by Amber Scott
If only he were real. If only this were real. Then it would be Heaven. Jesse leaned down and gingerly kissed her lips, suckling the lower one and nibbling his teeth against it. One hand, large and masculine, traveled down her neckline and collarbone, found her breast. He engulfed her small breast and thumbed over her hard nipple. Pleasure sprang and coiled, connecting to the need down below and feeding its flames.
He moved his hips between her legs and settled his cock against her slit. As he slid up and down, threatening the tip to her opening and drawing back, her moisture created a smooth friction. Again and again, he drove her mad with want and so near climax she thought she might succumb before feeling what she craved. Him. His body deep within hers, pounding, sliding in and out until ecstasy crashed through her.
She needed him.
"Jesse,” she breathed. “Please. Please, I want you so badly. Please."
He stilled a moment before complying.
The first stroke so sweet it might have been poison. She did feel like she could die of it. Samantha arched up and forced herself not to rush up to meet his body, letting the bliss cloak her.
He delved deep and sure and paused a heartbeat, only to pull out and return. He continued his strokes in the same magnificent manner, each a bit sooner than the last, until he drove fast and hard.
She moaned and cried with abandon, giving in to her pleasure. She lost all feeling of worry or hope. She simply was.
His shoulders rippled with straining muscle; his face showed his own pleasure. He called her name.
"Samantha ... Samantha..."
He kept gazing into her eyes.
Suddenly her pussy clenched, her clit throbbed, and she hugged him deep to her with her legs. He obliged, pushing down his hips, and she writhed as her climax exploded through her.
She saw his. His eyes closed, his head back, he gutturally moaned her name again. On his lips, it sounded like a prayer. Answered.
Jesse collapsed, his weight to the side. Samantha stared up at the wood-planked ceiling. The sounds of the world, of reality, filled the room. His breathing. Her pulse. Birds in the trees. Breeze through the leaves.
At any moment she would wake up. Until then, she closed her eyes and savored the last bits of the perfect dream.
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Chapter Seven
Jesse didn't move, in part, too damned exhausted to. He also plain didn't want to. If he moved, he might have to speak, and he wasn't sure what to say. Now that sense had returned to his desire-befuddled brain, he had quite a bit to ask.
Who was she, and not her name? Where had she come from? How had she found him? And why was it acceptable to welcome him into her arms so willfully and wantonly? Not that he was complaining. He wasn't. He'd wanted what they'd shared as much as she did. Probably more. In fact, he counted himself more than lucky to have found her again. Were he a religious man, he'd call it a blessing.
So he didn't move.
He didn't speak. He lay covering her body with his and listened to her breathe. He closed his eyes and memorized the details. One thought wouldn't leave him alone.
How was he going to keep her here with him?
Impossible. He knew that. In any case, his mind started hunting for a way to do it, impossible or not.
First, he'd have to ask how she got here. He would, as soon as she woke up.
Jesse lifted his head to make sure he was right. He was. Fast asleep, mouth open and even snoring a bit. Jesse pulled his limbs free so he could cover their naked bodies from the chilly night air.
A thousand questions came to mind. He should wake her but figured she would want to leave. It wasn't proper for a woman like her to hole up with any man, particularly one who, were they discovered, couldn't live up to the expectations folks would have.
She'd have to stay with Ginny. She would, anyhow, as far as anyone else would know. Ginny would fuss at him for putting Samantha in such a position, but she'd get over it well enough. His sister had a lot more bark than bite.
In the darkness, curled against Samantha, Jesse smiled contentedly. He began to make plans. Plans that likely never would be enacted. Plans, nonetheless. Of settling down, of family.
He fell asleep, holding the mysterious blonde whom he'd thought never to see again in all of his days.
* * * *
Samantha rolled over and sat up. As usual, the floor was cold on her feet. She kept her eyes mostly closed and poked about with her feet for her fuzzy pink slippers. The ones Charles got her for Christmas three months early after becoming fed up with her complaints about the old California home.
