by Paty Jager
Her hat bumped against his shoulder. “See, nothing to it. Not a snide remark or over-calculating look.”
Clay shook his head and smiled. After the way he’d ravaged her in the washroom, she should have been blushing and fumbling about, but his Rachel could handle any situation.
“Our beds have been made.”
He caught the hint of disappointment in her voice. “Is something wrong?”
“They made two.”
Her soft lips tickled his ear. He wrapped his arm around her waist hauling her against him.
Her voice whispered in his ear, “I thought you said we could sleep together?”
He turned his head and brushed his lips against hers. “We can sleep in the bottom one—together.”
She slipped from his arms. “Watch your head.” She grasped his hand and pulled him downward. “Lie down so I can close the curtains.”
Clay stretched out on the bed. Her knees bumped his hips. Her scent wreathed his head as her body slid down his legs and back up, before her breasts skimmed his face, and then moved down his body. The air fluttered around him, followed by a feminine grunt.
“There.” She lowered her body next to his, one arm resting across his chest, her breasts pressing against him. “We’re all closed in for the night,” she whispered in his ear. Her warm breath tickled his neck.
He ached to complete what they’d started in the washroom, but he planned to make love to her, and he couldn’t do that in a crowded Pullman coach.
“Help me take this jacket off so I can get comfortable enough to sleep.” He kept his voice to a low whisper.
He sat up, and her small hands helped him removed his jacket and boots.
She placed his hands on her boots. He took the hint, unlacing the footwear and pulling them off her dainty feet.
Clay started to lie back down, when her lips touched his ear.
“I can’t sleep in this corset,” she whispered.
Blood rushed to his groin, and he muttered a curse. “Sleeping next to you is going to be hard enough without undressing you.”
The whisper of cloth and his rapid breathing filled the compartment.
“Please,” she breathed in his ear. Rachel’s hands captured his and placed them on the lacings at the back of the corset. Her breasts pressed against him as he worked the knot loose. Once it was free, he loosened the laces and the stiff contraption slid down, freeing her breasts to mold to his chest as Rachel devoured him with a deep sensuous kiss. One the likes he’d never experienced before.
The whalebone garment poked him in the leg, and he drew out of the kiss, grasping the bottom of the corset and lifting it over her head. He tossed it to the corner. The thunk echoed in the small confines and no doubt was heard halfway down the car.
Rachel snickered. He held a laugh that burned in the back of his throat. He buried his head in the soft valley between her breasts and inhaled. Citrus, face powder, and the feminine scent of her that he’d learned on their exploration in the washroom welcomed him.
She tugged the tails of his shirt out of his britches and roamed his back. Her dainty hands gliding across his skin pulsed his already inflamed shaft.
He lowered them to their sides, sliding one leg between hers. Skimming his hands over her chemise, he cupped her bottom and drew her tight against his leg. Her intake of breath and slow hiss indicated her willingness for more. If he could keep her quiet… He may not be fulfilled this night but he could bring her to heights. He rolled Rachel to her back and straddled her hips.
Starting at her neck, Clay kissed and ran his hands over her soft skin, moving down her body and slipping the chemise straps over her shoulders. Rachel obliged by pulling her arms out. He cupped her breasts, one in each hand, nipping and licking the nipples.
Her body wiggled under him, and when a moan started, he kissed her, drawing the sound into his mouth to muffle it. He pressed his face to her neck. “If you make noise, I have to stop.”
“Don’t stop. I’ll be quiet,” she whispered and kissed him.
Smiling, he worked her drawers down and off her legs, pushing the chemise up to her waist. He ran his hands up the inside of her legs, spreading them and enjoying the heat and softness of the tender skin. Her musky scent hovered inches from his face. He nearly moaned and bit down on his lip to wait for the throbbing in his shaft to abate.
Clay blew on her center.
