Taming of Jessi Rose

by Beverly Jenkins

  He laughed. “What?”

  “Undo my buttons. Or don’t you wish to see my fancy French underwear anymore?”

  His smile was a mixture of surprise and delight. “You are getting more outrageous every day, Jessi Rose Clayton.”

  She smiled at him provocatively over her shoulder. “It’s all your fault. I never acted this way until you came riding into my life.”

  He undid her buttons slowly, and as he progressed, Jessi shivered deliciously to the soft brush of his lips against her skin.

  “Do you think we’ll still be doing this when we’re both old and gray?” he murmured.

  Jessi didn’t respond, she was too busy melting. She’d never thought she’d harbor such intense feelings for one man, or that those feelings would make her do something as outrageous as having him undress her in the moonlight, but here there wasn’t another person for miles so she was free to be as outrageous as she wished. When all the buttons were freed, she stood and he carefully removed the costly dress. Moments later she was clad in nothing but shoes, hose, and her corset.

  Griff could feel his manhood rising to the occasion. Over the years he’d undressed his share of beautiful women, but nothing compared to this heat-filled exchange. The corset was small and black. He couldn’t decide which bewitched him more, the swell of her breasts above the bodice, or the sweet flair of her hips below the garment. The frilly black garters anchoring the hose on her beautiful dark thighs only added to his excitement.

  “Gillie says it’s French sateen,” Jessi told him, turning slowly so he could see. It was trimmed with Russian lace and the tiny gray ribbons that centered the top of the bodice had been fashioned of silk. Noting the hot interest in his vividly colored eyes, she asked, “Was it worth the wait?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He leaned forward and touched his lips to the soft, rounded swell of each dark breast, while his hand lovingly caressed the yielding flesh of her tempting bottom. Fired by the sensuous sight and feel of her, he dragged the black silk drawers down and off, rendering her deliciously bare from the middle of her hips down. She could already feel herself beginning to flow in response to his wandering hands and decided she enjoyed being outrageous very much.

  He undid the silk ribbon and the two buttons directly beneath it and used his hands to brush open the halves of the boned corset. Her breasts were now free to be pleasured and he went about it slowly, using both his hands and his mouth until she arched and groaned.

  He brushed his cheek against a berry hard nipple, whispering, “You’re mine, Jessi Rose…my sweet night rose…”

  He covered the nipple with his warm mouth, then bit her with love-gentled teeth. Jessi ran her hand over his soft red gold hair while he feasted, and as his ardor increased she found it hard to stand. His hand strayed to her bottom and urged her closer so he could explore the source of her desire: teasing, dallying, filling her blood with the soaring magic she’d come to crave.

  “Bloom for me, Jessi…” he said thickly, and the wanton slide of his seeking fingers made her do just that. She widened her stance, her body on fire. He plied her expertly, sweetly until passion dewed her like rain.

  Next she knew, his big hands were on her waist and she was being placed on the top edge of the seat’s back. She braced herself with her hands and legs as he lowered himself to his knees. “I always wanted to see what you tasted like on a wagon seat…open your legs for me, Jessi…”

  She did, without hesitation, unable to deny him or herself the wicked delight sure to follow. Using a bold finger, he played with her in the moonlight, then leaned forward and brought the shining prize to his mouth. He ravished her slowly, tenderly teasing and plying that vulnerable jewel until her hips rose in greedy, welcoming response. She was kindling and he was flame. Her whole world seemed centered on the erotic sensations. When the explosion ripped through her, she screamed his name into the night.

  He brought her back to herself with a gentle touch, but the echoes continued to ripple inside her like flames in a breeze, making her shudder and pulse. Boneless, she slid down the seat.

  Griff’s own desire raged. He stood and divested himself of his clothing. “Let me show you another use for a wagon seat…”

  The hot timbre of his voice and the cajoling movement of his knuckle over her swollen damp nipples raised her passions once more. She slid herself aside so he could sit, and as she looked down at him she felt desire fuel her with a glowing power.

