Wicked Temptations

by Patricia Watters

  "Taking Trudy away from here will not prevent her from hearing the stories that are going around town," Priscilla said. "The only way you can do that is to take her back with you to the ranch. Is that what you really want?"

  Adam's thick chest heaved with a slow intake of breath, and the anger on his face changed to dismay. While he seemed to be deliberating what to do, Priscilla looked at Trudy, and said, "Please go upstairs, lovey. I'd like to speak with your father alone."

  Trudy looked at Adam for confirmation. "Go ahead," he said.

  Trudy turned and scampered up the stairs.

  Priscilla said to Adam, "We need to continue this in the back room, where Trudy won't hear us." Without waiting for Adam's response she turned and walked through the open doorway, and Adam followed her into the darkened storage room, shutting the door behind him.

  Priscilla turned to face him. In the dim light sifting through the murky window, she said, in a hushed tone, "If you take Trudy back to the ranch, she'll soon be with your young cowboy. As it is, she's occupied with her studies during the day and with writing poems and essays for the paper in the evening. And with her here, I'm able to monitor her comings and goings. So far, she has not protested or tried to slip away because she's being kept busy with things that interest her, which I believe is more important than making sure she's not having her head filled with what you consider suffrage nonsense."

  When Adam didn't reply, Priscilla said, "You have to recognize that Trudy is a young woman who is becoming aware of needs that only a man can fill. Because of her age and her innocence, she's vulnerable, and she should not be allowed to find herself alone with a young man who awakens her body to unfamiliar longings, which will happen if you take her back to the ranch. Before I met you, I believed that a woman was capable of maintaining complete control of her actions at all times, that if a man tried to lure her into doing something she knew was improper, she'd have the will to stop herself, and him. I was wrong. When you hold me and touch me and kiss me I have no control at all. My only wish is for you to strip off my clothes and have your way with me. It has become a problem of late, but I'm trying to deal with it."

  Adam stared at her, clearly uncertain whether they were engaged in an argument and he should keep his distance, or whether her proclamation was an invitation for him to take her now. And all she knew, as she waited for him to decide, was that she wanted him to end the terrible yearning that was foremost on her mind. She didn't want to think about whether he could be involved with the incidents with the homesteaders. Later, she'd consider it, and probably regret anything she might let him do. But for now, her thoughts were singular. And Adam knew it.

  He opened his arms to her, and when he did, she rushed into them, and said, "This is exactly what I mean, and why Trudy must stay with me."

  "You're right," Adam said. "But I'm also obsessed with having you. You're the only woman I want. And I want you now." His fingers went to her bodice and he fumbled with the buttons.

  Shoving his hands aside, Priscilla quickly unfastened the buttons herself and opened her dress. "This is as far as we can go tonight," she said, slipping loose the lacings of her corset. "Trudy's upstairs, and I'm trying my best to convince her that she must remain chaste until marriage. And I'm a terrible example right now, but I want you to do what you did in the buggy. I'll worry about the consequences of my lack of willpower later." She shoved open her corset and pulled Adam's head toward her breast, and his lips latched onto a nipple. As Adam lathed and suckled one breast, and kneaded the other, Priscilla tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and let out a string of little plaintive moans. "Please don't forget that I have two breasts, and the other is equally ready for your ministrations," she said, in a voice heavy with passion.

  Adam moved to her other breast, and Priscilla let out a moan of pure pleasure. "I'm about to go mad with wanting you," she said in a raspy voice. "What you're doing is simply not enough. But there's no way you can take my virginity quietly right now. I'm certain to let out some very dubious sounds. I almost did in the buggy when we came so close, and it wouldn't do to have Trudy come bursting in on us to find out what was wrong with me."

  Vacillating between pressing Adam's head closer against her, or lifting it away, she gave a long moan of frustration, took his head between her hands and pulled it off her breast, then drew her corset together and tugged on the lacings. "Thank you," she said, while buttoning her bodice. "That was a delicious sampling of what I might expect from you, even though I'm more frustrated now than ever."

