If Wishes Were Kisses: Six Beloved Americana Romances, a Collection (Small Town Swains)

by Pamela Morsi

  Cleav unbuttoned his fine linen shirt, and Esme's hands eagerly sought to push it over his shoulders. When she finally had, she gasped with delighted surprise. She'd never imagined such a refined gentleman as Cleavis to have such a thick, silky mat of curly black hair on his chest. She ran her fingers through it until he finally stilled her hands.

  "God, Esme, help me get these trousers off."

  The eagerness in his voice spurred her to action. Her fingers deftly released the buttons at his fly and underdrawers. Eagerly she peeled the fabric from his hips.

  The thick phallus that pressed at her belly was disconcerting. Esme avoided it by clutching the smooth muscular buttocks that she'd so admired earlier.

  A strangled sound came from Cleav's throat, and he gritted his teeth harshly.

  When Esme hesitated on her sweet exploration, he tried to reassure her.

  "Oh, yes, sweetheart," he whispered hotly against her flesh. "I love your touch, but I can't wait much longer. I need to be inside you."

  Tenderly caressing the paleness of her inner thighs, he spread them before him and raised himself in position to take her.

  Now! Esme's mind screamed to her. Now he was going to make her a woman, his woman, for all time. Now she would know all that there was to know about the dark mystery of sex. Now she would have the blessed capacity of bearing his children. Now! Now!

  "This is the part that hurts," Cleav warned her as he tried to ease himself inside her.

  Esme's tiny cry came from her throat as Cleav pressed his way into the outer reaches of her womanhood.

  "Are you all right?" he stopped to ask.

  She nodded with more certainty than she felt.

  He pushed forward again, and Esme's eyes widened in fear and pain.

  "Oh, stop!" she cried out as he pushed against her maidenhead.

  Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he ground his teeth in near agony as he tried, without success, to move within her. The hot, wet invitation of her body was in sharp contrast to the formidable barrier of her innocence.

  Cleav pulled back slightly and strained to recover himself. "Sweet Esme," he choked out in tender anguish. "I don't want to hurt you, but I . . ." Getting control of her breath, Esme gazed up into the pale blue eyes of Cleavis Rhy and knew that she loved him. Always the gentleman, his jaw was clenched tightly against his own desire as he willed himself not to hurt her. It was supposed to hurt, everyone knew that. But this man in her arms, the man she loved, would spare her that if he could.

  Wrapping her long, slim legs about his waist, Esme firmly grasped his buttocks and thrust forward, forcefully impaling herself on his shaft.

  They both cried out, she in pain and he in ecstasy.

  A stream of late afternoon sunlight streaked between the shade and the glass and across the hardwood floor. The quiet of the empty room accentuated the sound of the two near-naked bodies that lay between the counter and the canned goods shelf, gasping for breath.

  Esme ran her hand along his straight, strong spine, feeling the quivering of well-worked muscles and the sheen of perspiration on his skin.

  "I hurt you." Cleav spoke first. It was a statement rather than a question.

  "No, I'm fine," Esme lied. It had hurt. More than she'd expected. But it didn't hurt now, not really. The slight rawness and the uncomfortable stretching paled in comparison to the relief she felt. Relief was definitely the word. He was inside her, a part of her, sheltering her and enclosing her. She felt so safe, so at home, at last.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. He'd think she was crying for the pain, and that was beneath her dignity. But joy, this kind of joy, was something worth crying about.

  Cleav raised his head slightly and saw the dampness on her cheek.

  "Don't cry, little baby," he whispered. "My little Hillbaby."

  He tried to move away from her, but Esme wouldn't let him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, she held him fast.

  "I'm too heavy for you," Cleav told her.

  "Please don't leave yet," she whispered.

  "I'm not going anywhere," he assured her.

  "I mean," she hesitated, not sure about her phrasing, "I mean, it was such a struggle to get it inside. I don't want you to take it out so soon."

  Cleav looked at her curiously for a moment and then his face was wreathed in a smile and he chuckled with self-satisfaction. Holding her as tightly as she held him, he rolled to his side and then wiggled more closely to her, securing his place.

