Taking a deep breath, praying for a lifetime of courage, he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers, all the while resisting the desire to let his tongue wander inside.
He would have enjoyed lingering there a while—with her soft, luscious body melting into his—but when arousal grew too fast, he pulled back.
Such things should be enjoyed in private, he knew, and thankfully that moment was near.
Thank you, George, for booking us a room at the Dodge House. I didn’t think I’d want that, but damn, I do.
Simply the idea of his wedding night was enough to make Briggs weak with anticipation for what lay ahead.
Chapter Three
Sarah glanced across the small round dinner table at her new husband and could barely swallow. One part of her wanted only to move on to the wedding night and get it over with as soon as possible. Another part of her wanted to put it off forever. Surely when Briggs came to her in the dark, he would know he was not the first. Garrison had told her men knew these things….
She had to be strong, she told herself. She had to get through this. Perhaps her previous experience would not make a difference to Briggs. After all, there was no love between them. He merely wanted a helper on his farm.
Silverware clinked against china plates all around them. Conversation hummed and laughter bellowed from the back corner of the restaurant. Sarah shifted in her chair, then cautiously looked across at Briggs again to see if he’d noticed how little she’d eaten. To her dismay, he was staring at her over the fragrant, colorful vase of petunias.
Their eyes locked and held. For that brief second, she wondered what in heaven’s name he was thinking. Then without warning, self-consciousness intervened. She dropped her gaze, picked up her fork and scooped up some mashed potatoes swabbed in dark gravy. Chewing furiously, she knew her face had gone red as a ripe tomato. Briggs probably wasn’t surprised. Her behavior was what a husband would expect from a nervous, naïve bride on her wedding night.
The problem was, Sarah was not naïve. She knew fully what to expect in the marriage bed. And it wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
After dinner, she dawdled over her coffee while they discussed nothing more interesting than the weather and Sarah’s long journey. Soon the conversation slowed. Her coffee was cold and Sarah knew the time had come. She breathed deeply, trying to calm the nervous knots in her belly.
Briggs slid his chair back across the floor. “Are you finished?”
Sarah forced a smile and nodded.
“Shall we go upstairs, then?” he asked, offering his hand.
She placed her hand into his and allowed him to help her out of her chair. They walked arm in arm, upstairs to room 21, where her new husband inserted a large metal key into the lock and pushed the squeaky door open. Standing in the hall, unable to take even a small step forward, Sarah peered inside the tiny hotel room.
One flickering kerosene lamp produced a smoky light. A tall rosewood dresser stood against the far wall, holding a blue and white chamber set. But the most notable piece of furniture, taking up the most space in the room, was the cast-iron bed. She felt a rush of fear.
“Make yourself at home,” Briggs said, gesturing with an outstretched arm and probably wondering why she was hesitating.
After a few seconds, she took that giant step over the threshold. Once inside, she turned around, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her rugged-looking husband was leaning one shoulder against the door frame, both his hands in his front coat pockets. He swept a seductive gaze down the length of her body, then let it rise to meet hers.
There was a tingling in the pit of her belly, but what was causing it? Fear? Dread? Or was it an indecent thrill—because he was very handsome and so much more of a man than what she had expected. And soon those big, work-roughened hands would be working their way over her naked body.
She swallowed nervously at the thought. Would it be different this time?
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked, feeling the intensity of his stare.
He stepped back into the hall. “Not just yet. I thought you might like some time to yourself after your trip. I reserved the hotel tub for you.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I thought I might get myself a bath and a shave, too. George is expecting me at his house. It’s just a few blocks away. I’ll come back in an hour?”
She nodded without thinking, then watched him close the door. With knees trembling, her breath coming in short gasps, she listened to the sound of her husband’s heavy footsteps fading down the hall. Then silence boomed in her ears and she collapsed onto the bed.
* * *
Outside the hotel, Briggs stood a moment, staring up at the star-speckled sky. He listened to the saloon piano clanging a tinny tune down the street and found himself missing the quiet night-hiss of prairie grass.
So much for avoiding beautiful women in fancy skirts and feathered hats, he thought as he breathed an autumn fragrance in the late August air. He’d sat at dinner, watching his wife fidget in her chair like a child in church. She was nervous about tonight, poor thing. She was plumb scared out of her wits.
He was too, he supposed. He’d never been with a virgin before.
All of a sudden, a case of the jitters hit him. He hoped he would make it pleasant for her, even though he knew he probably couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. Women didn’t usually enjoy it the first time. Or so he’d heard.
He pulled his gaze from the blanket of stars overhead and started walking toward George’s house. Maybe the bath would relax him a bit. He sure as hell hoped so.
* * *
Sarah sat up in bed wearing her pink cotton nightdress, buttoned tightly at the neck. Good Lord, she felt like she was choking. The nightdress had been a gift from Garrison on that horrible night in the hotel, and it stung that she must wear it now. But what else was she to do? Wait naked in bed for her husband? Certainly not.