Her toes found nothing but wood floor. She swept them out in big circles again, reaching as far under the bed as she could. Nothing. If she'd bothered to open her eyes, she would have rolled them. Instead, she sighed. If the slippers had become chew toys like her last pair, her roommate would be hearing exactly what she was fed up with.
When she bent over and searched, her hands also found nothing. She gave up. She'd have to suffer the cold on her walk to the bathroom. After she peed, she would race back to bed and bundle up her feet and rub them fast. Planning it all out helped. With a deep breath, Samantha stood up and rushed for the familiar path to her closet-sized bathroom.
With a loud thud, she smacked right into a wall and fell straight onto her butt.
She opened her eyes. All the way. She stared at the wall that shouldn't have been there and became aware that she hadn't a stitch of clothing on. That was weird. She stood up and looked around, trying to orient herself to where she'd gone wrong on the way to the bathroom.
"Are you all right?"
Samantha jumped and spun around. There on her bed, staring at her from a pair of slumberous bedroom eyes, lay the man she'd dreamed about. He looked half asleep and mostly concerned. He moved to get out of bed. He was as stark naked as she.
She had to pee. Badly.
Was she still dreaming? Had she now incorporated her full bladder into the dream? She saw he wasn't in her bed, only . bed, and not in her room.
Samantha nodded, unable to speak yet. He rose from the bed and walked to her, his full glory a full eyeful. She couldn't help but admire the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and muscular thighs. While his chest was smooth and bare, very masculine hair sparsely covered his arms and legs.
He ran a hand over his brow. He looked boyish and charming with a lazy smile and sleepy eyes. He kissed her mouth, stroking his thumb over her cheek.
"Looking for the outhouse?"
Samantha balked. Outhouse? Of all things, how could her mind conjure up that? Where were the lakes and streams and toilets of her childhood dreams? His lips were warm and soft.
She nodded. Jesse took her hand and led her out the door into the night. Naked.
She pulled her hand free and stopped at the door. He turned around. “What is it?"
Wordlessly, Samantha covered her breasts and looked around with a meaningful glance.
"Don't worry. You're safe with me,” Jesse said and waggled a pistol in his hand. “Ain't no one out here to see a thing."
She didn't even wonder where he'd found the gun, let alone why she hadn't spotted him picking it up. If she was dreaming about the Old West, about an armed and naked gorgeous cowboy she'd fantasized about all night, being escorted to an outhouse fit right in. Samantha stepped forth. Dream or not, she still felt incredibly naked and vulnerable.
Until he took her hand again and winked.
The smile on her face was the brim of a giggle. While Jesse made like he was scanning the area for bandits, gun aimed and ready, she tiptoed after him. He was cute and funny. If only he were real.
She let him lead her to the walled hole in the ground and offered her the door. “Ladies first."
Samantha shook her head. “I can't."
"Of course you can. This is newly built and in fine condition, if I do say so myself."
"No, I mean, I really can't.” She couldn't bring herself to tell him she didn'
t want to wet the bed and wake up. “You go ahead."
Jesse eyed her a minute. He handed her the pistol. Her bladder ached so badly she thought about holding herself like a kid at the mall standing in line for Santa Claus. That wouldn't be sexy. So she did the sexiest thing available.
Samantha took the pistol, steadied it with both hands, and stood wide-legged. She imagined she might look like a warrior goddess in a bath of moonlight, the same as he looked like a god. Jesse whistled low and got in a full look before enclosing himself into the outhouse.
Stepping away so she couldn't hear his business, Samantha breathed in the piney, fresh air. It reminded her of her father's place. Her nudity no longer bothered her and became a bit freeing. She stretched wide her arms, tilting her head to the sky, and thanked God for this fabulous dream.
She needed only one more good kiss before she relieved herself. If she woke up in a warm pool, well then, she'd have to change the sheets, and she'd never tell another living soul.
The door opened near her, and she felt him close in. He walked up behind her, his scent and body heat tingling her senses long before he touched her. If she didn't have to pee so badly, she would turn and seduce him.