  "I'll try to stay all afternoon this way, if that's what you want, Hillbaby," Cleav told her with a teasing smile. "My spirit is willing, but my flesh may be weak."

  Esme looked at him questioningly and then ran a warm appreciative hand along the muscled length of his bicep, giving it a testing squeeze.

  "There is nothing weak about you, Cleavis Rhy," she stated flatly.

  Cleav chuckled lightly. "It wasn't my arms I was worried about."

  When Esme continued to look at him curiously, Cleav felt awkward. His experience with women had not been among the innocent. Of course, there were things that Esme wouldn't know, couldn't know, until her husband told her. He was the husband. Somehow the responsibility of educating her was a burden he was more than willing to take on his shoulders.

  "My ..." he began hesitantly. "Well . . . my . . . my . . . man part isn't always hard," he warned her.

  Her eyes widened perceptibly. "It always seems to be."

  He laughed out loud. "Only when you are around, Esme Crabb," he insisted.

  "Esme Rhy," she corrected him, squirming slightly in an attempt to assuage the strange flutter near the place where their bodies connected.

  "Just so," he agreed. "Esme Rhy."

  He found himself inordinately pleased to say the name. He was suddenly sure that his decision to marry Esme Crabb was the most intelligent thing he'd ever done. No lady, he was sure, could be half as tempting. As Esme had so accurately guessed, the gentleman within him had not completely eradicated the man within him.

  Dinner hostesses and esoteric conversationalists could be found among friends. It was not necessary to bed one. Esme was earthy and sensual and satisfying. Certainly those qualities were highly desirable for lifelong fidelity.

  Cleav ran a lazy hand along one long, slim leg that embraced him. Those legs for a lifetime! And love, too! He placed a soft kiss on her temple as he smiled. This wild, long-legged hill girl was in love with him. She'd chased him and she'd caught him. At that moment he was sure that the future would bring cause for both of them to be grateful.

  "What are you wiggling about?" he asked her.

  "I feel funny down there," she admitted.

  Cleav's smile disappeared. "You're hurt." He attempted to move away again.

  "No," Esme assured him as she tightened her arms around him. "It doesn't hurt exactly. It just feels funny."

  "Funny how?"

  "Like I need to scratch or something."

  As Esme watched, the concern melted in Cleav's eyes and a warmth of understanding crossed his face with a pleased smile.

  "Scratch?" he asked with a teasing lilt. "Have you got fleas, Mrs. Rhy?"

  "Fleas!" Esme was outraged, remembering his mother's suggestion of vermin in her bed the night before, and she reacted more strongly than she should have.

  "I don't . . ." Furiously Esme struggled against him with the hope of slamming her strong young fist into his teasing smile.

  "Oh, I think it's fleas," Cleav continued as he held her fast. In Esme's anger, the teasing quality of his voice escaped her. "No need to be ashamed, Hillbaby," he said. "Lots of women in these mountains get fleas."

  She tried to bite him, but he moved his head back just in time.

  "I do not have fleas!" she proclaimed loudly.

  "I think you do," he insisted, still managing to hold her. "But don't worry, I'm going to take care of you."

  "You . . . you ..." Esme couldn't think of words bad enough.
She continued to fume and fight as Cleav slipped a hand between them. Luxuriantly he caressed the length of her torso.

  "Sometimes those fleas get to a woman," he told her as his hand warmed her flesh. "She gets an itch that nobody but a man can scratch," he said. "Now, with a decent woman like yourself, that man's going to have to be your husband every time."

  With a sudden shocked intake of breath, Esme realized his intention, and the fight went out of her. So warm, so firm, so gentle and curious, when his hand began teasing the damp brown curls, she melted.

  "I bet that flea is right about here," he said hotly against her neck.

  Esme gave a cry of pleasured surprise and arched her pelvis against him.

  The teasing grin on Cleav's face softened as he watched her. His body hardened inside her and his lips touched her neck with sweet kisses and naughty bites.

  "Save to graces!" Esme called out as she squirmed against the steady rotating pressing of his fingers. "Oh, Cleavis! What is this?"