  "I understand frustration," Adam groused. To Priscilla's shock, he took her hand and pressed it over his male part. "This isn't going away for a long time, and it's damn uncomfortable while it lasts. "

  Priscilla cupped her hand closer around him, her fingers surveying the lumpy hardness of him and the surprisingly large size of the thing she had been so curious about. "It does explain what was going on beneath my skirt in the buggy though," she said. "I couldn't see that part of you at the time, and what I felt when you placed it where you did was puzzling. Does this happen often?" she asked, while continuing to inspect the thing through the fabric of his trousers.

  Adam's face looked grim. "Unfortunately, yes...every time I see you, or think about you, or smell something that reminds me of you, or see a woman with red hair and freckles and blond eye lashes. It even happens when I see a picture of a woman who lived three hundred years ago!"

  Priscilla laughed and moved her hand away. "I'd like to have that power over men three hundred years from now." She placed her palm on his chest and reached up and gave him a kiss. "I'm sorry you're uncomfortable," she said, "but there's nothing we can do about it tonight. I also think you should leave or Trudy will wonder what's going on in here and come to investigate."

  "I suppose you're right." Adam sighed. "When will I see you again?"

  "I don't know, " Priscilla replied. "There are things I need to sort out. We have an abnormal physical attraction for each other, which is beyond my understanding. I've never attracted men. Then you came along and made me feel desirable. Perhaps that's why I'm obsessed with wanting you in my bed. Maybe it's simply because I may never have another chance." She let out a weary sigh. "I just wish love would play a part," she said, wistfully. "I don't feel love for you, Adam. I feel this uncontainable passion when I'm with you, like a female cat in need of a tom. I've seen cats in heat, howling incessantly, tails raised in invitation. That's what it's like when I'm with you. I want to raise my tail and have you take care of me. But I also want to love you."

  Adam took her face between his hands. "Maybe that just takes time."

  "That's the problem," Priscilla said. "The more time that goes by, the more stories I hear about what the cattlemen are doing to the homesteaders, and the more confused I am about my feelings for you."

  Adam kissed her then, not a deeply passionate kiss, but a light, short peck. "I want to love you too," he said. "Maybe I already do. I'm not sure. But while you're waiting for your answers, would it be so wrong for you to lift your tail and let me take care of your need? Maybe you'd get your answer then. Maybe it's the only way for you to know if what I have to give you as a man, is what you really want."

  "I know exactly what you have to give me as a man, Adam," she said, "I just felt it. And I assure you, it's something I want very badly. But it's not the answer I am looking for. That's what's confusing me. Women are not supposed to be preoccupied with that part of a man and what it can do for them, and that's precisely what's happening with me."

  "Then answer me candidly." Adam rested his hands on her shoulders and looked at her intensely. "Are you preoccupied with that part of other men?"

  "Of course not," Priscilla clipped. "The idea of laying naked with another man and having him do the things you described is repulsive to me. Even the thought of seeing another man naked is abhorrent. But I can't stop thinking about the things you described that you'd do for me, soaping me in the bath tub, doing what you just did, an
d all the other things you said you'd do, or envisioning the sight of you naked in my bed while I take my pleasure in doing things I know would please you. I'm so restless to do those things, I feel on the verge of insanity."

  "Good God, woman. When you talk like that you drive me crazy. We'll work this out. I don't know when or where, but you and I are going to take care of this obsession we have for each other. Very soon." He kissed her one more time and left. Priscilla fanned her face. Adam was right. Life had been so less complicated before she moved to Cheyenne.

  ***

  Adam untied the mule tethered behind his buckboard and led him to the hitching rail in front of Seth Watkins' humble cabin. Looping the leathers from the mule's halter over the rail, he stepped onto the porch and knocked. A black man opened the door. Seeing Adam, his face hardened. "What you want?" he asked in a gruff voice.

  "I've come to bring you this animal."

