by Jo Goodman
"Yes," he said. "Just that way."
Her fingers slid along the edge of his jeans. Her hands disappeared behind his back and moved slowly over his skin. She felt the taut smoothness of him, the warmth and strength of him. Her stroking brought her flush against him and Michael knew the shape of Ethan by the planes and curves of her own body. And yet she had never been so aware of herself as when she was touching Ethan.
Her breasts were fuller, slightly swollen and tender, aching with the need to be caressed by his hands. Her belly felt flat and hard, full of tension. And her hips, where they were pocketed by his thighs, had an emptiness in their middle she only partially understood.
Ethan's hands drifted over the neckline of the nightshirt, his fingers sliding just beneath the material to whisper across her skin. She held her breath as he undid the first button. It made him smile.
He set her back slightly so that he could see what he was doing, enjoy what he was uncovering. He began to widen the gap in the neckline.
Michael's fingers curled around his wrists, gripping him tightly. Her dark green eyes were anxious, imploring. "Please," she said, a catch in the single word. "The lamp. Couldn't we..."
"Turn it back?" he asked.
She nodded.
"No." He didn't move and she didn't release her grip. "I want to see you," he said. "All this time... I've only imagined." He waited. Warm color tinged her skin. The fingers around his wrists eased slightly.
"All right."
He saw that she seemed surprised by her answer, as if she hadn't known she would say it until it was said, as if her response were against her will. He waited again, giving her a chance to change her mind. She didn't. In the end her hands slipped away from his. "It will be all right," he said softly, brushing her eyelids with his mouth. "I won't hurt you."
A small shudder swept through her. Her eyes fluttered open. "I know."
He nodded. "Then watch me," he told her. "Watch my hands on your skin."
Her eyes dropped from his face to his hands. His knuckles brushed the curve of her breasts as his fingers dropped to the next button. He undid it. His hands slipped inside the nightshirt and lifted slowly, caressing the smooth skin of her belly then cupping the underside of her breasts. The nightshirt slid off one shoulder. Ethan bent, his mouth took in the tip of her breast and sucked.
Michael's hands came to rest on Ethan's shoulders, not to push him away, but to clutch him. His mouth was hot and wet on her nipple, his tongue sweetly rough. The ache she felt in her breast was deeper now but somehow more deeply pleasurable. The nightshirt slid from her other shoulder as Ethan's mouth moved into the hollow between her breasts. Her fingers lifted and caught the ends of his hair. There was a little tug as she threaded between the strands, stroked, and learned the texture of it. She caressed the nape of his neck. She thought she heard him groan. She didn't trust what she heard anymore, only what she felt. And she knew she felt the hard press of his mouth to her skin in that moment.
The nightshirt fell to the floor. Ethan's arms curved around her back and below her hips. He lifted her easily and set her down on the bed, following her with his body. Pushing her back, he stretched out beside her.
One hand rested against her waist. His thumb made a slow arc across her skin.
"So soft," he said. "You can't even know..." He bent his head and touched his mouth to her collarbone. His tongue made a small damp spot on her skin. Brushing aside her hair, he nuzzled her neck. His lips teased her skin, drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently. She stirred restlessly beside him. He moved one leg to trap her and his hand slid from her waist to her hip. His fingers curved around her buttock and pressed against her flesh.
Ethan continued to tease her with his mouth. He traced the line of her throat, her jaw, tickled her ear with his tongue. He held her head immobile while he kissed her feathered brows, her eyelids, the arch of her cheeks. When he finally settled his mouth over hers she was hungry for the taste and feel of him.
The kiss she returned was hard. No longer just sweetly eager, Michael was fully responsive, opening her mouth under his to return the fullness of his kiss measure for measure. It was she who pressed for a deeper kiss, sweeping her tongue along the line of his teeth and into his mouth. When she moved this time it was not to get away but to get closer. Michael arched against Ethan's chest, slipping her arms around his shoulders, keeping her fingers threaded in his hair. The pressure of his body was an exquisite sensation everywhere he touched her. She rubbed against him.
