Dalliances & Devotion
Page 19
“How?” This time it was David’s turn to moan a little. Amalia locked eyes with him, willing all her desire, all her needs and wants and dreams to be present and suck him in, the way everything about him drew her to him.
“As if you really want to be engaged in these activities.” She swallowed. As if you really want me, like I want you. “Please?”
“All right.” David moved his hands to her shoulders, guiding her to her knees. “Let’s see where this takes us.”
* * *
If he wasn’t careful, he was going to pass out. David worked not to pant at the sight of Amalia, on her knees, between his legs, licking her raspberry red, perfect lips in anticipation. Now this was worth all those years of waiting—not waiting—all those years of not settling, of being unwilling to engage with anyone but the person he wanted. The person he needed.
And, oy, did he need her. And not just for that night, not just for the job. Maybe, when he got his promotion, he’d convince Amalia they needed a more regular arrangement for the sake of both of their sanities.
He’d find some plan. Because there was no way he’d be satisfied with just a few stolen moments. Which is why he really shouldn’t be doing this, but no man had that kind of will.
David clenched his hands on the rocks, steadying himself. But they would talk. Eventually. He couldn’t broach that with Amalia, not with someone who wanted to do her harm on the loose and her charity at stake and her deadline and her nephew’s bris. Now was not the time to worry her. Once he cleared the path, made it easy to say yes...for the present, whatever this was would suffice.
His breath hitched. Were they really doing this? David’s limbs vibrated with both desire and anticipation. Lord, give him the strength to do it correctly.
Working to keep his fingers steady, David unhooked his belt and trousers. He slid all his garments down. “Are you still sure you want to—”
Amalia smirked, her chin resting on his thigh. “I’m very sure. There’s nothing I want more.”
“Then by all means.” He stretched and leaned back against the cave wall and—his eyes near rolled back in his head. Yes, he’d imagined it millions of times, but those beautiful lips wrapped around him and her tongue swirling from the base to the tip. No man could’ve ever experienced such pleasure. He threaded his fingers through her soft brown tresses. She moaned against him as he guided her pace. The best sound ever. So good—so, so, good. Too good.
“Amalia, god, Amalia, I’m not going to last.” He tugged on her hair so she’d release him. She reached behind her so she could slide over the damned bag of mysteries. Within minutes, out came a small tin decorated with pressed flowers and painted cameos. She unfurled the rubber device in a languid fashion that didn’t at all make him near burst.
“Can I put it on you now? Please?” she asked.
He managed to nod though his hands now shook, and she glided it down his shaft, right between her beautiful bare breasts, an image so erotic and sensual it would’ve made Methuselah lust.
She gazed up at him again, still on her knees on the cave floor. “Please, David.”
“Please what?” Not that he didn’t know, but he needed to hear her say it again, to confirm she still wanted him, and that it wasn’t all a dream, that this was really happening.
“Fill me,” she whispered.
He didn’t need any more encouragement and whatever nervousness he had about actually doing this vanished. In moments, he was on the ground with her, hunger overtaking him. A proper—or more experienced—man would’ve been a bit gentler, but she’d said “hard,” and besides, he was hardly proper: peddler turned solider turned spy and all. “This is okay, isn’t it? I’m doing it right?”
“Yes, David, yes.” Amalia moaned again, this time just his name, the most beautiful sound created, her hips bucking against him. God, he had to taste her again. In a frenzy, he slid out and flipped her on her back, one hand cupping her perfect, full breast, the other opening her so he could make her scream and shudder, just for him. Like she was intended to do.
Too soon, her back arched and she shrieked his name once more, her legs gripping his back. She was fierce. And perfect as she clung to him, her nails digging into his forearms.
“When you’re ready,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me...”
“Please. I’m...please.” She tugged him harder.
He leaned back so he could gaze at her again. So beautiful, hair flying everywhere, glistening with lust for him. She was glorious, clothed or un. Every word, every gesture, every expression, infuriating and irritating and damned funny, everything about her made his heart sing. He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to memorize her, the moment, everything.
“Please,” she cried again. “I need you, David.”
How could he refuse that? With as much control as possible, he reached down so he could guide her up, into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid inside her, and heaven—better than he ever could’ve imagined. Rocking up so he could get leverage, he clutched her delicious bottom so he could move in and out while he squeezed.
“Harder,” Amalia cried.
A woman after his own heart. He nipped her nipple so she’d scream his name once more. He’d never tire of the sound.
After that all semblance of authority over the fire between them fled. He sped higher and hotter as she molded her movements to his. With the last of his wits, he managed to reach his hand between them so he could press the sensitive nub again.
Amalia clenched around him, and her beautiful shudders took him over the edge, into oblivion. And they were there, in near unison. Right or wrong, sense or nonsense.
At least in the moment.
Easing out of her, he cradled her limp body to his chest. She cuddled into him, burrowing into his neck.
