Promises Reveal

by Sarah McCarty

  He accepted the invitation with a soft groan, making love to her mouth the way he made love to her body, gently at first, letting her get used to the feel, his size, his need.

  “Damn, that’s good.”

  It was, intoxicatingly so—her pleasure connected to his, her desire to his. He transferred his grip to her hair, tipping her head back as he slid in and out in shallow thrusts, only giving her so much control, dominating her body with his. “Suck me, Evie, just like that, soft and sweet. Make us both feel good.”

  It was thrilling—a natural give-and-take—and she loved him for it. His cock slid deeper. She sucked harder, working her tongue along the surface, arching up to take more of his cock, reaching up to capture his nipples. Remembering what he did to her, she started out slowly, pinching and rubbing, taking her cue from the way his cock slid in and out of her mouth as to how much pressure to apply. His cock grew rock hard. Her caresses grew more deliberate as his hips pumped faster.

  “Evie, I can’t hold back.”

  She didn’t want him to. She wanted to please him the way he pleased her—to the bone.

  “Evie . . .”

  Shaking her head, she switched her grip to his buttocks, holding him closer as she took him that tiny bit deeper.

  “Ah hell.” Brad cupped her face in his hands, binding them together as he came, his fingers stroking her cheeks tenderly as his pleasure washed over her in erotic pulses. Taking all he gave her, suckling him gently after the last throb of his climax faded, a different kind of satisfaction smoothed over the restlessness of her own unfulfilled desire. He shuddered one last time. Still cradling her face in his hands, Brad eased his cock from her mouth.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded. His thumbs pressed gently. He frowned, his lips parting. She held her breath, waiting for the words she craved. With a shake of his head, he lay down beside her and pulled her against him. The kiss he placed on her temple was gentle. His hands brushed her cheek, her side, stroking her as if he didn’t want the moment to end. As if for him, too, the interlude had been more than sex. He smoothed his finger over the corner of her mouth, catching the moisture there, spreading it along the inside of her lips, branding her again, the way he always did, almost as if he didn’t believe a wedding ring was enough to keep her with him.

  Catching his hand, she brought it to her lips, driven by instinct to repeat the vow. “I love you.”

  And still he kept touching her until, finally, he rolled onto his back, dragging her with him with a hand curved around her neck and her hip.

  “Come here.”

  “Here” was draped over his chest in a wanton sprawl. Desire ground through her in a slow roll as all that hard muscle flexed beneath her. Frustration drove her to bite him. He laughed and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her to his chest.

  “Hungry, Evie darling?”

  She didn’t bother to prevaricate. Pleasing him had aroused her to the point that she was one big, empty ache. “Starving.”

  With a laugh and a small stinging swat to her rear that somehow only made her hotter, Brad tugged her lower, down over his rippling, hard abdomen. She placed a kiss on his recently healed wound and stole a taste of his navel before he pushed her lower still.

  “Take me in your mouth and make me hard again.”

  It was a surprise, taking him in her mouth like this. Before when she’d touched him he’d been hard, but like this he felt softer, more vulnerable, as if another side to his personality was revealed, one he normally kept hidden. She looked up. He smiled ruefully.

  “You’re going to have to give me a minute.”

  She could do that. It was enough to lie here connected to him, knowing she’d given the ease he sought, anticipating the delight to come, relaxing into the sweetness of the moment, where there was only him holding her and her holding him in a soft prelude.

  It didn’t last though. His cock twitched and stirred, and where before she could hold all of him, as he began to grow, hardening and thickening, he tested the boundaries until she gagged.

  Brad held her to him for a second before letting her pull back. “Next time you feel the urge to gag, swallow until you can take it down, just a little at a time.”

  He pressed back in, slowly, gently, letting her take that little bit more.

  “That’s good,” he murmured, his voice blending with the seduction of the hot summer night. “Just like that. Now, hold it there. Swallow, swallow . . .”

  Following his directions, she discovered she could take more of his cock than she’d thought possible. He groaned, the sound a seductive lure tempting her on until she was unable to stop, unable to breathe, unable to look away from the wicked magic in his eyes. Brad backed off and she took a breath, and then another. When he pushed in again, she knew what to do. It didn’t make it much easier, but she loved to see that wild flair of his nostrils and the way his eyes dilated. Loved the power of knowing she could reduce him to such complete, helpless need. His hips bucked in helpless reaction. His fingers pressed with that same desperate need, encouraging her to take just a little more. She felt his inner struggle as he worked not to push deeper, to not give her more than she could take. Except she wanted it all. Taking a deep breath, she kissed the tip of his cock. “Don’t hold back, Brad. I don’t want that between us.”

  In a drawl rough around the edges he said, “Much more and there won’t be anything between us.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  She had a good idea. “I’m asking you to show me.”

  “Don’t.”

  Too late. This time it was she who had the power, she who took him, her lips sliding down his cock inch by inch until he bumped the back of her throat.

  “Damn!”

  The instinct to gag almost won.

  “Easy.”

