to do with his kisses and touches before he scrambled from the kitchen. Perhaps allowing him his husbandly rights would not change things, and not make him try to control her. She could enjoy the experience and not relinquish any of her independence.
Yes, she could.
He smiled down at her. “I didn’t doubt it, but I don’t want to hurt you either. The first time can be painful. Short, but nevertheless you will feel me break through.”
Lord, why hadn’t her mother talked to her about these things? No doubt most mothers waited until their daughter’s wedding to bring up the subject of married love. She turned her head aside. “Just do it.”
He chuckled. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not interested in any sacrificial virgins.” With that comment, he used his thumb to circle her opening and once more moved down to suckle her breast. The fire was certainly doing its job. She was very warm now and felt achy and swollen where Stephen suckled and circled. The pull on her breast went straight to her core, making feel restless, like something was out there that she was missing.
While Stephen was busy pleasuring her, finding places on her body she never knew were sensitive, she used her hands and mouth to imitate some of what he was doing. She found a great deal of enjoyment in touching him, feeling the differences in their bodies, the texture of his skin, his hardness where she was soft. She particularly liked running her fingers through his hair, liked the feel of its silkiness.
He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted you, my beautiful wife. From the minute you stepped off the stagecoach in Bartlett Creek, I’ve wanted you just as you are now, naked, and writhing underneath me.” He moved his hips so the swollen part of him nudged her. “Do you feel what you do to me? How much I desire you? How much I want to bury myself deep inside your body, watch you come apart in my arms?”
His words floated over her as the spot he was concentrating on began to tingle, making her push against his hand, looking for the relief she knew only he could give her. “Please,” her legs shifted, “please make this stop, or make it finish. I feel as though I’m missing something.” Her head moved back and forth on the carpet, beads of perspiration gathered on her upper lip.
“Shh, sweetheart.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “Just relax, let me help you.”
She was almost there—where she didn’t know—but knew somewhere out there she was headed toward completion. “Stephen, please.”
“Relax, love. Don’t try so hard, let me do the work.”
There were no sounds, no smells, no feelings except those between her legs where his fingers played, like a fine instrument, her body tensing, then relaxing, trying so hard to . . . The tightness in her core exploded and waves of pleasure as she had never in her life known before washed over her, she could feel the ripples in her core, feel a flush rise from that spot over her entire body.
“That’s it, baby, let go. Enjoy it.” His murmured words in her ear were almost lost in the sounds of her breathing, the moans that escaped her as she pressed hard against his hand, feeling the last of the ripples leave her body. She floated slowly down from wherever it was he’d brought her.
Slowly dragging her eyes open, she meet his piercing blue ones, darker now, a slight smile on his lips as he smoothed the damp hair from her forehead. “Welcome back, love.”
She licked her dry lips. “That was . . .”
“Yes.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, at the same time, nudging her legs apart with his knee and shifting his body so her legs were spread and his hips nestled between them. “I’ll go as easy as I can.” He placed his hardened male flesh against her opening and moved his hips slightly.
She felt him enter her, then slid back out to push in a bit further. She felt stretched, full, a not unpleasant sensation.
“Are you all right?” He must have been holding himself back because all the muscles of his face were tightened, and he seemed to be gasping for breath. Once more he moved in a little bit further and then stopped. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but this can’t be helped.” He shoved his hips forward until he was fully seated.
A blinding flash of light and sharp pain had her sucking in her breath. “Ouch.”
Stephen rested his forehead on hers. “It will be better now. I promise. No more pain.” He moved his hips back and then forward. The full contact was quite nice, actually. Soon she felt nothing but enjoyment as he continued his movements. She found if she wrapped her legs around his waist she received a bit more contact with the part of her that felt very good.
***
Stephen tried his best to hold back. He hadn’t been with a woman for months before Calliope came into his life. That he had lived with, but the constant scent, sight, and feel of his wife so close, and yet so far for the last few weeks had taken a toll on his ability to make this last. He’d never had that problem with another woman, but no other woman had affected him like Calliope. He didn’t care to dwell on why that was, only enjoy the feel of her warmth enveloping him.
After only an embarrassing few minutes, he reached his climax and poured his seed into her. His body stilled and he felt a peace and a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in a long while. He gazed down at Calliope’s face and brushed back the damp curls from her forehead.
His feelings scared him. He didn’t want to feel this connection to her. He wanted to uphold their initial commitment of partners, no emotional ties. He’d had sex before with many women and never felt this bond. Always before it was more of a release of tension, not this overwhelming need to hold her close and never let her go.
He rolled off her, and laid on his back, his wrist over his forehead. He fought the need to pull her to him, to sleep with her nestled in his arms. But theirs wasn’t that type of marriage. So he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and linked his fingers with hers. Despite the frightening feelings running through him, he fell fast asleep.
Stephen blinked several times at the sun streaming through the bedroom window, bathing him and Calliope in a wash of sunlight. He lay on his side, with his arm around her wa
ist. She was cuddled next to him, her bottom snug against his groin. His very awake and ready to go groin. As much as he’d like to awaken her with kisses and another round of love making, she was certainly sore from last night, and he still hadn’t come to terms with these new feelings.
He eased his arm away and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glanced at her to see if he’d disturbed her, and met two green eyes staring back at him. “Good morning,” she whispered in a morning voice.
“Morning.” He reached for his pants alongside the bed and slid into them. “Since Bertha isn’t here, I’ll make coffee.”
Silence greeted him, so he turned to her as he shrugged into his shirt. She hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed and continued to stare at him. Even with the bright sunlight, it was difficult to detect her mood. Perhaps she was as confused as he was. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
He left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, barefooted, and certainly not ready for the day. But he had to get out of that room before he said something stupid, or asked a question he didn’t want the answer to. After stoking the fire in the stove, he put on a pot of water and ground coffee beans. A quick check in the larder produced eggs and a loaf of bread. Breakfast.
The coffee was finished and he’d scrambled half a dozen eggs and cut up last Sunday’s ham, waiting for her to join him. He sipped his coffee and stared out the window over the sink. The wheat and corn were growing, the kitchen vegetable garden was already producing early produce, and the healthy looking chickens were busy pecking at bugs. With everything running so smoothly, why did he have this feeling of something missing?
It didn’t take long to figure it out. The idea of a horse farm was never far from his thoughts. He’d saved most of his pay when he worked the farm with his brother. Although he hadn’t expected compensation, Daniel had insisted, so Stephen had tucked it away with plans to start his own horse farm. Then Calliope came along and all those plans changed.
Stephen’s Bride Page 6
