Nettie clucked and rushed over to her, unwrapping the bandage and assessing the damage. “I’ve seen worse. Still, a burn is nothing to sneeze at. You keep that blister clean and don’t you dare pop it.” She reached for a crock on a shelf overhead. “This here salve, which was my mama’s recipe, will have it dried up in a few days, and will keep it from scarring. Until then, don’t get it wet, which means,” she dragged her over to a stool by her butcher block table, “you sit here and learn from the master.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Coral agreed, feeling more content than she had in her life. She had friends, a man who loved her, a home, and when she thought the time was right, she was going to ask Bo about that bookstore.
* * *
The heat was nearly overwhelming, as she expected it would be, yet Bo didn’t seem to notice. The shop had a special ambience of sights, sounds, and smells: the orange-red glow of the hot iron and the occasional spark that arced into the air as hammer struck heated metal, the rhythmic clang, pings and clunks of the tools of his trade, and the pungent aroma of burning wood. It was an art form, truly, but nothing was as beautiful in Coral’s eyes as the artisan himself.
Garbed in long sleeves, a heavy apron and thick protective gloves, Bo moved with fluid grace, the muscles in his brawny arms and shoulders, as well as across his chest and broad back, rippled and flexed as he moved. She noted the long line of his neck as he bent to his task, the sheen of sweat glistening on the skin of his handsome face and in the open v of his shirt, all reflected perfectly by the glow of the fire. She could watch him all day as he worked on what would become a decorative wrought iron rail for the front porch of one of his patron’s homes.
Before he sat her on a stool in the corner and warned her not to move as she observed, he’d shown her some of his completed work. From mundane tools and horseshoes, to beautiful candelabra, and a huge scrollwork chandelier, his skill was evident. The best of his work in her opinion was an intricate wall sculpture of horses running through the mountains, the metal pounded until it was nearly as thin as paper, lines of texture added for depth, then the whole of it polished to a glossy finish. It was as fine as anything she’d seen hanging in the multitude of art studios in New York.
“Oh, Bo,” she’d exclaimed as she ran appreciative fingers over the detailed work. “You should be doing this all the time. Your talents are wasted on repairing plows and mending broken tools.”
He’d huffed a small laugh. “Thank you, sweetheart, but repairs and mending are what put food on the table and clothes on our backs. It also employs the three men I have working for me.”
“Of course,” she agreed, smiling as she spied another piece of sculpted wall art in the shape of a peacock’s tail before she continued, “But in this you are truly gifted.”
He’d brushed off her praise and taken her to the forge to observe as she’d asked. It was where she’d remained, melting in the abysmal heat. For an hour, his hammer had pounded and clanged, interrupted by the infrequent sizzle of hot ore meeting water. It sounded again now as he stuck what had once been an ordinary metal rod and was now a series of swirls and curlicues that would be the decorative inset between the posts that made up the railing into the cooling bath. As he removed it and inspected his work, he looked up and caught her eye.
“How’re you holding up in the heat, sweetheart?”
She had to admit she was done in and couldn’t imagine how she looked. Her hair tended to curl in the heat, and as a red head with fair skin, she flushed easily when hot. And there were trickles of sweat that she wouldn’t mention to him, running down her back and between her breasts. “I don’t know how you stand it, Bo.”
He shrugged. “I started working in my father’s forge when I was ten. I suppose I’ve developed a tolerance for it.” He set aside the metal piece with his tongs and moved toward her. Up close, she gazed up at his beautiful blue eyes distorted slightly behind the lenses of his spectacles.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she said with a grin. “They make you look quite bookish, like a university professor about to deliver a lecture, rather than a smith.”
He grinned, tugging off his gloves and tucking them under one arm before removing the large round wire rimmed spectacles. “They’re clear glass and protect my eyes from errant sparks.” He offered her his hand. “How about we move you to the stable where it is cooler and get a drink of water?”
As they walked outside, even the mid-afternoon heat was a relief from what the forge put out. Something occurred to her. “Your father was a blacksmith?”