  She took him a fraction more, her throat working against the head of his cock. A glance up revealed his face racked with pleasure. Looking down, he smiled tightly. A smile that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with emotion. If she’d had the ability, she would have smiled back, because the words she wanted to hear were written in his eyes.

  “Once more, Evie. Take me like that one more time.”

  She did, holding him longer than was comfortable, holding him because she didn’t want to break that vital, fragile connection.

  “Damn, so sweet. I could spend my life tucked here and die a happy man.”

  His fingers traced the stretch of her lips around his cock, grazed her jawline down to where she held him so tightly. A strange tension entered his expression as he asked, “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

  Her agreement was a calming stroke of her hands down his thighs. As if all he needed was that acceptance, Brad pulled his cock free of her mouth, his gaze locked on hers. “Was that a yes?”

  “I like pleasing you like that.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You don’t leave a man much control.”

  His cock tapped against her lip. Immediately, she opened her mouth, and when he hesitated, she ran her tongue over her lips. “I wasn’t trying to.”

  “So I gather.”

  He might know, but he wasn’t actively resisting. Pursing her lips, she kissed his penis.

  “So why are we stopping?”

  “Because any more and you will find me pumping down your throat rather than just your mouth.”

  The words were almost as exciting as the act. Her womb clenched. Brad didn’t miss one of the betraying signs. On a hoarse curse, he slid his cock back into her mouth, once, twice, three times in fast jabs that didn’t allow her participation, going deeper each time until she pressed her hand on his thighs. Not because she didn’t want the pleasure, but because she needed to breathe. With a regretful pop, she released his cock.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her cheek, her forehead, holding her tightly as she struggled for breath.


  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  Another curse, another kiss, and then he was angling his cock down her body, marking her right breast and then her left, rubbing the pout of her nipples before trailing a path downward, marking her until he got to her pussy, rubbing the broad head of his shaft against her soaked clit.

  “Damn, you’re wet.”

  “Why are you surprised? You get excited when you do that to me.”

  “So I do, but that’s because you’re all soft and sweet and pretty, whereas I’m all hard and ugly.”

  He talked such nonsense. “Not to me.” Arching into the press of his cock, she whispered, “Make love to me, Brad.”

  “You’re not ready.”

  She squeezed her thighs together. “I’m so ready, I’m going to come, and if you don’t want it to happen without you, you need to hurry up.”

  His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. His hand pressed between them, testing her readiness with one finger. The first ripples of her climax stroked over her as his cock slid the length of her clit.

  Grabbing his shoulders, she anchored herself with her nails. “Hurry, I want you in me when I come.”

  “I don’t have the sponge.”

  “I don’t care. I want you in me now, with nothing between us. Just you and me. Please, Brad.”

  For a split second he hesitated, and she thought he was going to refuse, but then his cock was there—pressing, pushing, stretching the sensitive tissue, overcoming that resistance that always met him at first, coaxing compliance until, with a smooth glide, he slid in those first few inches.

  Oh God, he felt so good.

  With a lift of her hips she took him deeper, desire and pleasure piercing her anew. “Oh yes.”

  With a harsh laugh, he braced himself over her, his forehead touching hers. “I’m trying to go slow.”

  She slapped his back, just needing the slightest push, another inch, a bit more of that delicious abrasion to put her over that edge. “Who asked you to?”

  “Not a damn soul.”

  With a hard thrust, he buried his cock in her tight channel, the vibrant flares of sensation too much to withstand. Tension whipped through her, arching her back under its lash. Another thrust, another lash, the second wave built on the first until she came in a searing crescendo, raking her nails down his back, holding him tightly with a clench of her thighs, pierced by his cock, his desire. Shuddering, the reality crashed through her again.

  I love you.

  When the cataclysmic moment was over, he was still there, his cock a hard, hot brand within her, accepting the rippling caress of her pussy and all that she had to give. He kissed her softly at first, gently, easing her back into reality before the kiss changed, betraying a hunger he couldn’t disguise.

  She moaned as he withdrew. Immediately, she missed that overwhelming sense of fullness, the completion that came from his body being joined to hers. As she relaxed, he reached for the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a simple glass jar filled with white cream.

  “What is that?”

  He didn’t look away, didn’t prevaricate. “I told you last time that I’d be taking you here.”

  His cock dropped lower, catching on the rosebud of her anus, lingering as a bolt of the darkest lust burned through her, stealing her breath as it snagged on the remnants of her orgasm, gathering the embers and fanning them into tiny flames. She should be more afraid than eager, but the truth was, she wanted him that way. She didn’t know if it was proper, or appropriate, but she trusted Brad and the promise of pleasure that rippled around the press of his cock.

  “Will it hurt?”

  Brad popped the lid off the jar and scooped the cream onto his fingers. “You’re not going to care.”

  She believed him. Brad was the one man who could make her not care about a lot of things.

  “Put your legs over my shoulders.”

  She did, feeling more vulnerable, more open, more exposed than she ever had as he pushed her knees back toward her shoulders. She was encouraging her own deflowering, preparing herself, submitting to his demand by opening herself to the press of his greased fingers, the seduction of his words.

