Janet was bustling back and forth in the kitchen, while I stayed where Russ had deposited me, sitting on one hard wooden chair, with my feet propped up on another. In a moment, she disappeared briefly and then came back with a pillow for my back, most welcome to soften the wooden slats, and a cozy afghan that she put around my bare feet, completing the cocoon she had started with the fresh blanket at the truck.
“Now, dear, how do you like your tea?” Janet asked.
“Um, I’m not sure,” I said in a faint voice. “I’ve never had tea.”
“Never had tea! Where did you grow up, girl, in darkest Africa?” Her face was so comical, and the idea that I had grown up in Africa, with my pale, pale skin and red hair, just made me giggle. Janet smiled, a big, warm smile that made me feel welcome.
“I, uh, in Bethel City, ma’am,” I responded. The change in her face was instant. Alarmed, I asked her what was wrong, how could I help her. She had gone white as my half-frozen feet. But, when she saw my distress, she shook her head and said, “It’s nothing dear. Do you like sweet?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
The sweets we got were few and far between, so the two teaspoons of sugar she dumped into the mug of tea and stirred to dissolve were like a Christmas treat from my childhood. The sweet stuff warmed me inside as the warm kitchen and Janet’s pleasant face began to feel familiar, and somehow homey. I ventured a question.
“Do you know where Russ went?”
“I think he went to rustle you up some shoes.” Janet seemed a little surprised when I burst out laughing, but after a minute her good nature allowed her to join in, although I’m sure she had no idea why I was laughing.
“How long has he worked here, do you know?” I felt the need to make small talk, but had nothing to say about myself. Even if she hadn’t just about fainted when I said Bethel City, I wouldn’t have wanted to launch into my history. It was one thing to respond to Russ’s questions, and quite another to volunteer that stuff. I knew my past was weird, and didn’t particularly want people reacting the way Janet had. However, my question brought another odd look from her.
“Oh, since he was a kid, I guess. You’ll have to ask him. If you’ll excuse me, dear, I need to get supper for about twenty hungry hands. I’d better get busy.”
“May I help?”
“No, dear, Russ wouldn’t be happy to find you barefoot on this cold tile floor, and besides I’d just run over you. This is a one-butt kitchen.” She smiled as my laugh rang out, but I was laughing for two reasons. First, the saying my mom used to use about our tiny kitchen, and second, because this kitchen would accommodate at least ten butts, even if they were all the size of Janet’s. This house clearly belonged to a wealthy rancher.
Later, my feet encased in fuzzy slippers and wearing the afghan as a shawl, I tucked into a meal fit for an army, along with a couple dozen people including Janet and Russ. My guess was that Janet had fed the rancher and his family earlier, since all the men at the table were the same combination of western gentleman and rough cattleman that Russ was. They called me ma’am, and they didn’t pry. Russ was clearly some kind of leader, because everyone looked to him whenever I asked a question. Nor did I get satisfactory answers to some of them.
Only when I asked about the ranch, what they raised here, how large it was, and where was the nearest town did Russ answer me in a matter-of-fact tone, giving no hint that we had been intimate only a few hours before. The answer was cattle and horses, fodder for both types of stock, about 50,000 acres, and maybe fifteen miles, as the crow flies. Too far for me to walk, then. I wondered when I would wear out my welcome.
“Have you told the owner I’m here?” My question was addressed to Russ, since no one else would answer me anyway.
Twenty pairs of eyes were trained on him as he said, “Yes, he knows.” A sigh escaped Janet, and it reminded me that Russ had said I couldn’t sleep in the bunkhouse. I could see that now. These men were being gentlemanly now, but if the only woman they had around was Janet, they were probably hornier than I was, and that was pretty darned horny. I finally gave up trying to hold up a conversation by myself, and just ate, like the rest of them.