"Whoa," he chided softly, raising his head. The centers of her eyes were black as polished ebony and so large there was only a sliver of emerald surrounding them. Her mouth was damp and beautifully swollen. He kissed her lightly. Then again. "God, you're sweet. I don't think—" He didn't finish as he started to sit up.
"Ethan?"
He bent again and kissed her swiftly. "I have to get these boots off. The jeans, too. And if I don't slow us down I won't be able—" He cursed softly as the left boot proved to be a tougher customer than the right one.
Michael was unhappily aware of her naked body stretched out on top of the bed. When Ethan had been covering her it didn't seem so brazen somehow. With his back turned as he worked on the boots, Michael slipped between the sheets. They were cool to her flushed skin. "Won't be able to what?"
"Won't be able to last more than three seconds inside you," he said bluntly.
"Is that so bad?"
He looked over his shoulder while he worked off his jeans. One of his dark brows was arched skeptically. "It is if you want any pleasure." He saw her frown. Her well-kissed mouth flattened just a little. Ethan managed to kick off his jeans. They cartwheeled in the air and landed on the wing chair. Turning back the lamp, Ethan slipped under the sheet and comforter and warmed Michael's feet with his. "Is that it, Michael?" he asked, searching her out with his hands. His thumb brushed one nipple. The sound she made in the back of her throat was still audible. "Is that why you explode in my arms? No man's ever pleasured you?"
"No man," she whispered. She felt the heat of his mouth. She closed her eyes and knew that in another moment he would touch her with his lips. His tongue would be sweet and insistent and curious. She would give him whatever he wanted. "I do explode in your arms." She wasn't sure she liked the idea.
"You don't sound happy about it." That, at least, he understood. She thought he was a robber and a murderer. She was denying every value she held dear so she didn't have to deny him. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want her to think about it. That's why he kissed her hard and long and sweet and deep.
Ethan's knee insinuated itself between Michael's legs. His hand trailed lightly from her breast to her thighs. He cupped her mound with his hand and pressed when she jerked against him reflexively. "It's all right," he whispered, taking her mouth again. His fingers sought her out, searching, stroking, pleasuring. She was moist and warm. He wanted to use his mouth but he held back and was satisfied for now with the urgent sounds she could not contain.
He moved so she could feel how hard he was against her belly. He wanted to be inside her desperately. Instead he used one finger. She gasped. Her fingers dug into his upper arms but her body accommodated his seeking. Her movements became less restless and more purposeful.
"That's it," he encouraged as she moved her hips against him. "Will you take me now?"
"Yes." The sound was a little eager, a little panicked. Ethan's mouth was on her breast then, soothing the panic, playing to the eagerness. He laved her nipple with his tongue, worried the bud between his lips and tugged. Tension radiated just under the surface of her skin. She felt it in the tips of her fingers, in the length of her legs, and most especially between her thighs where his hand continued its intimate caress.
Ethan moved over her, covering her with his body just for a moment. The sheet slipped down his back as he positioned himself between her thighs. He helped her raise her hips and before he realized she was clutching the sheet in a white-kn
uckled grip, he was inside her.
She was so tight. Too tight. And he knew he was hurting her when it was the very thing he promised not to do. He held himself very still, denial making his features hard, and his eyes, even in the dim light, burn with a blue-white intensity.
"Why?" he asked as he felt her try to accommodate him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Michael couldn't pretend she didn't know what he was asking. Her fears of being too clumsy to pass as experienced were borne home. If he didn't know for certain, he at least suspected that until a moment ago she'd been a virgin. "I didn't know it would bother you," she said. She squirmed slightly under him.
He practically growled. "For God's sake, don't move."
"You said yourself no man had ever pleasured me."
"I didn't mean that no man had ever had the opportunity."