He nodded. “Most trades are passed down through families. My grandfather, and his father before him, were all smiths and farriers.”
“What happened to him? Your father, and your mother as well.”
“He died when we immigrated to New York. A sickness on the ship. I was barely fifteen at the time. My mother passed on several years later.” He didn’t offer more details and didn’t appear to want to continue on with the topic. Memories of a loved one’s passing were always painful, especially a parent, no matter how much time had gone by. She knew that well, but she wanted to know all about her new husband.
“I’m sorry, honey. It must have been hard, for you and your mother, in a new country and with you so young.”
“I found work right away. Here is the water barrel, let me get a cup so you don’t have to use the community dipper.” With that, talk of family and his past promptly ceased. Coral decided she would wait for a better time to bring it up again.
After cooling himself with a drink, he left her under Ralph’s watchful eye in the much more comfortable stable. She looked after him thoughtfully, filled with unanswered questions until a customer came in. Curious, she watched Ralph move to the office, tally the man’s account, and accept his payment. When he left, Ralph returned to grooming one of the horses only to be interrupted minutes later when another man came in. Good with sums, she offered to help, and with only a few instructions, and a bit of reassurance that her arithmetic skills were the top of her class, she made herself useful and handled the other clients who came in the rest of the afternoon.
That’s where Bo found her at closing time.
“I left an inquisitive bride only to return and find a competent banker, eagerly counting her piles of coins and stacks of bills.”
She glanced up and smiled broadly. “This is Ralph’s least favorite part of managing your stable. I, on the other hand, have a knack.” Abruptly, she bit her lip, then asked belatedly, “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. Tally away, sweet Coral.”
She raised her bandaged hand. “Good, because I wasn’t much use for anything else with this.”
“How is it?” he asked, moving closer. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. It sure did sting this morning. Nettie gave me a salve that would keep it from scarring. It wasn’t a soothing balm like yours was and burned when she slathered it on.”
“If it helps it heal without festering, sting or not, keep using it.”
The stern order, that she knew had her best interest at heart, had her biting back a grin as she answered dutifully, “Yes, husband.”
It was wonderful that he cared, but she had no intention of going against Nettie, who had already told her to use it twice a day. Besides, she wanted to avoid an ugly scar. He didn’t need to know she was anything other than obedient, however.
“Shall we head to the café?” Bo asked while he offered her his crooked arm. “We never had that dinner, despite my valiant efforts. Now you’re stuck with me.”
“I can’t believe how foolish I was.” She curled her fingers around his forearm and squeezed. It gave no more than iron would, his muscles, rigid from wielding the heavy hammer all day, didn’t give in the slightest. “Aren’t you tired? I could try to cook.”
She smothered a laugh as she watched him try to hide a grimace. “Don’t take offense, raring, but perhaps we can wait until after a few more lessons.”
; Amused, rather than insulted, she agreed, not blaming him for wanting something decent after toiling all day. “Lead on, good sir. I’m anxious to try the café’s famous fried chicken that everyone is always clucking about. I’m starved.”
Chuckling at her clever pun, he led her outside, leaving Ralph to close up shop, as they strolled in the cool evening air as dusk fell over their town.
* * *
“Åh det är bra.” His voice was a husky growl and the words unfamiliar.
She looked up, pulling away from the hard length of him, worried she was doing it wrong, this being her first time.
The hand entwined in her hair guided her gently, as the other aimed the head of his cock back toward her mouth.
“You’re doing well, älskling. Keep going.”
She opened her lips wider at his encouragement and again took his shaft into her mouth, this time relaxing as he’d instructed, and taking more of him, deeper. It was her idea. The pleasure he brought her with his mouth on her sex was indescribable and she wanted to return the favor. And she was enjoying doing it for him.
Propped with his back against the headboard, and her naked on her knees between his spread thighs made her feel wicked. What’s more, the sounds of pleasure coming from his lips, and the occasional growl or sucked in breath, told her she was doing it right.