  The promise in her eyes as she moved sensually to his side was as bold and as brazen as any gaze Griffin had ever seen. She gave him a sly smile and then it was his turn to gasp as her warm hand covered him possessively and began to move. His head rolled back against the seat and his eyes closed. She worked her way down to the floor at his feet and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He groaned in reaction and could barely string two breaths together, so sweet was the pain.

  “Is this a good use of a wagon seat…?” she asked him, in a voice as hot as her outrageous little mouth.

  Griffin couldn’t answer; he could barely remember his own name.

  When Jessi thought she’d tortured him enough, she slowly kissed her way up his autumn-colored body, pausing to flick her tongue against the whorl of his navel, then the flat sandy nipples. When she finally touched her mouth to his, he dragged her closer and kissed her deeply. He silently intimated the position he wished for her to take and she straddled his seated body with a wanton grace. He eased her down onto his pulsing need and she went weak feeling him slide slowly inside.

  She was still moist from his earlier pleasuring and the warm tight feel of her enclosing him almost made his first thrust his last. He wanted nothing more than to let go and send his soul soaring high into the starry sky, but he wanted her to make the journey with him.

  Holding her hips, he began a slow erotic rhythm that closed her eyes. In tandem with the seductive heat within, he placed roving kisses against the damp but night-cooled skin of her neck and the planes of her breasts.

  Griffin knew he had little mental stamina left. Her uninhibited response to each vivid thrust he gave only increased his need. The enticing bounce of her breasts and the soft purrs she gave as she rode him brought on his first initial quakes of completion. He gripped her hips below the gaping black corset and shuddered as the intense orgasm washed over him. She followed a heartbeat later and they clung to each other, soaring in a world that held only their love.

  It took a while for him to convince Jessi to put on her clothes so they could return to the ranch. Her desire for more tempted him so mightily, it resulted in him brazenly making love to her again on a blanket atop the grass, and again on the wagon seat. Finally, they were both too sated for anything else but the ride home; and even then, they kissed and caressed each other every step of the way.

  The next day, Jessi dealt with a steady stream of visitors. Darcy had turned over the deeds for most of the ranches and businesses in the area, and the owners all came to the Clayton ranch to see about their return.

  The folks who were new in the area and hadn’t been infected by the gossip surrounding Jessi’s past came to the Clayton ranch humbly. A man named Faragut drove over with his wife and his three boys and told how he’d been reduced to sharecropping because the Darcy bank had prematurely foreclosed on his small patch of farmland. Like many folks snared by the vicious circle of sharecropping, the bank had taken most of his profits since the foreclosure, forcing him and his small family to borrow against the profits of the next year’s crop in order to buy food, seed, and supplies. At year’s end, they had little to show for their back-breaking work except a few dollars and more debt. When Jessi handed him back the deed, he and his wife had tears in their eyes.

  His wife whispered thickly, “May the Good Lord bless you always, Miss Jessi. Now my children can go back to school instead of the fields.”

  As the Faraguts rode away in their rusted, battered buckboard, they waved, and Jessi waved back. She had tears in her eye
s, too—Mrs. Faragut had given her the first blessing she’d received in many many years.

  The owner of the Vale Barbershop, Wilson Cornell, and his wife Lydia, arrived shortly after the departing Faraguts. Unlike the Faraguts, Jessi knew the Cornells very well—so well that Jessi supposed hell must be freezing over. Lydia Cornell had been one of Jessi’s biggest detractors. In spite of the eggs, Jessi knew it was undoubtedly killing the woman to have to come with her husband to the Clayton ranch and ask for their mortgage back.

  “Morning, Miss Jessi,” Wilson called as they came up the gravel walk. “Think we’re going to get any rain soon?” Wilson had been one of her father’s good friends and one the few men to come to Dexter Clayton’s funeral. Jessi respected him for that.

  “Hope so, Wilson, we could surely use some.”