  "This is the part that doesn't hurt," he answered. He could never remember watching a woman before. Watching and feeling such pleasure in her pleasure. Had he always done it in the dark? He couldn't remember. At that moment he couldn't remember any woman any time before the one in his arms.

  Clamping his jaw against his own desire, he was fully aroused again. "Are you sore?" he asked hoarsely. "I don't want to hurt you. You tell me when you want me to stop."

  Esme grasped his buttocks in her hands and begged, "Don't ever stop!"

  As she pressed for urgency, Cleav stayed her as best he could, rolling her supine to take control. She was eager and earnest, but she needed guidance. He was glad he was to be the one to guide her.

  "Not so fast, Hillbaby," he whispered against her ear.

  “Last time I lost control, but this time I'll be better."

  "I'll be better, too," Esme promised breathlessly.

  A humorous chuckle escaped Cleavis. "Don't try," he told her. "You're already better than I deserve."

  "I am?"

  "Oh, yes, sweet Hillbaby," he said as he kissed her. "You really pleased me, Esme. Last time you really pleased me. This time is for you, just for you."

  But, in the end, it was not.

  Esme squirmed and wiggled and strained for his attention. Cleav was tender and considerate, but ultimately his gentlemanly rhythm gave way to a lusty pounding that shook the floorboards.

  "Yes, Hillbaby," Cleav pleaded through clenched teeth. "Come with me, fall through, let it go."

  Opening her eyes, Esme meant to question his meaning. But the edges of her vision turned sunset pink, her eyes closed at the sight, and she cried out his name. She could do nothing but follow.

  In the aftermath of near heaven, Cleav rocked her gently and whispered nonsense as she slowly returned to the day at hand. Their pulses still skittered, but their breathing slowed and they smiled at each other. Words were unnecessary.

  He brought his mouth to hers. Opening just slightly, he applied a light pressure as he sucked gently at her sweet lips. She returned the slow seduction of his mouth and even had the audacity to flick her tongue against his teeth.

  "You're a fast learner," Cleav told her as he reveled in her attention.

  "You said yourself that I was very bright," she said.

  "Very bright?" He gave an exaggerated look of puzzlement. "When did I say a thing like that?" he asked.

  "Down by the fish ponds," she answered. "Don't you remember? The day you taught me to feed the fish."

  Cleav sighed contentedly against her cheek.

  "Oh, yes, Esme," he said. "I remember the day I taught you to feed the fish."

  They kissed again, this time accenting the lushness of teeth and tongues with tiny pecks on noses and chins.

  "Do you remember saying that I was bright?" she asked between love bites.

  "I may have said it," he admitted. "But I was wrong, of course."

  "Wrong!" Esme pulled back to get a good look at the laughter in his face.

  "How bright can a woman be who rolls around on the floor with her husband in the middle of the afternoon?" he asked.

  Esme answered his tease with a naughty pinch of his backside.

  "About as bright as the man that rolls with her!"

  Giggling, kissing, and exploring, the two made good use of the late afternoon sunlight to observe at close hand the partner that each had made for life.

  She told Cleav about her father's warning about embarrassment. "I guess I'm nearly a sinner," Esme admitted. "But I don't feel one bit ashamed, and I'm laying here with you as naked as the day I was born."

  "Not quite," Cleav corrected as he snapped the remaining garter.

  "I guess it's 'cause I've been spending so much time trying to show you my legs, I plumb lost my modesty," she said.

  "You've been trying to tempt me?" Cleav asked in mock outrage.

  She had the good grace to blush.

  "Well, I ... that first day . . . well, I saw that you liked my legs ..."

  "Did you pull your skirt up to see if I would?" he asked.

  "Of course not!" she snapped. "It was an accident At least it was that time," Esme admitted.

  "For shame," Cleav chided. "Trying to lure me into sin just so I'd marry you."

  "Well, how else . . ." she began, but as Cleav moved from her, she cut off her words.

  Esme was dismayed as he pulled away from her to rise.

  "I'm sorry, Cleav, I . . ."