“Oh!” Rachel’s hips shot off the bed at the puff of air on her genitals. What was he doing? She opened her eyes. The dusky light outside the window revealed him perched between her thighs, smiling. What did he plan? Surely he wasn’t…
“Heavens!” she whispered hoarsely as he sucked on the bud that shot fire through her body. His hands gripped her bottom and drew her off the bed to his mouth. He licked and suckled like a starving man. Her body responded in ripples of sensations that curled her toes. When she thought she could take no more, his finger slid into her while his tongue flicked her with vigor.
A fevered frenzy tore through her body. She grabbed her dress, shoving it in her mouth to bite down on and prevent her crying out. Just when that wave of sensations passed, he filled her with another finger, stretching, plunging. And his tongue—heavens, how could a tongue move so fast and so deliciously?
Her mouth was dry from the cloth, but she dared not remove it. Her body coursed higher, her hips moved to meet each thrust of his hand, and her body clenched his fingers, never wanting them to leave her. His tongue stopped, his hand increased speed— Her body shattered into pieces as lights flashed and everything went black.
Hazy feelings brought her back to the present. His fingers sliding out, a kiss on her genitals, and his warm breath against her cheek.
“That should hold you.”
The smugness in his tone curved her lips into a smile.
She kissed his lips. “If you are this talented with your hand and tongue, I can hardly wait to see what happens when we do it the right way.”
He moaned. “You are not making this easy. I want to take you but don’t dare.”
Guilt assaulted Rachel. She’d received unequaled ecstasy from him and left him with an erection. Medical books had passages on how an enlarged penis was painful for a man.
“I’m sorry. Can I—” She placed her hand on the lump in his trousers and he inhaled.
He grabbed her wrists. “Don’t touch me unless you plan to…”
Rachel eased from his grip, opened his fly, and pushed his drawers down, allowing his erection to spring into view.
“Heavens!” Other than cleaning an elderly patient in her schooling, she’d not had the privilege of fully examining or touching as fine a specimen as this.
She grasped the solid, velvety smooth shaft, loosely sliding her hand up and down the length. Clay moaned and wrapped a hand in her hair.
Fascinated by the round pink head, she caressed it with a fingertip.
“Rachel,” Clay whispered hoarsely. “Either do something or leave me alone.”
Rational thoughts left her. Her body, though sated from his attention, desired more. And she wanted to experience everything. She straddled his hips and lowered her body.
He growled and grasped her hips.
“Shh…” She leaned forward, placing a hand over his mouth. “Do you want my dress? I bit down on it to not make noise.”
He shook his head, pulled her lips to his, and raised his hips off the bed, plunging deep. A brief spasm of pain ripped through her, confusing and crashing her back to her senses. Her body went still. What was she doing? This could cause a child.
Clay drugged her with a tongue tangling kiss. Her body responded, and ecstasy swirled in delicious ripples. He slid in and out, heightening the sensations where they were joined, and tumbled her into a darkness filled with shooting stars and limb numbing lethargy.
His breathing intensified, his motions drove deeper, and he groaned into her mouth, his arms clutching her tighter. His body stilled but for the pulsing inside he
r.
She lay atop his chest, gradually hearing the clack of the train, the murmur of others in the car, and realizing she’d let her emotions take over when she should have been using her head. Even as her body relished the languid, fulfilled sensation, her mind raced with the horror she could become with child. She would never want Clay to marry her because of that. And she didn’t have time for a child, not with starting a medical practice.
Rachel shoved off Clay, flopping onto her side. Stickiness between her thighs caused her to groan.
Clay reached out, his hand connecting with her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I- I.” She stared at the substance tinged with pink smeared on her thigh. She stared at the small drop on Clay’s abdomen.
She couldn’t get pregnant. It would hinder her career as a doctor. She’d listened avidly to all the stories from the women doctors at the university. Many waited to have children until they’d become instructors or settled into a practice of just birthing.
The bewildered expression on Clay’s face sent her heart thudding. What would he think when he discovered her fear of pregnancy?