By the time she heard those boots tapping softly down the hall, she was nearly frozen with fear. The key clicked in the lock, the doorknob turned, and the door slowly creaked open.
The time had come. She was alone with her new husband, and he expected the marriage to be consummated.
“Sorry I’m late,” Briggs said quietly, closing the door behind him. He stared at her only briefly, removed his hat, then turned and shrugged out of his coat.
Sarah said nothing. She couldn’t. All she could do was sit up against the pillows, biting her thumbnail, taking in the details of his appearance in the flickering lantern light.
He turned his back to her while he pulled the animal claw necklace over his head, set it lightly on the chest of drawers, then unbuttoned and stripped off his loose, white shirt. Sensations of awe exploded within her at the sight of his bronze, muscular back. He was large and strong. Bigger and stronger than Garrison—a thought that provided her with some peace of mind in some ways—for she had come here in search of a protector. But when Briggs got into bed with her, he would be very heavy on top of her. She would feel trapped. Confined.
Looking away, she shivered, remembering what had come after Garrison had removed his shirt. At least this time, she knew what to expect. She had time to prepare herself, mentally.
This was not that. This was a new life. And Briggs was not Garrison.
Briggs took three slow, sultry steps toward the bed. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
Gentle?
Her voice shook as she grasped for words. “We barely know each other.”
He came closer, tilting his head. His expression was different from before, when he’d first looked at her at the train station with those callous green eyes. Now his expression was encouraging, reassuring.
But no amount of reassurance would change what he was about to do to her.
He raised a knee to the bed and crawled cat-like across her to lie on the other side. A faint scent of musk touched her nose.
“I hope that by tomorrow, we’
ll know each other better,” he replied in a soft voice. He settled down and cupped her chin in his hand. “Can I kiss you, Sarah?”
Trembling, she nodded, then closed her eyes to prepare for the feel of his mouth upon hers. Her heart beat fast in her chest, her mind alive with horrible expectations. But when his hand caressed her cheek, then moved like a feather to her ear and played in the wavy locks of hair she’d just finished combing, she found herself feeling warm and a little less afraid.
Then his lips moved over hers like a whisper, carefully at first. She quivered at the unexpected tenderness of it all, the flavor of his mouth, the unanticipated desire she was feeling. His lips parted hers in a smooth, sweeping motion, and his tongue moved into her mouth. A sensual response awoke deep within her. Her body was beginning to relax, her muscles letting go of their resolve to resist this. If only the rest of it could be as satisfying as this kiss, she thought. If only they need not go further.
Briggs drew back and wet his lips, his hand still playing in the tendril of hair over her ear. “That was nice,” he whispered. “Would you like me to lower the lamp? Or would you prefer I leave it burning?”
“No,” she blurted out too quickly. “I’d like it to be dark.”
He leaned away and lowered the wick in the lamp beside them. The room went black, and Sarah said a silent thank you to be spared the expression on his face when the truth struck its inevitable blow.
She felt him lift the quilt to climb under, and gathered from his movements that he was removing his denims. “Come. Get under the covers with me,” he said.
Her eyes adjusting, she sat forward while Briggs removed the extra pillows and tossed them to the floor. She reluctantly inched down until her head rested on the pillow. For a moment nothing happened. She had lain on her back and her husband was simply lying on his side, resting his cheek in his palm, propped up on one elbow.
“What wrong?” she asked, worrying he could see that she was hiding something.
“Nothing. I just want to look at you.” Then he rolled on top of her.
Sarah gasped, but caught her breath when Briggs lingered there, his hands again twirling through her hair splayed out on the pillow. After a few seconds, as if he were allowing her time to prepare herself, he lowered his face and kissed her again.
Ah, the kiss. She did like the kissing.
Butterflies danced within her as he brushed his lips across her cheek, down her jaw, then nipped at the sensitive skin at her neck. Gooseflesh tingled down her left side.
He pulled gently at the ribbon on her nightdress and unfastened the tiny top buttons. His lips journeyed slowly across her collarbone as she stared through the darkness at the ceiling.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, pulling the nightdress down over her shoulders. “But there’s no need to be afraid, Sarah. I promise I’ll go slow.” He looked down at her and she wondered frantically if she should just tell him the truth now.
Then he kissed her again, his warm tongue twirling around hers. Emotions skittered through her body, her blood became liquid candy in her veins.
He sat back on his heels and removed her nightdress. Then he settled his weight upon her. “Sarah, I’m glad you came here. I didn’t think I would be, because I’ve gotten used to being alone. I thought I just wanted a helper on the farm, but maybe there’s a chance we could be more to each other.” He paused. “I didn’t expect someone like you. You’re very beautiful.”
For a brief moment, while nothing but his body and his words seemed real, she felt transported to a new life—to a new beginning where she could, perhaps, become a different person. She could forget about the old life, make a fresh start, and perhaps there could even be love for her here.
Then Briggs shifted, and all at once she felt the silky tip of his arousal poised where the pain had been last time.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “It will only hurt this once.”