  Folding his arms across his chest Cleav leaned against the counter and raised a condemning eyebrow.

  "Well, it didn't work, young woman," he stated flatly. "I resisted all your temptation and I'm sure heaven has properly noted the fact and marked it down in my favor."

  "But you did marry me," Esme pointed out as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

  "But not because you beguiled me to it" he said.

  That was true, Esme realized. All of her attempts at seducing him had been thwarted. He'd never sinned with her; people only thought that he had.

  "You married me because of the town gossip," Esme said quietly.

  Cleav leaned down and pulled up her chin to face him.

  "Because of these garters," he said, pointing to the only clothing she wore.

  Esme ran a hand across the one remaining guilty, pretty, pink and white confection of ribbon and lace.

  "I guess you regret giving them to me," she whispered, a lump in her throat making it strangely difficult to speak.

  Cleav didn't answer. He turned from her. Naked, he strolled to the far end of the store and opened one of the drawers in the counter.

  Blushing, Esme assumed the precious moments of closeness were over and began to reach for her clothing. So quickly it was over. Just moments ago, she'd felt so secure, so prized.

  Cleav turned toward her, but Esme couldn't look at him. Now she felt naked. Now she felt ashamed.

  Walking back to her, the counter drawer in his arms, he called to her.

  "Sit still, Esme."

  At his words she stopped searching for her camisole.

  "Don't dress yet, Hillbaby," he said softly.

  Coming to a stop beside her, Cleav stared down at his new wife, naked, on a remnant of rose crepe de chine. He gave her the smallest of smiles before upending the drawer over her head.

  "What?" Esme started with surprise, then giggled with delighted laughter.

  It was raining garters.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cleavis stepped out of the hatching house and spied Esme lying lazily and contentedly beside the brooders' pond.

  "Shirker!" he called out as he casually headed toward her direction.

  Esme rolled onto her back and held an arm across her forehead to block out the sun's glare. "I'm just resting, Mr. Rhy," she told him with a teasing hit to her voice. "Save to graces, I've only been married three days, and I swear to you, my husband doesn't let me get a wink of sleep all night!"

  With a widening grin, Clea
v dropped down on the grass beside her. "You bragging or complaining, ma'am?"

  "Just stating the facts, sir," she responded with a snappy challenge.

  Cleav reached over to give a playful tug to a loose strand of hair near her ear.

  "Some of the facts, ma'am, but not all of them," he said lightly. "You forgot to mention how you wake up two or three times a night to come crawling all over the poor abused man."

  Esme's smile brightened. "Us mountain folk are used to sleeping nine to a bed. Snuggling just comes natural for us," she declared.

  Cleav leaned forward and placed a kiss on the end of her nose.

  "It's getting to be pretty natural for me, too."

  Having already decided that people didn't call the first month of marriage "honeymoon" for nothing, Cleav was content. Any hesitation he'd had about marrying Esme had evaporated like mud holes in a drought. She was loving, affectionate, fun to banter with, and eager for his touch. Surprisingly, he felt more relaxed around her than anyone he'd ever known.

  There was a lot to be said for a relaxing woman. With Esme he was free to say and do what he wanted. She didn't know or care what was "proper behavior." She listened to his opinions, but she definitely had her own. But more than her good humor and her easygoing ways, she genuinely liked Cleav for himself and never hesitated to say so. That was a heady novelty.

  "What are you doing out here?" he asked. "Except for grumbling about your new husband."

  Esme's grin was downright naughty. "Just daydreaming a little. Wondering how scandalized the good people of Vader might be to catch a pair of newlyweds sparking in the grass in the middle of the afternoon."

  Cleav raised an eyebrow. "Well, Mrs. Rhy, we will never know," he stated with firm good humor. "Not that you aren't an extreme temptation," he admitted. "But those fish are very hungry."

  "Then let's feed them!" Esme agreed and hurried to her feet, holding out her hand to help him up.

  He took it and kept it when he got to his feet. The two walked hand in hand to the meat house.

  "I've been looking over all the fish," Esme told him. "Trying to get to know them better."

  Cleav smiled.