“Touch me, raring,” he’d said at the onset. “Grip the shaft as you come off and run your fingers lightly over my sack. On my cock, stroke your tongue along the underside and add lots of suction. As long as you guard your teeth, you can’t really go wrong.” After those brief instructions, he’d leaned back to watch, his eyes bright and the very large, broad length of him standing straight up, rigid with excitement.
She’d been at it for several minutes now, finding early on that it was impossible to take all of him into her mouth. Wrapping her hand around the base pleased him, as did the way her hand squeezed and pumped in the motion he had shown her. As she bobbed her head up and down, he lifted his hips ever so slightly, meeting her and encouraging her to take more. She did, but her eyes watered and she pulled back.
“Come up here,” he growled, his hands curling beneath her arms and dragging her up his long body. “Spread your legs and straddle me,” he ordered further when her hips were in alignment above his. As she did, she pushed up on his chest and looked down at him, standing tall and proud, jerking occasionally as it rested against the roundness of her belly. He was so big, it reached past her navel in this position.
“I’m amazed that you fit,” she said, in awe of his size as her hand stroked the soft, satiny skin of the head. Clear drops of liquid, which she knew from having him in her mouth, tasted lightly salty and were wholly addictive, glistened beneath her fingers.
“Raise up,” he said. Spanning her hips, his hands lifted her before she had a chance to move. As he raised her enough to angle the tip between her thighs, he added gruffly, “Use your hand and take me inside.”
At the feel of him against her intimate flesh, her heart quickened. She tentatively slid the head between her lips and in her inexperience, took more than a moment to find the exact place, the tip of his cock sliding through her copious wetness and nudging the sensitive bud in front. She gasped at the jolt of pleasure that shot like lightning to her nipples.
“Hurry, love,” Bo groaned, “before I shoot and have to finish you with my tongue and fingers, instead of my cock.”
“Would that be so bad?” she asked, closing her eyes as he slipped inside her at last and she began to sink down on him.
“No, I’d just have to take my time in pleasuring you, so I could recover, then make you come again when my cock found its second wind.”
Her eyes flew open and met his. She knew he was serious. The man had unbelievable endurance. As he filled her, their eyes locked, hers heavy lidded as she felt every inch of him glide inside, stretching her with an exquisite mix of pleasure and an ever-present tinge of discomfort. The latter enough to raise her anxiety just so, that she wondered, as she had for the past week, if she could take him all. Then, as she relaxed and breathed as he’d taught her, he slid in to the hilt, her body coming to rest against his. Impaled on the oh so impressive proof of his unending desire for her, she ground her hips increasing their combined pleasure.
“Åh det är bra,” he repeated.
“What does that mean, Bo?”
“It means it feels incredibly good, Coral. Now move on me and make it feel even better.”
She raised up and felt the slow drag of him inside her, with the help of his hands sliding beneath her thighs and his fingers curling around her bottom cheeks, she came almost all the way off of him, before he let her sink back down. As her body weight took him all the way to the hilt, they both groaned, filling the stillness of their bedroom.
“My stars, Bo, you take my breath away.”
Moving up and gliding back down, their bodies were in perfect harmony as each savored their joining, her honeyed slickness allowing her to take him deeper, sending shivers of delight racing through her. As she slid down and he thrust up inside her, she moaned aloud at the delicious stretch. Boldly, her hands moved up to cup her breasts, her thumb and forefinger rolling her nipples as he would if his hands were free.
He growled something urgently in Swedish, then she found herself flat on her back beneath him. Clasping one hand in his, he moved it between her thighs.
“As you pinch your nipple, I want you to rub your cunt too. First, watching you suck me, then seeing you take me deep inside, and looking on as you play with your gorgeous tits, it’s about to make me explode. I need you to catch up because I’m about to fuck you, hard.”