But how could she not be afraid? What if, as soon as he learned her secret, he would shout at her for lying to him, for involving him in her stupid, stupid mistakes? She didn’t know much about Briggs. What if he became violent? “I’m nervous.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s only natural.”
But he didn’t understand. He didn’t know why she was afraid.
He continued to kiss her neck, and soon, his mouth reached her breast where he used his tongue to stimulate her passions and help her open up to him—at least physically. His mouth was like some sort of drug that made her forget all her regrets and anxieties. What a glorious escape it was.
For a long while, she relaxed into the pleasure of his touch, sighing with delight every time he kissed and suckled, or used his strong, warm hands to stroke her.
But then, the inevitable occurred. His hand slid between her legs to the damp center of her womanhood, and she gasped, for there was no turning back now. He would know very soon, as he stroked and explored, that she had not come to him as an untouched woman. There had been another, before him.
Briggs’s head drew back and he looked her in the eye.
Sarah blinked a few times, while her belly turned a somersault. Does he know?
I should tell him now. I should try to explain. But how?
Slowly, with a slight frown, Briggs settled his weight upon her, positioned himself for penetration, and slid easily into her slick, heated depths. He drove all the way in, very deep, and continued to watch her face in the darkness as he held himself there, inside her.
The dreamlike trance she had been enjoying moments ago was all gone now. She was alert and aware of the physical sensation of his body inside hers, without the pain she had known last time. But what was he thinking?
Heart racing, Sarah clutched at her husband’s broad shoulders, waiting for him to say something. Seconds ticked by. Did he even know?
Then he spoke softly, without emotion, and her heart sank.
“I’m not the first,” he said, his body perfectly still.
Suddenly, Sarah was overcome with regret for having succumbed to her desperation, for having led this man to believe that she was an innocent with no past. She was ashamed of herself for the letter she had written, the lies she had told.
“No,” she replied simply, for she couldn’t possibly begin to explain. Not now, when he was so deep inside her and he was breathing heavily and beginning to perspire, fighting to hold still.
But what else was there to say? The whole story was sickening and complicated, and there were things she still didn’t want him to know. Things she hoped he would never know.
All that mattered in this moment was that she was not a virgin, and now he knew that part of it, at least.
If he wanted to annul the marriage, so be it. She wouldn’t protest, for she owed him that. But she hoped he would not wish to send her away, for she was feeling things presently that she had not expected to feel. Passion, for one thing. And a desire to go with him to his farm on the prairie. To feel safe in his protection. If only he could forgive this part of it.
Growing uneasy, Sarah shifted slightly on the bed, which caused a hint friction down below where their bodies were joined. Everything was so hot and wet down there. It felt like liquid fire.
She wiggled her hips slightly beneath his weight, and Briggs let out a small groan. Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to move in a steady rhythm, in and out, slow at first, then gradually faster. She told herself the worst was over and it was alright to relax now and enjoy the sensations. He was her lawful husband, and he had kept his promise to be gentle.
Most importantly, he knew. About this part, at least.
Soon, the ecstasy returned and her muscles loosened and tingled, her skin seemed to melt into his as they made love in the darkness.
She realized in that moment that her previous experience had been nothing like this. Nothing at all. Tonight, it had been hurried, for Briggs had taken the time to pleasure her, to soften her and help her relax, before he ente
red her.
The sensations reached a heady, overwhelming pinnacle, and she shuddered unexpectedly as physical delight poured through her body. Briggs tensed and went rigid in her arms. A sound escaped him—a sound that could only mean pleasure as she had just known it. He throbbed within and she knew they had completed the marriage act. It was consummated. Perhaps he had even planted a child in her womb. That thought filled her with hope.
He relaxed on top of her, heavier now, but surprisingly, she didn’t mind. Her heart was no longer racing with anxiety. Their bodies seemed glued together with heat and perspiration as they lay in silence, until Briggs withdrew and rolled off her, leaving her suddenly exposed to the chilly bedroom air.
* * *
Briggs lay motionless in the dark, listening to his wife’s breathing. He draped his wrist over his eyes. He had thought….
Hell, he didn’t know what he had thought. Why was he so surprised? He knew nothing about this woman in bed beside him. She had answered an ad in a newspaper, for pity’s sake. Why should he have expected her to be a virgin, and what did it even matter? She had never promised such a thing in her letter, not specifically, nor had he asked, or implied that it was a requirement. He had simply assumed it because she had said she attended church regularly and lived with her parents until their deaths recently.
How could a man possibly know what a woman was truly about? he wondered solemnly.
He couldn’t. It was as simple as that. Briggs should never have presumed anything about Sarah. He simply had to accept the reality—that she was a stranger to him and that she had led an independent life before coming out here to join him on his claim.
And obviously, there had been another man, or perhaps more than one.
He felt a spark of jealousy, even though it shouldn’t matter. There was no love between them. Love and passion wasn’t even something he’d wanted when he’d placed the ad.
Why, then, was he wanting to hit something when he imagined her in bed with someone else? Had she loved the man who had been her first? Where was that man now?
Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) Page 3
