A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  “Maura,” he whispered, touching a kiss to her nose, his husky voice imbuing that one word with a dozen questions.

  “I know,” she said, tossing aside the salve and draping her arms around his neck. “It’s very strong, almost overpowering.”

  “Are you sure you know what I want?” he asked even as he began to undo the long line of buttons that ran down the front of her prim black gown.

  She smiled and touched a kiss to his forehead, feeling almost too much pride and just a hint of uncertainty. “I believe so. You want me.”

  “God, yes.”

  Maura stood still in between his long legs. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and touched little kisses to his ears, his face, his neck, even his broad shoulders, anywhere she could reach. The feel of his soft warm lips against her throat, his teasing kisses pressed against each newly exposed patch of skin, made her blood run hot. There was no real fear in her over the giant step she was about to take. The urge to know all the secrets a man and woman could share was too strong, the passion he bred in her too hot and tempting.

  Suddenly, she recalled exactly what was beneath her prim black gown. Deidre had loved to tease her about that little twist in her otherwise prim and proper behavior. It occurred to Maura that, just perhaps, that wanton side of her had always been there just waiting for the right man, a man like Mitchell Callahan, to bring her forth. Maura decided that it was too late to pull away and hide her little secret now, when she felt Mitchell open the front of her gown and heard the breath catch in his throat.

  “Oh, my sweet God.”

  Mitchell stared at what lay beneath Maura’s almost prudish gown. Her corset was a deep maroon color trimmed with black lace and stitching. It cupped her breasts, which were teasingly covered with the thinnest, most delicate black chemise he had ever seen, so thin he could see the dark circles of her nipples through it. It, too, was trimmed with lace, maroon lace and delicately embroidered maroon flowers. He had expected clean, serviceable, white cotton, or, at the most, a little red flannel in the petticoats. This was not the underwear of a young maiden from a Missouri farm. This was the style and tempting quality of underthings a fancy courtesan might wear.

  “I have shocked you,” she said quietly, made a little nervous by the way he just stared and said nothing.

  “Stunned might be a better word,” he replied, his voice thick and a little hoarse as he tugged off her dress. Once she stepped out of it where it pooled around her feet, he held it up, looking from it to her underthings and back again once before tossing it aside. “I would never have guessed that this,” he ran his hands down the silken front of the corset, “was hidden under that oh-so-proper mourning dress.”

  “I fear such scandalous things are a weakness of mine,” she said, catching her breath as he bent forward to touch a kiss to the tip of her breasts through the delicate ruffle of the chemise.

  “They could easily become a weakness of mine, too,” he said as he tugged off her petticoats only to stop and stare again. “Oh, yes, I believe they already are.”

  Only a small bit of the chemise hung below the corset, little more than the wide maroon lace trim. No ordinary drawers for Maura Kenney. She wore the finest silk demi-drawers, a beautiful concoction of black silk with more of the maroon trim that stopped just above her stockings. Those, too, were black, reached to a few inches above her knee, and were held up by lacy maroon garters embroidered in black. Mitchell felt he could stare at her for hours except for the fact that his body was demanding a great deal more than a look. This, he thought with a slow grin, was very dangerous underwear.

  “Where did a proper little Irish girl find such delicious fancies in Missouri?” he asked, picking her up and seeing her on the bed, then bending to yank off his boots and socks.

  Maura leaned against the pillows on the bed, relieved to hear him still calling her proper. It had occurred to her that he might suddenly question her virtue. She knew exactly what sort of woman usually wore this kind of underclothes, especially since the shop where she bought some of them supplied some of the most expensive bawdy houses in Saint Louis. The way he kept looking at her, his eyes nearly hot as they skimmed over her attire, told her just why such women bought such frills.

  “My friend owns a small shop of women’s fashions,” she explained. “Most of what she sells is quite proper. I bought that dress from her. Her less well-known customers are from some of the bawdy houses that serve mostly the very rich, or particular, as she explains it, and those women buy their things from her, too. Things like these,” she murmured as she lightly fingered her silken drawers.