  Last summer’s drought had been bad and this year seemed no better. All over the state, livestock and crops were dying from the extreme heat.

  Lydia stepped up onto the porch. She was dressed in her best church dress and hat. “Morning, Jessi,” she said shortly.

  “Morning, Lydia.”

  “I suppose you’re going to make us get down on our knees and thank you,” she accused haughtily.

  “No, Lydia, I’m not, but if you feel the urge, be my guest.”

  The barber glared at his wife before saying, “My apologies, Miss Jessi.”

  “None needed. I know where I stand with Lydia and her friends. Here’s your deed. Oh, and thanks for the eggs. Now, Wilson, get her off of my land.”

  “You should have made her eat crow,” Griffin cracked, as he and the others came out onto the porch.

  “I should’ve made her eat arsenic, the old bat.”

  The next buckboard arriving carried visitors who brightened Jessi’s mood. It was Auntie and her girls.

  Dressed in her flashiest red dress, the heavyset, light-skinned woman jumped from the board and ran to the porch to engulf Jessi in a big hug. “The girls and I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Camille, Lottie, and Sylvia were decked out in their gaudy finery too. They smiled up at the Twins.

  “Your boys can have free services anytime you want,” Sylvia promised.

  “You too, Preacher,” Lottie said, with a grin and a sultry wink.

  In response, he began to cough so violently, Jessi became worried.

  Griff slapped his friend on the back. “Did you swallow something, old man?”

  “Drinks will be on the house, too,” Auntie pledged, “and now that my new place is my place again, I’m going to enjoy it even more.”

  When Jessi handed the saloon owner her mortgage, Auntie pulled Jessi to her ample bosom and gave her another smothering hug. “God bless you, little girl. Even if I never said so directly, you have been in my prayers for many, many years.”

  Jessi returned the embrace. “I know, and it looks as if they’re being answered. Thanks, Auntie.”

  “You’re welcome.” She finally released Jessi. “Boys, tonight I’m having a mortgage-burning party, and you are the guests of honor. Are you coming?”

  Neil bowed. “We’d be honored.”

  Auntie clapped her hands. “Good. Well, me and the girls are going to head back. You keep your rifle close, little girl, and if you or that handsome devil ever need us for anything, just holler.”

  “We will,” Jessi replied genuinely.

  “That’s some woman,” Griffin declared, as they rode away.

  Jessi agreed. “She’s been a fixture here since I was young. The women in town don’t respect her and her girls one bit, but they gladly accepted the money Auntie gave the town to buy new school books last year.”

  Two Shafts spoke up. “Can I ask why everybody around calls you ‘little girl’?”

  Jessi grinned. “Because I was such a handful growing up. It began with Gillie in school. She’d be teaching and I’d be causing mischief and she would say, ‘I’ve had just about enough out of you, little girl.’”

  “How old were you?” Griffin asked, chuckling.

  “Six. Then, as I reached eight and nine, I got into even more trouble. Folks would come stomping to the door and say to my mother, ‘That little girl of yours threw eggs at my cows,’ or, ‘That little girl of yours just fell out of my tree.’ I was a terror. Pretty soon, anytime anyone said, ‘That little girl did this or that,’ everyone around knew it was me they were describing. Finally, it became a nickname.”

  Griffin had a hard time squaring that mischievous girl child with the rawhide woman who knew her to be today. She held herself on such a tight rein, he couldn’t imagine her running wild. What made her change? Had it been her mother’s death or the time with Bob Winston? Griff wondered if he’d ever find out.

  “What are you gentlemen planning for this already hot day?” Jessi asked, looking around at them. Even though it was still early morning, the heat had gotten out of bed early too.

  Griff answered, “Soon as Joth is done with his lesson, the four of us are going to ride out to the range. Joth said you wanted to take a look at the cows today and see how they’re faring with the drought.”

  She did, but the injury to her hand prevented her from holding reins. She’d have to stay behind.

  “Preacher, what are you doing today?” she aked.