“David,” she murmured as he laid them down next to the fire. He wrapped his arms around her, so perhaps, in sleep, their bodies could continue to be as they should.
He kissed the top of her head. “Love you,” she whispered, her expression dreamy. David started. Had he heard right? He opened his mouth, about to inquire further, but adorable, small snorts sounded from her nose.
Asleep.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who murmured in his dreams. He kissed her head again. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Whether you mean it or not. And even if you shouldn’t.” He yawned and soon, he was also asleep, his body still.
Chapter Twenty
The sun peeked through the crevices in between the branches and leaves of their makeshift door. David nudged Amalia, stroking the smooth skin on her back. She rolled towards him and stretched her arms over her head.
Lord, those marble statutes on buildings paled in comparison to her. She placed her hands behind her head like a pillow and blinked sleepy eyes in his direction.
“Good morning.” A foolish thing to say, but what else was there?
“What time is it?” She yawned, before running a hand down her bare chest, his jacket slipping lower and lower. He was awake now. Every part of him.
David glanced at his pocket watch and sighed. “Time for us to get moving.”
“Ugh.” Amalia covered her eyes. “Does it sound terribly wicked and improper if I say that I really don’t want to put back on my gown? Or more, any of my undergarments?”
His mind froze. Images of her tramping through the woods. Nude. Like Eve in the garden.
If only.
Modernity certainly had its drawbacks.
“Your father and brother would drive a railway spike through my head,” he managed to say.
“They take the amusement out of everything.” She rose and slipped on the jacket like a robe before plucking her own garments from the floor. “And Thad most certainly would find a more creative way to do it.”
“More creative?” His mind went
blank for a full minute as the tail of his discarded coat rose up her backside. The bustle had nothing on reality.
“Like slitting your throat and hanging you upside down while you bleed to death.” She pulled her hair to the side and backed towards him before sliding the garments down her back. “Like a cow.” She held her corset against her body. “Lace me.”
Oy, she was going to be the death of him. He’d have to bend at such an awkward angle so not to brush against her because they needed to leave before they both died of heatstroke, not do everything his body craved. Several ways.
As carefully as he could, he threaded and tugged, without breathing.
“You’re getting good at this.” Amalia bent forward again. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a camera, even if it’d take forever and there was no light.
She handed him her dress and too soon, almost all her flesh was covered.
“Same one as yesterday?” He raised a brow.
“Don’t tell anyone.” She dropped her voice. “I’ll never live it down.”
A warmth tickled his belly. Once she was saved and he was promoted, he’d do everything in his power to convince her a repeat performance was the best course of action. Every day.
For as long as she’d have him.
“Don’t you have another inside your magic bag of tricks?” He turned away, hiding his face and every emotion that was surely written there.
Amalia laughed. “Of course I do, but I have high hopes that we catch a train today. I’ll change then.”
“From your lips to god’s ears.” He scanned the horizon to calculate east. At least it was clear.
“What?” She moved next to him, her skirts brushing his leg. Tingles again.
“Nothing.” He sighed. “Let’s get moving.”
* * *
Three hours later they’d entered a thick wood. On an uphill incline. Getting hotter by the moment. They had to find a town. Soon. Central Pennsylvania couldn’t be this remote, could it? And he was running out of potential painful death ideas to trade with Amalia. The Truitts really were the most imaginative people who ever lived.
“How about cook me alive in a giant soup pot?” He pressed through the brush as morning sun beat down on the oak leaf canopy, poaching him inside his clothes.
“Dull.” Amalia scoffed as she darted over the tree roots like a mountain goat. How exactly did she manage that in heeled boots? “Now, if you add a man-part eating toothed fish that can live in boiling water to the pot, the entire scenario becomes much more interesting.”
“Now that’s unfair, because such a thing doesn’t exist. You’re cheating.” He paused, only to turn and give her his best glare.
“Oh no.” She rushed up and punched him on the shoulder. “No one said anything about realistic deaths.” With a broad grin, she swished past him.
Total brat. With a strong left hook. He trotted up and grabbed her round the waist. She squealed in his arms. “Put me down.”
“You stay behind me.” Her hair was right against his nose. Magnolias, even after a night in a cave.
“Why, it isn’t like you know where you are going.” She turned her head to give him a smirk. A kissable smirk. She lifted her skirts as she picked her way around a clump of nettles.
“Funny.” He grabbed her wrist and pressed it to his lips. She whimpered. “Seriously though, I’m protecting you.” He swatted a tree branch out of the way so she didn’t need to duck.
“From what? There’s no one out here. Besides, I think I’m better at this.” Using a tree trunk as leverage, she dashed upwards, only a bit out of breath. Like one of those characters Thad and Will always talked about, Hermia or Helena or Titania. Otherworldly.
“Oh, you really think so?” He intended a challenging tease but it was more of a whisper.
“Are you holding back on me?” She swished her hips and that smirk was back. That smirk that just begged for play and for adventure and for freedom.
