by Jill Barnett
"I've been wanting to do that since the church, but I didn't want them to think we'd been intimate, Addie. After all, we have been living on the same place. People will talk, but they can only speculate. They can't be sure, besides which, in public we've been acting like enemies and not lovers. I think my rush to marry told everyone that we've been sensible, and that damn chaste kiss took every ounce of willpower I could dig up," Montana explained, laughing without humor.
Her smile was so bright it made the rising moon look dull. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him just like he'd kissed her. Within minutes her back was wedged against the seat rail, his body over hers and his hands all over her chest. The corner of the seat back poked into her shoulder and she grunted in pain. He pulled away, his breath in rapid pants. He rested his forehead on her chest while he fought for control.
"Give me a minute," he said, his voice a begging rasp.
The night sounds were suddenly there, crickets chirruping, the west wind rustling the grasses that lined the road, a distant shout from the end of town, the slowing of his breath. Then his arm moved beneath the small of her back and he pulled her up with him as he straightened. They both sat there for a long, heavy minute, before he spoke. "I think this is a little too public for what I had in mind."
He turned to her, the inklings of a smile on his tension-thinned lips. She tore her gaze from his mouth to her clasped hands. She needn't look into his eyes, for she knew what she'd see. She could feel the heat of them anyway. She didn't speak, but a relieved sigh escaped her mouth when he snapped the wagon into motion.
The ride home had never seemed so long. Montana drove up to the front of the house, stopped and jumped down. His hands covered her waist and he lifted her off the wagon, pausing when she was just above him. He pulled her close and let her slide in unyielding inches down his chest, his stomach, his hips. He stopped when her face was just a kiss away, and his hot eyes singed into hers, as if he were trying to read her soul. Her arms linked around his neck and she closed the infinite gap. Her lips brushed his, teasing. Her tongue licked the crevice where his lips met. He groaned. She smiled.
She rubbed her smooth cheek against his, loving the gritty feel of his night beard. It felt rough and hard, and she loved that difference between them. She drew her lips lazily across his temple, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
Then his hand splayed across the back of her head and his tongue thrust inside her mouth, forcing hers into submission just by size and strength. While he filled her mouth, imitating what they both strived for, he let her slide down farther, until he could rub his groin against her woman's bone. She rubbed in counterpoint, a natural reaction that was uncontrolled and driven by some part of her that was all instinct. That same part of her swelled like some stormy force and her legs spread slightly. His mouth left hers and moved to her ear.
He whispered in her ear, telling her exactly where he wanted to be. As if to make his point clear, his hip rotation changed to an upward thrust, bumping against a part of her that needed touching so desperately. She cried out and held on tighter while he gently beat against her.
"Sweet Jesus, Addie… I swear I'm going to take you right here."
From somewhere she found the strength to push on his shoulders. Their upper bodies separated. His hips slowed, then stopped, and he set her down. He gave her a long look before gently brushing aside some black hair that had fallen around her face.
"Go inside. I'll unhitch the team and be there in a minute." He turned and started to loosen the wagon harness.
It took a minute before she could will her legs to move, then she was up the stairs and inside by the time she heard the bam door squeak open. She closed the front door with her back and leaned against it for support. With her eyes closed and her head back, she drew a deep breath, then another. She pushed away from the door and walked toward the bedroom, not bothering to light any lamps.
She stared at the bed, swallowed hard, and went to the windows and slid them open. She sat on the ledge of one and looked into the dark bedroom. This was no longer her bedroom, it was theirs. For the rest of her married life she would sleep with Montana in this room.
Before she had a chance to think anymore, the hollow sound of his boots called out from the short hallway. Then he stood in the doorway, watching her, waiting. Slowly she pushed away from the window and stood. His eyes never left hers, yet he began to unbutton his shirt. He stopped after the last button. Addie raised her hand to her high collar and undid the little bead buttons of her shirtwaist. One by one she slipped them through the buttonholes until her shirtwaist was undone. He raised one arm and undid a cuff. She mimicked his action. He undid the other, and so did she. He pulled the shirt from his pants and shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor. With her eyes on his bare, hair-matted chest, she removed her shirtwaist.
He unbuckled his belt; she unbuttoned her skirt. He pulled the belt through the loops and tossed it to the floor. She let her skirt slide down and stepped out of it. He came toward her. When he stood barely a foot away, he smiled. "You should have gone first this time. You have more clothes."
Addie smiled as he bent and pulled off a boot. Then she looked at her button-top shoes. "I need a buttonhook."
"Take something else off," he said, his deep bass voice tinged with a taunt.
She undid her corset cover and he pulled off the other boot. She let her underskirt fall to the pile of clothes that surrounded her. He pulled off a sock. She looked down. She wore her corset, dark stockings and supporters, and her drawers. She counted. He had one sock, his pants and underwear. She smiled and reached underneath the knee band on her drawers, trying to get to her stocking supporter.
"Those frilly drawers next," he said. It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and that sent a thrill right through her.
She'd do as he asked, but not too fast. She ran her hand down her stomach to her waist. As slow as possible she drew one finger over the waistband, pausing to play with the ties that held the garment on.