  Stripped to his drawers, Mitchell sprawled on the bed at her side. He slowly began to unlace her corset, glad to see that she wore one of the front-lacing ones and that she did not lace herself in too tightly. He also decided that he was more than willing to indulge Maura’s little eccentricity in this matter. If she could not find what she liked in Montana, he would have her shopkeeper friend send them things. Although Maura clearly knew she was wearing the sort of things only very improper ladies wore, he doubted she had any idea what this knowledge would do to him. Now, every time he looked at her all buttoned up and looking prim, he would be able to see the lace and silk she wore underneath. Mitchell would not be surprised if such knowledge kept him in a permanent state of semi-arousal.

  “Ah, my sweet Maura, you are pretty,” he murmured as he tugged off her corset and moved to lay half on top of her.

  She trembled, the feel of his big body so close to hers taking her breath away. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mister Callahan,” she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair and tentatively tugging his face down to hers.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured against her mouth, but he hesitated before giving her the kiss they both so obviously ached for. “This is your last chance, Maura. I’d like to say I’m gentleman enough to stop no matter when you say no, but I’m fair shaking with wanting now. You stir a madness in me, girl.”

  “You stir one in me, too.” She brushed her lips over his. “I won’t say no. You should know that. After all, I have let you see my underwear.”

  He laughed softly and then kissed her. The moment he slipped his tongue into her mouth the madness he had spoken of swept over them both. He knew she shared the fierce hunger that gripped him, could feel it in the way she clung to him, the way her slender body trembled in his arms. Mitchell wanted so badly to go slow with her, to be so skilled and gentle, but he was not sure he had the willpower. The need to mark her as his, the craving to be inside her, made him shake like an untried boy.

  “Maybe I should go throw some cold water on my face,” he muttered as he undressed her, being neither slow nor seductive in his movements.

  “Pardon?” Maura was not sure she heard correctly as she clung to his forearms when he crouched over her after tossing aside her demi-drawers. She glanced down at herself, pleased that he so clearly liked what he saw, then noticed that she still wore her stockings. “You forgot my stockings,” she said, her voice shaking as his continued staring made her feel both passionate and embarrassed.

  “Nope. Didn’t forget them.” He ran a shaking hand up her side as he eased his body down on top of hers. “I am a little afraid I will tear them and, to be honest, I think you look damned enticing in them.”

  “Is that why you wanted cold water?” She gasped with pleasure when he covered her breasts with his big hands, his thumbs teasing the tips into hard, aching points.

  “No, I was thinking that I need to slow down. I don’t want to rush you. It’s your first time. I should be slow and gentle, but, damn, everything inside of me is crying out to be fast and furious.”

  “I know that feeling. I also know that, no matter how slow and gentle you are, you can still hurt me. It seems to me we should just listen to our bodies. If they say fast and furious, well, if the end result is not perfect, we can always try for slow and gentle later.”

  “Honey, the way you make my b
lood burn, I’m not sure I’ll be seeing the slow and gentle stage for a long time.”

  He bent down and licked the tip of her breasts and Maura completely understood his feelings. Within her was a hint of maidenly fear, but it was weak, easily burned away by the desire flooding her body. Although she had little knowledge of the subtleties of lovemaking, she knew the basics. She also knew the loss of her maidenhead could be little more than a twinge or a much sharper pain. She simply did not care. Even if the final joining caused her more pain than pleasure, it would be a small price to pay for all he was making her feel now.

  When he began to suckle at her breasts, she lost all capacity for rational thought. Fire raced through her, burning away all modesty and restraint. Need was the only thing she was aware of, need and a searing delight over each kiss, each caress. She tried to touch him everywhere, barely able to let go of him when he moved to yank off his drawers. Before he returned to her arms, she caught a quick look at his erection, rising hard and long out of a thicket of black curls. A flicker of alarm went through her, but then he slid his hand between her thighs, and, with one gentle stroke, thrust her back into that mindless state of pure heated need.