Instead, she enjoyed the feel of his arms wrapped around her waist, his face nuzzled into her neck. He carefully took the gun from her. When she stepped away, he playfully smacked her ass.
"Heavens, but you are one beautiful creature, Samantha."
She smiled. She kissed him and stepped inside the wooden walls. Samantha closed her eyes and waited. Any second now she'd wake up. Any time now.
Finished, Samantha opened her eyes and scowled. Was she still asleep, still in the same dream? How odd.
When she stepped out of the outhouse, her confusion grew. As she was about to speak his name and tell him about the strange dream he was a part of, something sharp stabbed at her ankle, shooting pain up her calf.
Samantha shrieked. Jesse rushed to her, taking her elbow to help steady her. The pain was blinding, and tears streamed down her cheeks unbidden. A snake. It must have been a snake. What else could it be?
Jesse picked her up and carried her in a rush to his small wooden home. He jostled her about in his hurry, and she felt like punching him in the arm for it. She would have, too, if not for the need to hold her calf in both hands and moan while pain ebbed and flowed through the muscle.
Jesse set her down and lit a match to a kerosene lamp at his nightstand. He turned up the flame, blew out the match, and tugged on a pair of jeans. His face serious, he examined her leg.
"Show me where it hurts."
Samantha lay on the bed, rocking from side to side. It hurt everywhere. She shook her head.
"Samantha. I need to see where it hurts. If it's a snakebite, I have to know where it bit you."
She nodded her head, bit her lips. Yes, snakebite. She pushed her ankle under his nose and pointed to the spot where the pain originated. Jesse didn't touch, only looked. Thank, God, because if he had, she'd have kicked him square in the jaw, and the last thing she wanted to do was knock him out, the one person here to help her.
It seemed like he was taking forever. He scanned her skin, moving his gaze over it, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb. He brought the lamp near for a better view but didn't seem to be able to find any marks. If he had, he'd have told her, wouldn't he?
"Did you twist it?” He looked at her.
Samantha furiously shook her head.
"I've got to get Ginny. She'll know what to do.” Jesse went toward the door, stopped, and turned back. “We have to get you covered. She's my sister, and a woman, but she shouldn't see you this way."
Samantha's eyes bulged, but she swallowed and nodded her head. If propriety got him out the door and back faster, so be it. She tried as best she could to help him get her into the long-sleeved, button-up shirt and men's undergarment. He assured her they were clean, and she would have laughed, but it hurt so damned bad. The pain was spreading and beginning to burn.
She grunted to tell him to hurry. He met her gaze and kissed her forehead.
"Don't move a muscle,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. He smiled, half-cocked, and left her.
The silence he left behind filled the room, blanketing her in chill and emptiness. Samantha concentrated on her breathing, trying to imagine with each breath—in and out, in, out—that the pain was receding, lessening, disappearing. She counted up and back down, like she thought a woman in labor might do after a hundred Lamaze lessons.
It only helped the time pass and kept her from screaming.
When she heard footsteps coming fast and close, relief flooded through her. He was back. Everything would be okay. She would be okay.
Jesse brought a cool cloth to her forehead and wiped away the sheen of sweat. Ginny peered at her ankle, hands behind her back, similar to the way Jesse had. She went a bit more slowly, though. Samantha watched the woman's face. She was pretty in a handsome sort of way and had intelligent eyes. She carefully examined Samantha's ankle. Not once did she look up and take in or judge Samantha's appearance.
"How far up has the pain moved?” Ginny said and met her stare evenly.
"Knee,” Samantha said through clenched teeth.
Ginny nodded and stood back up. Jesse paced behind her, arms crossed over hard muscle. His pecs formed a deep valley of male cleavage. Samantha closed her eyes. How could she notice such a thing at a time like this?
She opened her eyes and forced her gaze to stay on Ginny. The little brunette bent over her ankle again and suddenly, her delicate eyebrows arched upward, her mouth opening to form a small “Oh."