  Seth eyed the mule. "How much you askin' for him?"

  "Nothing. He's yours."

  Seth eyed Adam, skeptically. "I know you," he said, his voice accusatory. "You's the cattleman runnin' for mayor of Cheyenne."

  "Yes," Adam reluctantly admitted, though he wasn't sure why it made him feel penitent. He wasn't responsible for the man's mule being shot. But he wasn't so sure about some of the other cattlemen. At the Cheyenne Club he'd heard some vicious talk about what they'd like to do to the homesteaders, but he'd figured it was talk. Now, he wasn't so sure. He too would like to see every homesteader go back east and leave the grazing land free from fences, but that wasn't going to happen. Times were changing, and they'd have to adjust to them.

  Seth Watkins folded his arms. "If you're tryin' to buy our votes," he said, "you can take that mule an go. Our votes aren't for sale."

  Adam removed his hat and held it between his hands. "I'm not after your vote, Mr. Watkins, I'm after justice. I don't know who killed your mule, but this land is yours and you have a right to farm it, just like I have a right to run my cattle over government land."

  Seth went to inspect the mule. He ran his hand down the animal's leg and over his withers, then looked into the mule's mouth. "He's a right fine animal," he said, stroking the mule's large head. "Young, sound. He's got to be worth three hundred or more."

  "He is," Adam said. "He'll work for you for a long time. If you get a good crop this year, you can pay me some if you feel you need to. But I'd rather see you put the money into fixing the roof on this place so your family will be warm and dry when winter comes."

  Seth looked up at his roof, and said, "We've been needin' a new roof for a long time, but there's never enough money."

  A young black woman stepped to the front door, a toddler on her hip, a boy about four clinging to her leg. "What's goin' on Seth?" she asked. "And who's mule is that?" She adjusted the toddler to accommodate her prominent belly, clearly nearing her term.

  "He's yours, Mrs. Watkins," Adam said.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "Adam Whittington," he replied. "I have a spread west of town."

  "Cattle?" the woman clipped.

  Adam nodded.

  The woman looked at Seth in alarm. "I don't like the looks of this," she said. "He's one of them. Why's he bringin' us this mule?"

  "It's okay, Tillie," Seth said. "He don't mean no harm. We'll pay for the mule when the crop comes in."

  "And if hail takes it like it did last year? How you gonna pay for the mule then?"

  "The mule is yours, Mrs. Watkins," Adam said. "You and your husband don't have to pay for him unless you have extra money."

  Seth rubbed the mule between his large ears and stroked his muzzle. "He come with a name?" he asked.

  "Mule," Adam replied. "The man I got him from said his name was Mule."

  "Okay Mule," Seth said. "You and I are gonna try to finish plantin' the beans and beets and hope the hail don't crush the seedlings when they come up."

  Adam looked toward a crisscross of fences and the hogs milling inside the pens. "You have some nice looking sows over there," he said. "And from the size of the apparatus on that boar, they should have no trouble producing some fine shoats for you. Maybe you should try building up your stock. There's always a need for pork here, and it's bringing in a good price."

  "I've thought about that," Seth said. "I still have to plant crops to feed 'em though. But I'm much obliged for Mule, and I intend to pay you back."

  "Just take care of him. And I'll try to find out who killed your mule. If I do, they'll be the ones paying me back. You just take care of your family and be good to Mule." He shoved on his hat and headed for the buckboard.

  As he gathered the reins, Seth called out, "Me and the Missus will be castin' our votes, Mr. Whittington, and I think we'll be castin' them for you."

  "I'd appreciate that," Adam said, then clucked his tongue and left.

  As he drove, he felt strangely contented, something that hadn't happened since Priscilla arrived to turn his world upside down. Nor could he suppress the smile of satisfaction that came from helping Seth Watkins and his family. But he'd resist the urge to send a couple of his men out to repair their roof. Watkins was a proud man, and he wouldn't appreciate any more handouts. But maybe he'd talk to the man about raising hogs on shares. Watkins would do the work, but he'd put up the capital for fencing, feed and additional sows. From the size of the testicles of that big boar, he'd have no trouble servicing many more sows.