  “Can you feel it, Evie? Can you feel how it’s going to be when your body opens to take mine when you give yourself to me like this?”

  God help her, she could. “Yes.”

  His fingers slipped down, slick with grease. They didn’t meet an impediment, from her body or her will. Evie hadn’t lied. She wanted this, had thought she could imagine how it would feel until his finger touched her in a delicate swirl. Nothing could have prepared her for the erotic bite as his finger parted her, entered . . .

  “Brad!”

  “Easy, just relax for me.”

  She had nothing to grab but the sheets, nothing to do but accept what he gave her. Pleasure or pain, she’d asked for it, but as he scooped more of the cream onto his fingers, she couldn’t help the burst of nervousness.

  “What happens if I can’t?”

  “Then we don’t.”

  “But you want it.”

  The harshness of his expression softened. His fingers stroked instead of probed. He kissed the inside of her thigh, her knee. “I want you, Evie.”

  She arched her hips, changing the caress, biting her lip as his finger pierced her that first inch. “Like this?”

  He didn’t look away, a haunting sadness in his eyes that sent a bolt of fear to her core. “However I can have you, for however long it lasts, and to hell with the consequences.”

  He wasn’t talking about sex. “What consequences?”

  A second finger joined the first, a slow burning stretch that had her twisting in his embrace, searching for more of the fiery, blissful torment. Brad leaned forward between her thighs, bracing his weight on his forearm, opening her more as his lips bit at hers, taking her groaning acceptance as his breath as she blindly sought more of his kiss. In a low drawl layered with a resignation she didn’t understand, he warned, “There are always consequences.”

  Twenty

  THERE ARE ALWAYS consequences.

  Evie couldn’t get the thought out of her mind any more than she could stop the memory of last night from pouring over her in a sultry wash of heat. Her womb clenched on remembered bliss as she relived that moment she’d surrendered to Brad’s erotic demands, her muscles parting, slowly, steadily, beckoning . . . accepting. The lingering aches in her body were reminders of not only how wild her husband could be but also a form of erotic speculation as to how much wilder he might be tonight. She couldn’t wait.

  There are always consequences.

  The warning slipped through her sensual memories, darker this time, grounding her in the here and now. As much as she couldn’t forget last night for the way it ended, she also couldn’t forget the way it began—with Nidia stepping between Bull and the unleashing of his temper. She stood in front of the saloon, a bowl of soup from Millie’s in her hand. She’d spent the morning learning to cook soup, wondering and worrying about Nidia as she chopped and stirred until she couldn’t stand it anymore. With a call to Millie that she was taking a break, she’d spooned soup into a bowl, placed a plate on top and added some cheese biscuits, topped it all with a napkin, and headed to the saloon. Nobody had looked twice or even cared that she was taking her break seven doors down.

  In the morning light, the saloon didn’t look any different from the other buildings in town—clapboard siding, dusty windows. It certainly didn’t look like a house of ill repute. However, if it was any other building in town, she wouldn’t be standing out here in the hot sun debating the appropriate entrance for a non-paying visitor to use. She’d just stroll in, ask for Nidia, express her thanks for last night’s intervention, and skip back to Millie’s before she was missed. Unfortunately, her mother’s frequent lectures on propriety did not cover the etiquette for a social call on a prostitute in her place of business. Which was a shame, because Evie could really
use some guidance this morning.

  Down the alley she saw a woman come out the side door, adjusting her bonnet. That settled that. If the women of the establishment didn’t go out the front door for fear of being detained, then she wasn’t going in it. For sure, word of this was going to get back to Brad, and for sure, to her mother when she came back from her buying trip. Likely both would be mad. But this was her debt, and she wasn’t going to ignore it for propriety. The memory of Nidia’s face as Bull had taken her arm—the pain, the fear, but mostly the resignation—haunted her. She had to know that Nidia was all right. Had to know why she had done as she had. Adjusting her grip on the soup, she moved forward, feeling the censure like a lash, shrugging it off with absolute logic. Nidia was a parishioner. Checking on the welfare of parishioners was required of ministers’ wives. Granted, Nidia was a parishioner who had to sit to the side in the back behind a screen to spare the sensibilities of others, but Nidia still came to church every Sunday like clockwork. She was still human. And she’d saved Evie’s rear.

  Evie strolled down the alley as if she did it every day. When she came abreast of the woman, she nodded. “Good morning.”

  The woman stared at her, her expression shifting between shock, disbelief, and wariness. And the one thing that stood out in Evie’s mind, through all the shifts, was that she didn’t look at all as Evie had thought a prostitute would look. There was no paint on her face, no rouge on her lips. She looked like every other woman in town. Except for her eyes. She had pretty grey eyes, but they were haunted and resentful. Probably because Evie was standing here in the middle of the alley, blocking her way, staring at her as if she had two heads. “Would you happen to know if Nidia is receiving callers this morning?”

  Another blink. “You came to see Nidia?”

  Evie made her smile brighter just in case it would influence the answer. “Yes.”

  “You’re the Reverend’s wife.”

  It wasn’t a question. “Yes, I am. And you would be?”