It didn't seem prudent to tell him to be more clear in the future.
Chapter 7
"Ethan?" She said his name hesitantly. Her hands came up to touch his face. She felt the tension in his features beneath her fingertips. "Don't you want me now?"
He shut his eyes and tried not to think of how good it felt to be inside her with her hands on his face and her legs curved against his thighs. Even as he started to withdraw he felt the hot, moist center of her tighten around him. "What I didn't want was everything complicated by a virgin." He swore as her body, probably without her even being aware of it, tightened around him again. He couldn't contain the thrust that followed. He was aware that Michael moved with him. "Michael," he said. "Tell me to stop."
"I told you I wouldn't," she said. More softly she added, "And I'm not a virgin anymore."
Her husky voice did what her hands and legs couldn't do: pushed Ethan over the edge. "It's that sweet mouth of yours," he said, slanting his mouth across hers. "It's always getting you in trouble."
His thrust was hard and sure. He wanted to take his time, to draw out the pleasure. It was much too late for that. He needed to take her swiftly, needed to feel, not think. His hips quickened as a force outside himself seemed to take over. The pleasure was there because Michael met him thrust for thrust, hungry and as needy as he. That loving could be so mutually greedy and satisfying was a new experience for Ethan. Her hands clutched and caressed him, her mouth tasted and teased, and when she reached the point of pleasure's end her mouth opened under his and he felt the rush of tension pass from her into him. His name was on her lips. He swore he could taste her wonderment. The shudder that shook her became his a few moments later. She stroked his hair as he spilled his seed.
Neither of them moved for several minutes. Finally Ethan raised himself away from her. The bed creaked. He wondered if it had creaked the entire time they were making love. Probably. He hadn't noticed.
He kicked a boot out of the way as he headed for the washstand. He thought about lighting a lamp but decided Michael wasn't quite ready for that. When he was finished cleaning himself he carried fresh water and cloth to Michael's side. "There might be blood," he said. "You may want to wash."
When he sat on the edge of the bed he was close enough to feel her stiffen. "Mortified or scared of me?" he asked frankly.
"Mortified."
"Do you want me to wash you?"
"God, no!" She sat up, thankful there was only a little light in the room from the stove. "Turn your back. And stop grinning. I know you're grinning. And looking smug. Unbearably smug. Is your back really turned?"
"Absolutely."
She breathed a little easier. "I don't think I'm bleeding, but there's something that's—"
"That's me."
Her head jerked up. "What?"
"That's me. My seed. What you took from me and into you. Hasn't anyone explained these things?"
"Of course they've been explained," she snapped, tossing the cloth back in the basin. Droplets of water splashed Ethan's back. He reached for the basin and carried it back to the washstand. Her softly stunned voice followed him. "It's just that the reality is so much more... real."
He tamped down a smile. "It is that." He pulled on a pair of drawers and passed Michael her nightshirt. "Put that back on. You might just get some sleep that way."
She cocked her head to one side, not certain she understood. "You mean... again... this very night?"
Ethan shrugged. "As you so poignantly pointed out earlier: you're not a virgin any longer. Move over. No matter what does or doesn't happen between us, I'm not sleeping on the floor anymore." He stoked the fire while Michael put on the nightshirt. When he returned to the bed there was a space for him. "You don't have to sleep way over there."
Her move toward him was a trifle cautious. "I'm new at this."
"You don't have to remind me. The question is why?" He was turned on his side, his head propped on one elbow. His hand seemed to gravitate of its own accord toward Michael's hair. He sifted the wild curls with his fingers.
"Why what?" she asked.
"Why there's never been anyone before me."
"You'd have been more comfortable with that, wouldn't you?"
"Hell, yes."
"Are you afraid I'll want marriage?"
He shook his head. "If you recall, I offered that your first night here. You turned me down flat. I don't fancy things have changed that much." He found another curl and twisted it around his finger. "What about those fellas you traveled with on the train?"