  Mitchell clung desperately to a few threads of control. Maura was pure fire in his arms, and that threatened to burn away all restraint. He could not believe his good fortune, either. In his mind he had always envisioned that the woman he would marry would enjoy his touch, would have some passion in her soul, but this went beyond his wildest imaginings.

  He slid his hand between her thighs and groaned when he found her already wet with welcome. The way she opened to his touch, her soft cries of pleasure, had him breathing so hard he felt his lungs might give out. Her nails scored his skin as she clutched at his shoulders and he savored that sign that she was as lost to her passion as he was to his. When he eased a finger inside her, the hot, tight feel of her made him nearly spill on the sheets and he knew he could not play this game any longer.

  Praying that she was as ready for him as she felt to be, he began to slowly join their bodies. “Quick or slow, darlin’?” he asked, surprised he could still speak.

  It took Maura a moment to calm her breathing enough to reply. The feel of him easing into her body was too wondrous for words. Despite the knowledge that there would be some pain soon, she found the fact that he was only slightly joined to her an irritant. Recalling a picture she had seen in a scandalous book one of her friends had found, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. It might not be the correct position, she thought, but it certainly made it difficult for him to pull away.

  “Quick,” she whispered and arched up against him, instinct telling her that might gain her more of what she craved.

  Then, suddenly, he was there, inside her. A brief, sharp, tearing pain skipped through her and was gone. She gasped, a little from the pain, but mostly from pure delight. A sense of rightness filled her as completely as he did. It did not matter that they had only known each other for a few days. It did not matter that neither of them spoke of love or marriage. This was right.

  It was not, however, perfect, she thought a moment later. She knew Mitchell still had to do something, but she was not sure what. She slid her feet down over his taut backside, then used them to push him even closer. He groaned. Maura squirmed and he shuddered.

  “Maura,” he rasped. “Does it hurt bad?”

  “No, hardly at all after the first twinge.”

  “Thank God,” he whispered, and began to move.

  That was what she wanted, she thought as she clung to him. As he used his body to stroke hers in the most intimate of ways, first slowly then faster, Maura felt a tight feeling grow inside her. She tried to cling to him even more as that feeling grew. When he lifted himself away ever so slightly, she tried to pull him back, but he held firm. He reached one hand down between them, down to where their bodies were joined, and touched her. Maura screamed and felt the tight knot inside her break apart, flooding her body with blinding sensations. She was only faintly aware of Mitchell moving rapidly for just a second; then he jerked to a stop, his body shuddering as he groaned her name.

  Awareness of her surroundings returned slowly to Maura. She glanced down at the man sprawled on top of her, looking as limp and boneless as a puppet with no strings, and smiled. It was flattering to know she had done that to him, and somewhat comforting to know that she was not the only one who had had all strength and sense stolen away by passion. She idly combed her fingers through his badly tousled hair and wondered what happened next. If there were certain rules to follow when indulging in an affair, she did not know them.

  Mitchell slowly lifted his head from its far too comfortable resting place upon Maura’s small, perfect breasts and looked at her. She smiled a little shyly and he breathed an inner sigh of relief. Although she had said yes, not only with her voice but with her whole delectable little body, he had feared there would be regrets afterward. The passion they shared, the heat that so easily grew between them, could have prompted her compliance and, now that it had left their bodies for the moment, she could have come to her senses and been horrified. There was no sign of that to be seen in her face. She just looked a little nervous. Since it was the first time she had been with a man, that was understandable. He felt a little nervous himself.