He did so then, lifting her legs and draping them over his forearms as he pumped into her, their skin smacking together, his hips slapping against the tautly stretched skin of the backs of her thighs. Propped over her, his hands planted in the mattress on either side, he drove deep, rousing her passion as he held off his own. She could see it in the strain of his clenched jaw and the sheen of sweat that broke out across his forehead and over his chest. Knowing that he couldn’t wait, she worked her nipple faster, tugging and pinching it harder, as the fingers between her legs stroked, circled and rubbed more rapidly. That he struggled to control his need, waiting for her unselfishly, carried her to greater heights.
“Bo,” she whispered, her climax upon her.
“Thank god,” he growled as he pounded into her. “Come now, min skatt.”
He didn’t need to tell her to, with the waves of ecstasy already rolling through her. And Bo was right along with her, roaring his release as he filled her with the warm splash of his life-giving seed. Silently she prayed that it would take root, that the baby they would both love and cherish one day would be the result of their incredible love and passion. At the thought of a miniature blue-eyed, blond haired Viking, she smiled, her hands sliding up his sweat dampened body to curl around his neck. As she pulled him down, she met him halfway, whispering against his lips as she kissed him softly, “I love you, dear husband.”
A soft kiss not nearly satisfying him, he delved deep with his tongue, returning her words long moments later.
“I love you, too, Coral. My sweet wife, min skatt, my treasure.”
Chapter Fourteen
The rest of the week fell into a similar routine. Making love upon waking, spending the mornings with Nettie for cooking lessons, then helping Ben at the stable in the afternoons. She tried out some of her new skills at home for supper, or if Bo was late closing down the forge, they ate at the café. The evenings were spent at home, usually going to bed early and getting to know each other in very intimate ways.
Once, after supper, while he was helping her with the dishes, Bo washing while she dried due to the still healing burn on her hand, he accidently splashed the front of her blouse. She wiped at it with her towel, which had only made it worse, soaking her through to the skin. The light weight summer fabric clung to her, as did the camisole she
wore underneath, having long since discarded her corsets in light of the summer heat like all the other women in these parts.
Fighting a losing battle, she gave up, expecting the thin material would air dry quickly. Holding out her hand for another dish, she glanced up when he didn’t pass her one. His hands had stilled on the plate he’d been scrubbing, but his attention wasn’t on the dish. Instead, his gaze was riveted on her breasts, the nipples taut and blatantly revealed by the clingy wet fabric. An electric charge seemed to snap between them. After a long moment, his eyes lifted and fixed on her own. The dishcloth dropped with a splash into the sink as he moved toward her, a hungry passion burning bright in his eyes.
She took a step back, then another, not out of fear, on instinct, like anyone would if facing a huge Viking who was descending upon them.
“Bo,” she whispered when the cupboards at her back cut off her retreat.
“Open your blouse, Coral. I need to taste your nipples.”
She hesitated, a jolt of intense desire making her ache between her thighs. He growled with impatience as he took another step. “Blus. Uv. Nu.”
Her hands fluttered up to her collar in front, unable to decide if his words were heavily accented English, or Swedish.
“If you value the garment, take it off now.”
Without delaying further, she quickly undid the many buttons in front and stripped the blouse off her shoulders. She did so without looking away from his eyes and the turbulent passion she could practically see whirling within him. He was like a marauding Norseman of old, ready to ravish the woman he’d found while pillaging. Being ravished by Bo didn’t sound bad at all, come to think of it.
“The camisole goes too,” he whispered hoarsely, when the blouse hit the floor. She didn’t hesitate to pull it up and over her head. Her hair, that she’d unpinned when they got home, fell about her shoulders and over her breasts. His hand reached out and brushed it back behind her. Then his fingers trailed down over the points of her taut, swollen nipples. The rough pads of his fingertips scraped over them, which was delicious and she arched into his touch, silently asking for more. Both hands were at her breasts, his thumbs flicking over the hard tips as he weighed the fullness in his hands.
Claiming Coral (The Red Petticoat Saloon) Page 14