"What?” Samantha asked. “What is it?” Pain throbbed with each pulse of her blood. She felt like a good scene out of a bad movie. That's when she remembered this wasn't real. Samantha laid her head back and wiped her eyes.
"Jesse,” Ginny said. “Look at this. Here ... and here."
"I didn't see it,” Jesse said, sounding angry.
Samantha opened her eyes. Jesse stood at her foot, shaking his head and looking like he'd sucked on a tart lemon. Was he angry with himself? He shouldn't be. He didn't bite her.
Besides, this was no more than a figment of her—
"Get my knife,” Jesse said.
Samantha fought to sit up, to stop Ginny from scrambling from the room for any sharp object. If she didn't wake up from a wet bed or from shooting, stabbing pains up her leg, who knew what was happening in reality. Anyone getting a knife was a bad idea.
The last time this happened, she'd never found those panties. She'd removed them in her state of semi-consciousness, who knew where. If she were in that same semi-conscious state now, she could be doing all sorts of strange things to herself, causing her own pain, acting out what she dreamed.
She might have peed in the kitchen sink, broken a glass, and was now bleeding on her dingy grout while Charles and Fluffy slept peacefully two rooms away, oblivious that she was hurting herself.
Ginny returned, knife in hand. The blade shone in the moonlight and looked nothing like Samantha pictured any old western utensil did. No rust, no crude handle. Nice gleaming steel and an expensive-looking ivory handle.
Samantha blinked. She shook her head. The pain moved upward, and for a moment, terror traveled through her. She didn't want to die. She wanted whatever had bitten her to die instead. When Ginny approached, Samantha had the urge to close her eyes and let the woman cut her open.
Jesse must've seen her rising panic, because he lay next to her and began whispering soothing words into her ear. “Shhh. It'll be all right, Samantha. You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."
That's when the world went inky black.
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Chapter Eight
Long before she actually passed out, Jesse could see she was going to. Her face grew pale; her lips lost their rosy color. A fear unlike any other gripped him, along with the knowledge he mustn't stop he
r. A fear too similar to one he'd long ago felt for his sister, when they'd first found themselves on their own, mother gone in childbirth, father dead in the war.
As he watched her eyes flutter and listened to the small gasp escape her mouth, his belly roiled in acidy powerlessness. Her head went limp and to the side. That's when he knew Ginny had better cut into her then, or he'd lose all sense. He looked up at his sister and nodded.
He didn't know how long she'd be out, but they had to move while she was. Better this way. As long as the poison wasn't to blame for her faint.
He hadn't even seen a snake. Not that he shouldn't have looked first, carefully. The other morning, he'd found one curled right on the wooden seat waiting for him like Satan for Eve. Thankfully, he hadn't had a hangover to contend with and spotted the serpent before it bit him right in the ass and ended the life every sheriff from here to California wanted finished.
A long branch and a steady gun had gotten him through it. He hoped to hell it wasn't the very same critter that bit Samantha, Jesse's mercy on his hide taken completely for granted. But then, a snake couldn't change what it was. Not even most men could.
It was all his fault. He'd had no choice but to get Ginny. Now Ginny would be haranguing him for the ruination of a young woman's reputation, never mind that the young woman had been willing and able and she wasn't known in these parts by any other soul. Well, he assumed.
Jesse winced, watching his sister steady the ankle and delicately fillet open the pink-tinted ivory skin. He held Samantha's hand, patted it, even though she wasn't aware. Ginny put her mouth to the cut and began to suckle it. Jesse knew he would also have to suck the area.
Ginny pulled her mouth away and motioned for something to spit into. Jesse grabbed a bowl from the small kitchen and brought a jug of cider vinegar. Old-wives’ tale or not, he'd try anything to get Samantha back on her feet.
They took turns sucking and spitting, and the longer she stayed out, the better and worse he felt. The more they sucked out, the poison's taste bitter and distinct, the less likely she would die. But the longer she lay there, motionless, eyes closed and breathing shallow, the more worried he became.