"I worked too hard to make them accept me as one of the boys to allow them to see me as a woman. I wanted to just be a person. But it isn't possible sometimes. It's newspaperman. The good ol' boys. Even on the poker table kings are high. I graduated from a college for women but most of the professors were men. I was at the top of my class and I had to start at a position below men who weren't nearly as good as I was. I didn't mind starting at the bottom, only I thought they should have been there too. I've scrambled and scratched and made them notice me at the Chronicle for what I could do. Not for what I am."
"But you are a woman."
"You don't understand," she said with husky urgency, trying to make her point. "It's not that I don't want to be a woman. I just want the same opportunities as a man. I want to walk the streets alone without being considered a streetwalker. I want to work in a newsroom without my presence being newsworthy. I want my name to mean something aside from my husband's. I want to vote for the next mayor of Tammany Hall. And even if she's a complete idiot, at least I'll know I had some choice in the matter of putting her there."
Ethan thought about that. "And what about the other things men have to do?"
"I suppose you're speaking of wars," she said, sighing that she was not eloquent enough to make him understand. "It seems that invariably the argument turns to war. Have I given you any reason to think that I wouldn't fight for something I believed in?"
Ethan's fingers paused in their sifting of her hair. "No," he said. After a moment he added, "Quite the opposite, in fact."
His admission stunned her and quite helpless to call them back, tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently. Tears always seemed to lend their weight on the side of a woman's frailty.
Ethan saw the sparkle of tears, felt the hurried swipe of her hand across her face. He leaned over and touched his mouth to her closed eyes. He tasted the sweet and salty wetness. He found her mouth and kissed her watery smile. "Still," he said, "why me? Why would you allow me to be the first man in your bed?"
"You're not going to let this rest, are you?"
"No."
She sighed. "Very well. There are a lot of reasons, I suppose. For you I wanted to be seen as a woman. I thought it might be to my advantage. I've seen how the women here manipulate the customers, teasing and flirting and eventually getting what they want. It doesn't always have to end up in the bedroom. The men are often satisfied with a smile or a companion who simply listens to them. But sometimes it needs to go beyond sharing a drink and some companionship and I thought that would be true in your case."
"Wait a
minute," he said. "You're telling me you deliberately set out to manipulate me."
"More or less."
Ethan just shook his head, bewildered by her confession. "You have a lot to learn about feminine wiles. You can't be so honest about your motives and still expect to be manipulative."
"Exactly," she said triumphantly.
"Exactly?"
"Mm-hmm. I abandoned the entire idea. Don't you see? Feminine wiles, as you call them, simply didn't suit me. Oh, I can be wily, I think, but I had so much trouble with the feminine part. The one time I really wanted to be noticed as a woman, and I couldn't make it happen."
Ethan's dark brows nearly rose to his hairline. "Not be noticed as a woman? What in the world are you talking about? Houston's been dogging your steps since he got his first good look at you. Detra sees you as a rival. The miners take a dance with you every chance they get. When you kick up your legs on stage no one with eyes in their head thinks of you as anything but a woman."
"But none of those people will help me. I needed you to notice me. I thought you were the most likely one to help me get away."
"So you thought a virgin sacrifice was in order?"
Michael didn't know whether to slap his face or laugh. She did neither, counting to ten instead. "I told you I abandoned the idea. Not only couldn't I get you to notice me, I wasn't certain I wanted you to."
"I seem to recall a few kisses."
"I haven't forgotten them either, but I didn't know what I wanted then. The thought of you in my bed then was abhorrent. By the time I realized there might be some advantage in it, you didn't seem to be interested."
Ethan couldn't remember ever not being interested. Apparently he'd been more successful in hiding his thoughts than he'd suspected. "So you gave up trying to seduce me because you thought you couldn't do it, you weren't certain you wanted to, and you didn't have any real assurance that I'd help you escape."