After dinner, each man filed into the kitchen with his plate and tableware, rinsed them at the sink and put them neatly into an industrial-sized dishwasher. I knew some polyg families that could use that kind of organization. Kept my thought to myself, though, as I was still nonplussed over Janet’s reaction to the name of the town I came from. I did compliment Janet on how well she had trained them. Her hearty laugh let me know she was pleased by the compliment as well as with the coordinated cooperation of the men. I got the impression that they had been on their best behavior, though why that should be so was just one more mystery.
§
Janet was resisting my efforts to help her wash the pots and pans and straighten the kitchen, when Russ appeared, this time with a pair of sturdy boots in one hand and a pair of soft leather flats in the other.
“See if these will fit you,” he said, producing a pair of socks for the boots from one of his pockets. I sat down in the nearest chair and slipped on the flats.
“Perfect,” I said. “May I borrow them?”
“They’re yours,” he growled, laboring under some emotion I couldn’t interpret. Whose were they? One glimpse of his face told me I shouldn’t ask. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or holding back a powerful grief. Either way, I didn’t want to unleash the storm. Slipping off the flats, I put on the socks and tried the boots. These were slightly too big, but another pair of socks would fix that. I wondered what I would need them for, but once again, was apprehensive about pressing for answers.
“These will fit with one more pair of socks, or a thicker pair,” I observed.
“Good. We need to find you some different clothes, too. That dress looks like you slept in it.” It was a cliché, of course, and not meant literally, but the fact was, I had slept in it, and more than one night. I was dying for a shower and a clean set of underwear, not to mention another dress, or even a pair of jeans and a shirt, although it had been three years since I had worn such a thing. I waited for Russ to come to the conclusion he had been considering, and then got up to follow him when he said, “Come on.”
Russ led me through a maze of rooms that were both spacious and well-appointed, with masculine furniture of pine logs and leather. It all combined to speak of wealth and luxury, but in a western theme befitting a Wyoming cattle ranch. Cowhides lined the pine floors, and mounted deer or elk capes dotted the walls. After wandering through what appeared to be a library, then a formal living room that was devoid of mounted kills, but displayed western-themed oil paintings instead, we entered a long, broad hallway with closed doors periodically piercing the walls on both sides. At the end of the hall, Russ led me into the most beautiful room I had ever seen.
In contrast to the rest of the house, this room was feminine in the extreme. A four-poster bed, sans canopy, was centered on one wall. In a corner, a velvet chaise longue was situated to catch the light from a large window, with a soft pashmina thrown across it as if the owner of the room had just stepped out. The duvet cover on the bed, the velvet of the chaise, and various other objects were a dusty rose color that put me in mind of passion as this room had clearly been designed to do.
I stopped just inside the door, gasping at the luxury and beauty the room represented. Russ had walked straight through without looking left or right and entered what appeared to be a walk-in closet. My heart clutched at his audacity. What if the rancher’s wife, for this must be her room, returned suddenly to find us there, and Russ rifling through her closet.
“Russ,” I hissed. He didn’t hear me. I crept forward and joined him in the closet, where he was looking through the lingerie in a tall chest he found there. “Russ! I don’t think we should be here.”
“Don’t worry about it. Here, choose a few of these. And some pants. Dresses aren’t very practical on a ranch. Would you wear some j
eans?”
“Yes, but…”
“I think they’ll fit. I was more concerned about the shoes. You’re about the same height and build…” he trailed off, gazing at me with a puzzled look on his face that cleared when he saw it reflected in mine.
“Matter of fact, just leave everything here. You’ll stay in this room.”
I gasped, frightened out of my wits by this cavalier treatment of the owner of the room. It was only then that he thought to explain.
“She’s not here,” he said in a low voice. The emotion was back, and I wondered if the woman was just away, or if something terrible had happened to her.
“Will she mind if I stay in her room and borrow her things?”
Russ’s face closed. If we had been playing strip poker, I would have feared for my last garment, because for the first time since I had met him he looked like granite.