  He kissed her gently as he eased the intimacy of their embrace. There were things he ached to say, but he decided it was too soon. It could be more than passion that had set her in his bed, but, considering how fierce that passion was, he could not be sure. If he started making possessive noises and spoke of marriage and children, he could easily scare her off. She had spoken of a plan with her cousin to make the farm profitable. He had no idea how firm that plan was or how important it was for her to be with her cousin. He had gotten her in his bed, he was just going to have to be patient and allow the rest to happen as it would.

  “All right?” he asked as he touched a kiss to her forehead and then the tip of her nose.

  “Fine.” She took a moment to fix her mind upon the condition of her body, and, although she felt a hint of a sting, there was no real pain. “Yes, just fine.”

  “Lord, woman, you drive a man mad with lust,” he said, and smiled as he flopped onto his back.

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He glanced down at himself, saw the tinge of blood on his member, and swore softly. “I’ll get something to clean us up with.”

  Even as she glanced down to see blood on her thighs, he returned with a damp cloth. She blushed as he washed her off, and that embarrassment pushed away the brief touch of fear the sight of the blood had stirred. He tossed the cloth aside and was just getting back on the bed when a knock came at the door. Maura squeaked with alarm and hurriedly reached for her camisole, which had landed on the floor close to the bed.

  “Hell, I think that’s our dinner,” Mitchell said as he yanked on his pants and started toward the door. “I don’t think I’ll complain that it’s late.”

  Maura laughed softly as she slipped beneath the sheet to hide while he opened the door. The smell of food brought her right back out as soon as he closed the door. She got out of bed, found her demi-drawers, pulled them on, and then went to get her robe out of her bag. Even as she tugged her robe out of the bag, Mitchell appeared at her side. She looked at him with a hint of curiosity when he took her robe from her hands but did not immediately help her put it on.

  “I’ll probably sound like some kind of lecher, but do you think you could dine with me wearing only what you’re wearing now?”

  There was such a boyish, pleading look on his handsome face, she almost smiled. For just a moment she felt a little embarrassed, then told herself not to be so foolish. She had just been sprawled beneath the man, naked to his gaze and his touch. Scandalous though her underthings were, they were a lot more modest than what she wore a few minutes ago, she mused with a half-smile.

  “I have never dined with a lecher
before,” she murmured.

  Mitchell grinned, dropped her robe back into her bag, and reached out to unpin her hair. “Trust me, darlin’, you probably have. He just hid it better than I do.” He sighed with pleasure when her rich, dark auburn hair tumbled free, falling in gentle waves all the way to her slender hips. “I can’t believe I was so randy I didn’t even take the time to let this down.”

  She blushed faintly, the way he was looking at her a compliment in itself. “I don’t know about you, Mister Callahan, but I am hungry.”

  He grinned and led her over to the table. It only took Maura a few moments to completely get over the fact that she wore so little in front of the man. By the time they finished their food and Mitchell had set the tray out in the hall to be collected later, she was feeling remarkably seductive. He flattered her with every glance as she sipped her wine, and Maura found herself almost preening, trying to arrange herself in her seat in ways that increased the heat in his eyes. When he finally growled, gulped down the last of his wine, and came around the table to stand over her, she laughed softly, filled with a distinctly female sense of victory.

  “Maura,” he said, dragging her name out as he leaned over her, his hands on the arms of the chair. “You are playing with fire.”

  “Mmm, it is beginning to feel a little warm in here,” she murmured, and placed one small foot on his chest, lightly caressing the hard, smooth skin.

  The wanton side of her was in full rein and Maura did not care. She sipped her wine, meeting his hot look over the rim of her glass as she inched her foot down over his taut stomach. Her smile grew a little wider as she slid her foot down a little further, letting it rest against the hard ridge of flesh shaping the front of his pants. She set her empty wineglass down on the floor next to the chair and then moved her foot up and down, gently caressing him.

  “Definitely warm,” she whispered, running her tongue slowly over her suddenly dry lips.

  “Oh, God,” Mitchell groaned as he reached down and yanked her into his arms, then strode toward the bed. “Even your damned little feet are dangerous.”