  But for the moment, all Adam wanted was to go to Priscilla and share his pleasure over what he'd done for Seth Watkins, not because he wanted to use that to get Priscilla into bed, but because he wanted to see her beautiful smile, and look into her golden-lashed hazel eyes, and see her freckled face flush with pleasure. Then, he'd take her to bed.

  He let out a soft chuckle. Unlike the boar, he only had one sow to service, but servicing Priscilla could be a full-time job. He liked that idea. He just hoped he had the male apparatus to keep up with her. She was one passionate woman. But he no longer worried about his virility as he had earlier, because the more demanding and outspoken Priscilla became about her desire for him, the quicker that part of him reacted, until he was beginning to wonder if his ongoing state could have long-term dire consequences.

  If he were married though, he reasoned, he'd get relief at least nightly. Or several times a night, he amended, when he realized the only woman he was interested in marrying was Priscilla. And he had not yet introduced her to the marital act. But when he did, he suspected she'd put a whole different connotation to the term. The word 'act' seemed far too inactive. Possibly Marital Acrobatics, or Marital Gymnastics, or Marital Tussling. He let out a little chuckle. Marriage to Priscilla would never be lackluster.

  On the other hand, not being married to her was torture.

  It had been over a week since she bared her breasts for his pleasure, and hers, and his condition was worsening. Surely a man could suffer permanent damage when the state was ongoing. But tonight, he would get relief, and it would come while bringing sexual gratification to a feisty, provocative, overtly sensual, red-headed vixen who was driving him to certain madness. Anxious to get to her and end this misery, he clucked his tongue and jiggled the reins, sending the horse into a steady trot.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'Her mind has no womanly weakness. Her

  perseverance is equal to that of a man...'

  — Queen Elizabeth's tutor, Roger Ascham

  So many women arrived for the Town Tattler meeting the following week that Priscilla knew she'd have to find another place for future gatherings. She also realized she might have to go to a large quarto size newspaper instead of a singlesheet. The suffrage articles had generated so much interest they were running longer than she'd expected, the guest opinion pieces were stacking up, all the regular columns were filled, and there was no end to the questions for the Miss Manners and Miss Valentine columns. She was also inundated with campaign promotionals from both sides. After running the spot for Adam, along with the
engraving, other candidates had taken out advertising space for their own promotionals. It was a very demanding time for all of them, and because she was so occupied overseeing the typesetting, Priscilla put Libby in charge of answering the questions for Miss Valentine, and Trudy, with the enthusiastic help of Lady Whittington, was answering the questions for Miss Manners.

  Priscilla was surprised at how involved Lady Whittington had become, not only in helping Trudy with Miss Manners, but because the steady stream of events flowing into the society column had come from her circle of friends. The Tattle Tale column was also buzzing, as those same women threw barbs and circulated rumors with typical British civility. But none of Lady Whittington's friends attended the meetings, nor did they send in opinion pieces on women's issues, which was for the best, Priscilla decided. The homesteader's wives were occupying those columns, and they would consider it an affront if the cattlemen's wives tried to insert their ideas and opinions. So Priscilla prided herself in being able to successfully juggle both sides.

  After Priscilla had settled the women down for the meeting, Trudy gave her presentation on the Rational Dress Society, which contended that fashion’s roots were ornamental rather than practical. Trudy spoke with a natural ability that Priscilla greatly admired, having never had the gift herself, always wanting to be the mouse in the corner instead of the one on the stump. And Trudy had clearly captured the women's attention as she talked about a woman's right to protest the introduction of any fashion that deforms the figure or impedes the movements of the body, such as tightly-fitting corsets, and high-heeled shoes, and heavily-weighted skirts like crinolines, fashions that rendered healthy exercise almost impossible.