“No,” he said. And that was that. I had plenty of questions, like who was the woman who belonged in this room, where was she, and what was she to Russ? Was her husband, who I took to be the rancher who owned this spread, with her? Why was Russ so certain it would be okay for me to borrow her things, not to mention her room?
To ask more of him was to risk his anger, and that I couldn’t do. I was completely dependent on him, at least for a while. What he wanted, I would do. What he wanted to keep secret, I would not pry into. Instead, a warm rush of gratitude awakened my compassion for whatever hurt he was going through to make him shut down like that. I stepped forward and put my arms around him.
“Russ, thank you. For everything. Thank you for rescuing me, and for bringing me here.” My words seemed to cheer him, and in another sudden about-face in mood, he arched one eyebrow and baffled me again with what he said next.
“For everything? Are you thanking me for letting you give me a blowjob, or for the spanking?” How was I supposed to answer that? In fact, I was grateful for the sex. It was mind-blowing, and it had single-handedly erased three years of deprivation and oppression. But wasn’t that question a little too arrogant? I searched his face for a hint of cruelty or irony, and found none. It had been a straight question. Did he want to know if I wanted it again?
“Yes, I want to know if you want me to make love to you again.”
“How do you do that?” I asked, knowing he was also reading the ‘god, yes’ answer in my face.
I was already standing close to him, both of us still in the spacious closet. He brought his arms up and around me, moving even closer and taking my mouth with a rough kiss. He smelled divine, and I realized he’d showered sometime after we got here. It made me more conscious of my grubby state and no doubt less-than-perfumed breath, and suddenly I was squirming to escape his grasp.
“Russ, I’m a mess. Not now, wait until I can clean up.”
“No need to wait,” he answered. Despite my protests he picked me up easily and carried me into the luxuriously appointed bath that adjoined the bedroom. He set me on my feet, turned on the water in a huge, jetted tub, adjusted the temperature and then let the water run while he turned back to me.
After finding a new toothbrush in one of the numerous drawers and handing it to me, Russ occupied himself in adjusting the temperature and turning on the jets of the tub. Then, his fingers were sure on the tiny buttons of my bodice, unbuttoning them with care though I didn’t mind if he ripped the dress off me by force. I would never put it on again, if I had anything to say about it. Once the buttons were unfastened, he pushed the shoulders and sleeves down my arms, deftly unhooked my bra with one hand, and pushed everything, including my panties, to the floor.
“This is how I like you best,” he said with satisfaction, gazing at my nudity with proprietary interest. My nipples contracted from the sheer excitement of being naked for his observation and moisture bloomed between my legs. I was beyond wondering how or why he affected me this way. Just the look on his face could bring me to the brink of orgasm; it was amazing. Smiling, he reached with both hands to tweak the stiff little nubs. Then he picked me up again, and deposited me in the middle of the tub.
That warm water was the second-best thing I had felt since leaving Bethel City. For the pleasure of feeling it wash away the grime of the past couple of days, I let my head slump back and slid down to let the water cover me except for my mouth, nose and eyes. Then I brought the water up in my hands and rinsed those. Already I felt a hundred percent better. I opened my eyes and glanced around to see if there was a soap or a washcloth handy, but my eyes came to rest on Russ.
He had removed his shirt and was kneeling beside the bath, a bath puff in one hand and a bottle of heavenly-smelling bath gel in the other. I detected vanilla, nutmeg, and shea butter before he reached for me and slid me through the water to the side of the tub, where he could reach me. Twirling me around to put my back to him, Russ began to scrub my neck and back, holding my long hair out of the way of the soap.
When he had thoroughly scrubbed my back, the backs of my arms, and my hips as far as he could reach, Russ urged me to stand, so he could scrub my legs. I leaned forward to grasp a rail on the opposite wall for stability, and felt his hands, without the puff, searching my folds intimately. Without my grip on the rail, it would have brought me to my knees. A soapy hand was stroking my clit now, and it was all I could do to stand, the sensations were so delicious. My breath came in short gasps as he stroked and pinched me there, my legs quivering until the wave of electric passion overtook me. Then, he helped me to turn and sink back into the water, while his hands soaped all the front of me. The orgasm had drained me. I watched his hands glide over the wet, soapy flesh of my breasts and belly, drifting in a haze of comfort, warmth and desire, until he rinsed me and poured shampoo into my hair.