  The green-eyed man in black told her, “I’m going to Austin. May be the sheriff there can give me some more information on that Eula Grimes. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  He went off to pack.

  All the men left shortly afterward, and once they were gone, Jessi went back into the house and reveled in the silence.

  She was in the kitchen reading the newspaper when Griff’s contingent returned later that afternoon. Setting aside the edition of the Freeman, published in New York by the great Black newspaper man T. Thomas Fortune, Jessi went to hear the report on her cows.

  “They’re doing fine. Aunt Jessi,” Joth said, as the men trooped in. “Some of the big cows are a little scrawny, but they still have enough grass and water.”

  “Good. How’re the new calves holding up?”.

  “Two were with their mamas and we found one dead.”

  Jessi sighed with resignation. She couldn’t afford any deaths in her small herd, not if she wanted to rebuild the numbers. With the price of beef falling every day, the future did not look bright. Last year’s drought had already wiped out many of the small ranchers, and Jessi did not want the Claytons to be next.

  The Twins rode off for town to visit the bath house so they could get all spruced up for Auntie’s mortgage-burning party. They’d be back tomorrow. Joth went out to see to Buttercup, which left Jessi and Griffin alone in the kitchen.

  “That Joth knows an awful lot about cows,” Griffin told Jessi as he poured himself a glass of lemonade and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Told me all about Coronado bringing the first cattle to Texas.”

  “Yep, around 1541, if I remember Gillie’s lessons correctly. He and his men didn’t want to starve while they were exploring, so they brought livestock. Some of the cattle escaped and that gave birth to the great wild herds of longhorns.”

  “He talked about cattle drives and imported Brahma bulls from India. I knew about yearlings, but I’d never heard cows called longs, shorts, tail ends, or scabs. The Twins and I learned a lot from that boy today.”

  “He’s been around cattle all his life. He’s bound to have picked up some knowledge.”

  “Well, thanks to Joth, I now know that shorts are calves over one year old, but short of two. Longs are two years old, but not yet three, and Tails and Scabs are about the same.”

  “Yes. They’re all the calves who aren’t yearlings yet.”

  “I was very impressed.” Griff declared again. “Very impressed, and I told him so.”

  Jessi was pleased to hear Griff sing Joth’s praises; her nephew was very special to her also.

  Griffin spied the paper on the table. He picked it up and began glancing through it. “Anything new
back in the States?”

  “Back in the States” was the phrase most Texans used when referring to the states back east.

  Jessi began placing dishes in the sink for washing. “The Freeman’s publisher, Mr. Fortune, is wanting to form what he’s calling an Afro-American League. He says we Black folks need an agency to protect us from all the violence going on, especially the people in the South.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Griffin replied, as he continued to leaf through the newspaper. “I don’t think the men of the race fought in the war just so they could be killed on the way to the polls by a bunch of illiterate Democrats dressed in sheets.”

  Jessi didn’t think so either.

  He went silent a moment as he read on. “Did you see this notice about the new colleges?”

  “No. Where are they?”

  “It doesn’t say exactly, but they’re named: Kentucky State College, Florida A & M, and Central State College. That’s good news.”

  “It certainly is. The race needs schools of higher education. Anything else I missed in there?”

  “Some kluxers paid a visit to a Black church up in Denison. When the church folks refused to be intimidated, the kluxers left. It seems that the White citizens were just as outraged as the Blacks were.”

  “There are some good people out there.”

  “Yes, there are.” He set the paper down and said, “Those colleges aren’t the only good news. You gave some people some pretty good news yourself today by returning those mortgages.”

  “Yes, but it was your idea. You deserve all the credit.”

  “Just trying to impress a certain lady I know.”

  Jessi walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “You have succeeded.”

  Griff stood and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve been real proud of you.”

  She savored how good it felt to have him hold her close this way. “And why is that?”

  “Because of the way you handled those deeds. Some of those folks haven’t been nice to you.”

  “Most of those folks haven’t been nice to me,” she cracked.