Rachel leaned down next to his head and whispered, “I’ll get this cleaned up.” She yanked up a bottom corner of the sheets and wiped the aftermath of their lovemaking from her thighs and his stomach. The crimson stain didn’t bring guilt, only concern. She was now truly a woman. Clay’s woman.
He tucked himself back into his clothing and closed the fly. His mouth set in a straight line and a frown marred his forehead.
Sitting beside this man and watching him put himself back together felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She pulled her drawers on and her chemise down.
Stars blinked in the dark sky outside the window. She snuggled up to Clay’s side, relishing the closeness but fearing what her actions may have caused.
His arm slowly circled her shoulders, and his lips tickled her ear. “Are you all right? I didn’t… I didn’t hurt you did I?”
His whispered concern tightened her throat. “No. You didn’t hurt me. It was a wonderful experience.” She kissed his cheek.
“Why did you…roll off so fast if it didn’t hurt?” His fingers played with her hair, keeping her head next to his lips.
“I—” She swallowed the lump of anxiety clogging her throat. “I realized…”
“What?” His thumb moved back and forth across her jaw, the soft gentle strokes lulling her.
“I could get with child.”
His thumb stopped, and his arm went rigid around her. “You don’t want to have my child?”
She pushed her body up to lean with her forearms on his chest. “No. I want your children, some day, after I’ve been a doctor for a while.”
“When will that be?”
The skepticism in his voice and his stiff body constricted her chest and pierced her heart. “I’m not sure. After I’ve established myself in the area. Three years, maybe longer.”
He didn’t say anything. She slid back to his side, but didn’t snuggle close. His arm remained under her, but he didn’t draw her near.
A tear slid down her cheek. She’d just experienced the most wonderful event in her twenty-six years, but she’d tarnished it by her selfish actions. Would Clay forgive her? Could she forgive herself if she became pregnant?
Chapter 23
The clack, clack, clack of the train permeated Rachel’s slumber. She opened her eyes. Sun blinded her with a blaze of yellow light before tall pine trees flashed by the window dulling the glare. An arm pulled her tight against a hard body.
Did Clay forgive her? Sleep had eluded her as she worried he wouldn’t understand her fear of having a child. She knew of ways to prevent pregnancy and would use them from now on. But first she had to find out Clay’s feelings.
His solid body pressing against her brought responses she’d never dreamed of. And the sensations igniting her body last night… Her lips curved into a smile and happiness fluttered in her chest. Sleeping in Clay’s arms all night was close to the heaven he’d given her before they fell asleep.
Rachel snuggled her bottom into his groin. His hardness pressed back. Anticipation of things to come swirled in her mind. Remembering the texture and heat of Clay, she came alive and quivered. She couldn’t follow through on those urges, not until she was prepared.
She rolled, keeping space between them, and faced him.
“Good morning,” she whispered and kissed his lips chastely.
“It is.”
His hand snuck into her chemise and captured a breast. The touch skittered vibrations and caused her body to throb. She bit her tongue to keep her mind off the pleasurable feelings.
“Hour ’til Meacham!” the conductor hollered from somewhere down the coach.
“Where or what’s Meacham?” She drew his hand from her clothing and listened to the other occupants moving around.
“It’s in the Blue Mountains. They stop there for the passengers to get breakfast and to stretch their legs.”
Rachel’s stomach growled.
“Sounds like we need to get dressed and be ready to leave the train. They don’t allow much time.” Clay grasped her arms, lifting her to a sitting position. “Find your corset, and I’ll help you into it.”
Rachel didn’t want to leave their cozy compartment. They had things to discuss. But they couldn’t hide behind this curtain forever, ignoring the world.
She pulled the corset over her head and presented her back to Clay. “Lace me up.”
His fingers slid down her neck to her back, and the garment tightened around her.
“That’s good.” She settled her bosoms, slid her petticoats over her head, tied them at her waist, and leaned forward for her dress and Clay’s jacket.