"Addie…'' he warned.
She looked straight into his eyes, smiled, then pulled the tie loose. The drawers didn't fall to the floor, and she didn't move, just let them hang about her hips, right where her corset stopped and bare flesh was all that was left.
He pulled off the other sock and said, "Push them down… and take something else off."
She pushed them down and stepped out of them too. Cool air chilled the place where she was so hot, damp, and almost itching with the need to be touched. Now she stood in her corset, ending mid-hip, her stocking supporters hooked to her corset and her dark stockings. She supposed that she should have been embarrassed, standing there with her womanhood and thighs exposed, her breasts and calves covered, but she wasn't. One look into his eyes and Addie saw her own female power.
His gaze went slowly from her head to her breasts. He paused, then slowly let his gaze drift downward. He stopped when his eyes lit on the shaded, curly-haired place where her legs joined. Part of her melted and flowed to that very spot.
He undid his pants, taking even more time than she had taken untying her drawers. And just like she'd done, he paused, not pushing them down. Her gaze drifted down. He'd cheated, he wore nothing else. The trail of thick curly hair moved down his chest, his flat, rippled stomach, down his belly. It was so thick where his pants hung open that she couldn't see any skin beneath. Then she remembered how his hair had rubbed low on her belly when he'd made love to her. Every time he had moved into her, the hair had rubbed against her skin. She wanted to feel it again.
He stepped out of his pants. "Where's your buttonhook?"
She couldn't speak, so she pointed to the dresser behind him. He turned and her eyes scanned the back of him. He was beautiful. His shoulders were wide and muscular, as was his back. His waist and hips were narrow and his buttocks tight. At the small of his back the body hair started again, only much sparser, and it spread over his butt
ocks and thickened on the back of his thighs and down his long legs.
Just when her eyes were on the backs of his thighs, he turned and Addie found herself looking at the male part of him. She didn't turn away; she didn't blush; she was curious and wanted to see him. He didn't move, just stood there and watched her as she looked at him.
Long seconds later he closed the gap between them and knelt before her, unbuttoning her shoes. His hand rubbed a slow pattern on the back and inside of her calf. He pulled her foot free and treated the other leg to the same stimulating treatment. When he'd pulled off the other shoe, he still knelt, rubbing his hands up and down her legs. It took every ounce she had to stay standing.
His fingers snuck beneath her front stocking supporters and he unsnapped them. "Turn around," he ordered.
She did, and he released the back supporters, slowly peeling away her stockings and rubbing every inch of skin revealed. His hands clasped her hips and he turned her again. He started at the bottom of her corset, unhooking the hooks from the eyes. She could feel his knuckles grazing her skin. The corset fell away.
Immediately his lips roved over the creases on her ribs while his hands stroked, feather light. She shivered and her hands gripped his shoulders, kneading them as he increased his caresses, building the part of her that yearned for him. His tongue flickered over each nipple, then he sucked and pulled at them before dragging his wet tongue over the undersides of her breast, across her ribs, her hipbones. His breath blew against her wetness, cooling the fire that burned in her cleft. God help her, she had stopped him, before, but not now, now she wanted his mouth there. She closed her eyes and begged the want away.
His hands closed over her hips and he walked her back until she stood against the side of the bed, then he lifted her and set her on the edge. He wedged his shoulders between her legs, spreading them. When his mouth covered her she fell back on the bed, biting back her moans and gripping the sheet in her fists. He used his mouth there as he had on her lips, her ears, and her breasts, only not stopping until she peaked. Then his tongue was inside her, giving her love's most intimate kiss, and she cried a river of tears.
The throbbing continued over and over, and when she could finally open her eyes, he stood above her. His hands moved under her buttocks and he pulled her forward, sliding into her until it felt like he touched her soul. In slow, drawing motions he pulled almost out of her then in, out then in, never moving faster.
It was a slow death of ecstasy.
When she could take no more, she raised her arms, "Please…''
He buried himself deep and moved over her, pushing her gently up the mattress until his knees rested between hers and his elbows bracketed her shoulders. He was close enough now, so she kissed his chest, flickered his nipples, and when she sucked on one, he groaned and started thrusting hard and fast, over and over, building and striving and driving toward that peak of yearning.
They came together—he on a shout of triumph, she on a scream of love.
Addie awoke to the soft tickle of warm breath across her face. She opened her eyes and her husband smiled back at her. A little satisfied moan escaped her lips, and a deep, masculine chuckle followed it.
She turned and buried her nose in his chest, threading her fingers through whorls of brown chest hair. "I fell asleep," she announced.
"I know." His voice still wore a smile. "Can't keep up?"
She bit him.
"Ouch!" Montana rubbed his chest.
Addie pushed away. "It's hard to keep up with someone who's never…'' She raised the sheet and looked under it. "…down."
"You're right, it is hard."
Addie groaned and Montana turned toward her, enveloping her in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. "You'll have to learn to live with it, Mrs. Creed."
That stopped her. He'd called her Mrs. Creed. She glanced at her left hand for a brief moment, staring at the gold ring on her third finger. He pulled back and followed her gaze. His left hand threaded with hers.