The strange thing was, as much as I enjoyed the erotic touch of his hands, I was lethargic to the point of not caring whether it continued or not. His hands in my hair brought delicious sensations of luxury, but no urgency. I drifted, content to let him do whatever he wanted with me or to me, enjoying the pleasure as a cat might enjoy a firm stroking. Now he was rinsing my hair with a hand nozzle, the warm water streaming down through the heavy tresses and down my back.
When he was done, Russ helped me to stand, wrapped an enormous Turkish cotton towel around me and picked me up like a baby. He sat down with me on an upholstered chair in the bedroom, rubbing and patting me dry, taking care to dry every fold and intimate area. With his fingers, he worked the tangles out of my hair, then stood up with me and laid me on the bed, where he spread my wet hair around me to dry.
Not one word passed between us during this dream-like interlude, but now he leaned over me and kissed my lips tenderly. “Do you want to sleep now, Kitten?”
“Only if you want to sleep, Russ. I want you to make love to me, like you said.”
His hand caressed my cheek and I closed my eyes, only because I wanted to savor the touch. When I woke, the lights were out and he was breathing heavily beside me, sound asleep. I didn’t know how long I had been out, but my hair was dry, which meant probably several hours. Disappointed that my body had betrayed me like that, not to mention Russ, a tear escaped. But, my questing hands had found that I was still naked, and so was Russ, snuggled up against me and tucked under the blankets as if we were still back in that cabin and he was still fighting for my life. Sighing happily, I turned into him, squirmed under his arm, and rested my head on his chest. This was where I belonged, for as long as it lasted. I refused to think beyond the next morning, when I would wake in his arms and fulfill the promise of the night before.
Chapter 8
The next time I woke, I was wrapped in Russ’s arms, and he was planting light kisses on my eyelids, my nose, along my jaw line and behind my ear. It tickled, and I giggled a bit, signaling him I was awake.
“Good morning, Kitten. Did you sleep well?” His smile was enough to light the room. It made me unaccountably happy to see him smiling, and I returned the favor, with a sleepy ‘yes.’
“
I think I promised to make love to you last night,” he said softly, “and I didn’t get the chance.”
“I’m sorry I went to sleep, I really wanted you.”
“You must have needed your sleep more,” his low sexy voice rumbling in my ear. God, the man could have been threatening to kill me and it still would have been erotic, purred in that voice.
“I don’t think so. I can’t think of anything I need more. Will you make love to me now?” I didn’t know when we had stopped referring to it as ‘sex’ or ‘fucking’, but ‘making love’ seemed more appropriate. I ached for him to surround me and fill me, and the feeling that the thought engendered was love, erotic love, to be sure, but definitely love.
“I’m ready for you,” he whispered.
I reached for his manhood, found it hard, then threw the covers back to look. A bead of pre-cum clung to the tip, the glistening drop beckoning me to taste. I sat up and bent over him, reaching with the tip of my tongue to take that salty drop and draw it out into a string that bound me to him, as much as any rope or chain. His hand covered the back of my head and neck, and I groaned, overwhelmed with the erotic sensation of taking him slowly into my mouth.
How can I describe that sensation? The sensitive skin inside my mouth, my tongue, even my lips reveled in the connection. I especially loved the feeling of dragging the flat of my tongue up from the root of him to the corona, circling, and then closing my lips around the delicious, slightly salty and spice-scented flesh, all the while listening for his cues. Did his breath come faster? I should do more of that. Did he moan? My cue to touch the skin of his sac, feel it contract, and pay some attention there with my tongue. I could have played with him for hours, but too soon, he lifted me and laid me back against the pillows.
Rustled Page 7