Laughing, he ducked down under low-hanging brush to take the lead and burst out of the trees, cresting the hill. “You bet, just watch—”
Everything stopped. His words, his muscles, his breath, even the beat of his heart. All the memories he’d locked away, the ones he dulled with relentless study and observation and alertness—first so he could march and then so he could move forward, so he didn’t cry in his sleep or drink or rage or show any signs of being not right—like so many others—roared back. Because he was back. He’d recognize the topography anywhere. Little Round Top. The 91st’s first taste of what war meant.
In an instant it was the second of July again—cannon blasts and gunfire and battle cries and screams, oh lord, the screams. He’d been so careful to fill his mind with work, endless work, to banish it all, but in the moment, it was back.
General Warren barked and stamped upon the boulder once more. Inside his head. But David threw his hands tight against his ears anyway, even as the words echoed.
Shit. Meade. Incompetent bastard. Hold your fucking positions, you worthless maggots.
And Simon. Simon was alive and next to him.
Come on, David, faster, we have to fire faster. Man, there have to be thousands of them.
The rock-covered slope before his eyes wavered. Swarms of gray rolled forward, over the bodies of the first line of defense, the boys from Maine, who’d charged even after running out of ammunition. The 91st had been sent to replace them. To take on the storm sweeping higher, determined to break their line.
And their faces. Did they always have faces? Angry and snarling and scared and human. Wrong and ready to kill him and willing to defend the indefensible, but still human.
Air.
Why wasn’t there enough air?
That’s it, David. We gotta keep going, push them back and Thad’ll pick ’em off.
The memories, the dialogue, the movements, even the cast of the light reared back to life in his mind, faster and louder and more and more real.
How his hands had grown so slick he had to strike the flint over and over and over... He was so slow too and—a pop and a cry and a thud.
Simon. At his feet. Hands clutching his gut. Sliding down the hill.
The images wouldn’t stop as he crawled forward, knees scraping on the sharp grass and pebbles. He slid forward even as his stomach turned. David gripped a rock and retched and gagged as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Spots danced before his eyes. Before he could fall into the darkness, over the boulder and down the hill, arms encircled his shoulders and Amalia’s voice was in his ear, yanking him back into the present. “Easy, David. Easy. It’ll be all right. Whatever it is, it’ll be all right. I’ll make it all right.”
Shaking and shuddering in her arms, his body struggling to split itself from his mind and run. Run away from all the memories, from the story that wasn’t supposed to be his.
He bucked and Amalia whimpered as the back of his head collided with her chin. Yet, she didn’t let go. Didn’t speak, but didn’t let go and held until the shadows of the trees loomed high and far, edging down the hill, and his breaths no longer came in pants and he could sit.
With her next to him.
The blue of the sky began to tinge pink, but neither spoke. Finally, she turned to him, her brow lined with concern. “You don’t have to talk about it.” She threaded her fingers, her bare, glove-less fingers, of her good hand, through his.
He could sit with her forever and pretend it all never happened and pretend he could forget. Except he couldn’t. Not with the ghosts watching.
“I need to.” He sighed. “I owe you an explanation. That’s not like me. That’s not who I am. I’m strong. I’m a survivor. I move forward, not backward. Like you.”
“Being all that doesn’t mean you need to talk about anything you don’t want to.” She squeezed his hand and he took his first deep breath
since he left the woods.
“No, I need to tell you, not anyone, just you.” He did. Amalia deserved the full story, the real story. He gritted his teeth and attempted a smile. “There is good news though.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head.
With his free hand he swept a lock of long brown hair from her forehead, glided all the way down to the end. “I know where we are.”
“Hmm?” Eyes closed, she’d leaned into him.
If only he didn’t have to say it out loud because the words would cut her too.
The air thickened in his lungs. “We’re outside the town of Gettysburg.”
“Oh god.” Her eyes popped open.
David rubbed the back of his neck. “You can say that again.”
Her swallow was visible. “So are we...?”
“We’re sitting about five yards from where he died.” Everything inside him hurt.
Amalia didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but didn’t drop his hand, didn’t run. Still as a statute, she stared straight ahead over the hillside, dotted with rocks and bushes the snipers from both sides clung to—rendering the cannons ineffective. A waste. “How do you know?”
Because it could’ve been me. It should’ve been me. Or neither of us. We should’ve done it better. I should’ve done it better. All of us should’ve done it better.
He pinched the top of his spine with his free hand and glanced at his lap. “I was next to him. It was my first battle and we were manning a cannon together because we were both green. Though you know that. Simon was much more skilled. Thad made sure of it. But Thad was Thad Truitt, a volunteer yet the best sharpshooter in all of V Corps, not just company D, not just the 91st.”
And the voices were back.
Simon. My god, Simon. Simon, I’m coming.
Thad from behind his rock, over the blast.
You stay, Truitt. Hold your position. That’s an order.
Hazlett—who didn’t listen to his own advice, and received a bullet in the head for his troubles just hours later.