"It was my mother's ring."
"It's beautiful." The gold was shiny on the raised parts of the leaf design that circled the band. The recessed part was dark, almost black with oxidation. It made the leaf design stand out even more.
Addie turned their hands. "This was my father's," she told him, referring to the plain gold band she'd given him.
He looked at it for a long moment. "Thank you."
He pulled her into the crook of his arm and they lay there silently. The only sounds were the quiet ones of the late night, floating through the open window with an occasional whiff of eucalyptus.
"Montana?"
"Ummm."
"Who named you?"
A sigh of exasperation rent the air. Addie laughed.
"Didn't your parents tell you, Addie, that it wasn't nice to laugh at other people's names?"
She kept laughing. "I'm sorry, but you don't look like a Bartholomew."
"Oh. Well, what does a 'Bartholomew' look like?"
"Let's see… Well," she said, purposely looking very serious and thoughtful, "he should have black hair."
"Why?"
"So when his friends call him Bart, it'll fit him."
"I see. What else."
"He should have glasses, thick glasses."
"What else?"
"Pale eyes, and he should be really short, and have no chin."
Montana didn't look at her, but he continued to hold her. "What about Montana?"
"I like that one, it fits you." She snuggled closer.
"That's what my mother said. I was a big baby, over ten pounds, and Montana means mountain in Spanish. She was half Spanish, and so after my birth, which I guess was pretty tough, she named me Montana."
"What does Bartholomew mean?" Addie asked.
"Farmer." His voice changed, grew serious and a little bitter. "My father was a farmer, a sharecropper. His dream was to own his own place."
"What happened?"
"He died." Montana's voice was flat and cold. From the way he answered, Addie was afraid to ask any more. She could tell she'd get no more information even if she asked. But what little he had told her helped make her understand him a little better. This farm did mean a lot to him, of that she was sure. But their light mood had changed. It was tense and heavy, so she tried to lighten it.
"What about my names?" she asked. "What do you think someone named Amanda should look like?"
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer her. Then he said in a curt voice, "Blond."
She was silent.
"Big, blue eyes."
Addie's lips tightened.
"Let's see… she'd have curly hair, a sweet smile, and…'' He let the word hang there for the longest time, then finished. "…she wouldn't be too short."
Addie punched him in the ribs. "You toad!"
He laughed and rolled her onto her back, pinning her hands with his, clamping his long legs over hers. She gave him some token resistance, then stopped struggling and smiled up at him.
"Amanda means lovable," she informed him, her nose up a bit.
"And you are…'' His mouth descended.
A huge banging crash split the air. Montana's head shot up, breaking their kiss. "What the hell?"
The crashing continued, sounding like a train wreck right outside the bedroom window. Addie whipped her head toward the window and she grabbed onto Montana.
Then the sound of Custus's voice, intertwined with Will's, rasped through the window. They were singing an absolutely awful, bawdy song about marriage. Once the song was done, Custus yelled, "Hey, ya two! Stop what yer a-doin'…'' He chuckled. "We's a-givin' ya a shivaree!" He banged some more metal together.
Montana's forehead hit the pillow next to hers and she heard him groan. He raised his head and yelled. "Go away!"
"That was damn stupid ta get yerself hitched on a Sunday. I can't collect them there winnin's until tomorrow. An' didn't ya know gettin' hitched on a Sunday's bad luck?" Custu
s let loose with a loud belch, followed by a mumble that sounded like "Damn rotgut whiskey."
"Yeah!" Will yelled. "And with—hic—out us!"
"Well, ya know, Will, some people ain't got no sense. I bet they'd walk inta a river so's they could drink standin' up." Will chuckled, but Custus howled with laughter, and Addie was sure she could hear him slapping his knee.
There was some whispering and it was quiet for a moment, then a loud cackling screech came in the window. "Don't wring 'er dadblamed neck, Will!"
"Sorry," Will said, then hiccuped.
Custus shouted out again. "Just bringin' ya some good luck. Ever'one knows that if'n a chicken cackles after the weddin', nothin' bad'll happen ta ya!"
It was quiet again, except for Addie's giggles and Montana's swearing under his breath.
"Ya didn't pass no white dogs on that there road ta town, now did ya?"
When they didn't answer, Custus went right on. "It's bad luck. Will, ya can get rid o' that there chicken."
"Where, hic?"
"Where the hell do ya think? In the dadblamed henhouse!" There was a pause. "Here, you bang these here pans and give me the damn chicken!"
Montana got out of bed. "Where's my gun?"
Addie sat upright. "You can't shoot them!"
Montana stopped, stark naked, at the doorway. "No, but I can sure scare the hell out of them." And he disappeared.
"Custus," Addie warned. "Please go to bed."
There was nothing but silence. She listened for the longest time, then thought she heard the clang of the chicken-yard gate. She waited.
Montana crept into the room, his pistol in his hand. He moved over to the open window.
"I think they've gone," she told him.
He pulled back the shade and pointed the gun out the window.
There was silence. Finally she was sure they were gone, so she settled back against the pillows.
"Ya know now that yer all married ya can cure warts with yer wedding ring. All ya have ta do—''