“Oomph…” Something struck her in the back. She glanced over her shoulder. Clay sat up, groping about, panic etched on his face.
“Are you all right? I’m sorry. I was tucking my shirt in and my foot slid, striking you…”
The anguish and recrimination in his voice, tugged at her heart. “I’m fine.” She grasped his arms, stopping his flailing.
“I’m sorry, I never…”
“I know.” She leaned her forehead against his. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t do it on purpose.”
His body went rigid. “If I could see I would’ve known where you were.” He ran a hand over his face.
The scratching sound of his hand across the day’s growth of whiskers sent a quiver of excitement through her. What would it be like to have his whiskered face in the places he’d been last night? She shook her head. Where had all these wanton thoughts come from? Until Clay, she’d never dreamed a man could be anything other than a necessity to build a family. Something she hadn’t planned on doing. Now, her mind spun around ways to experience the sensations he opened her to last night.
His down-turned lips and sullen expression tugged her back to the present. She wouldn’t let him dwell on what he couldn’t do. Not when he was capable of so much. “Here’s your jacket. Let me get my dress on and we can get out of this tiny compartment
He took the jacket, but set it on his lap, his hands crossed over the top.
She donned her dress and buttoned it. Rachel ruffled her skirts around her and slid a leg over Clay, straddling his lap.
“I’m going to slip out, open the curtains, then use the washroom.” She cupped his face and kissed his firm set lips. She ignored his non-response. “Get your jacket on, and we can walk to the washrooms together.”
She slipped over him and peered out the curtains. Several compartments had transformed back into seats. Sleepy heads popped out between drapes along the aisle. Rachel grasped their curtains, drawing them open and tying them back with the maroon braided cording.
Clay sat hunched over and dressed. His rumpled shirt bagged out between the jacket lapels. She twined her fingers with his and pulled him to a sitting position at the edge of the bed. He held up a hand, gauging th
e upper bunk and keeping his head from hitting it as he stood.
“Don’t you get tired of taking care of me like I’m a child?”
The disgust in his voice rolled off her like rain on oilcloth. “No, I enjoy helping you because I l—” She slapped a hand over her mouth. Was he ready to hear she loved him? Would that only make him feel obligated to marry her after last night? She didn’t want him out of obligation. She wanted him because he loved her. “I like being around you.” Rachel smoothed his shirt over his chest, tucking it tighter into his trousers.
He grabbed her hands. “We’re standing in public.”
“No one can see what I’m doing inside your jacket.”
He released her. She hooked his elbow, and they strolled to the washrooms. She stopped and faced him toward the men’s washroom, placing his hand on the latch.
“I’ll be across the hall,” she said and stepped into the women’s. Two women stood in front of the mirror washing their faces and combing their hair.
Rachel entered a closet resembling an outhouse, only finer. The rich, finely carved wood reminded her of a table her mother had in the parlor. She raised the smooth wooden lid with embellished edges and peered down into a pure white porcelain bowl. She finished her necessity, pulled the lever, and slipped back into the washroom.
One woman remained and stared unabashedly. Rachel faced the washbasin and mirror. Her makeup had smeared during the night; parts of her scar shone shiny pink through clumps of flesh-colored lard. Panic tightened her throat. Her makeup compound was in her valise in the baggage car, and her hat lay in the hammock in the sleeping berth. How was she to face the others in the coach, let alone meet Clay’s brother, looking like this?
Her hands shook as she tried to smooth the remaining makeup and cover her pink raised skin.
The woman finally left. Rachel grasped the edge of the counter inhaling, forcing air into her lungs, and slowing her frantically beating heart.
The streaked and blotchy makeup remnants looked worse than the scar. Scrubbing with a cloth, soap, and water, she removed all the makeup from her face. The shiny pink scar, running the length of her face, stared back at her. What she wouldn’t give to wake up one morning and not see this hideous sight.
