by Jones, Gwen
“No doubt you’ll get the chance,” he said, unbuttoning the bodice of my dress. A moment later his hand was covering my breast, his fingers kneading it with expert ease. “Quels beaux seins,” he murmured, his mouth falling to a nipple, his teeth grazing it through the lace.
What was my regret earlier? Something about missing the chance to flaunt my lingerie? Well, here it was, and all I could think of was how quickly I could get out of it. I squirmed, feeling a little swoony. It was bad enough Andy looked like a Greek god, but when he spoke French—my goodness—I wanted to rip my clothes off. I wanted to rip his clothes off.
“Andy?”
“Yes . . .?” He switched to the other breast, sucking, nipping through the lace while I quietly went out of my mind. “Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?”
I pulled away from him, his face between my hands. “Andy,” I said breathlessly. “I think we need to go inside now.”
He kissed me. Hard. “A very good idea.” When he stood I was still in his arms.
“I’ll grab the door.” And just as I reached for it, the last sound I was looking for assaulted me.
“Bucky,” he said, turning to the hellhound on the steps, who was barking to wake the dead. When Andy looked at me, I knew what was coming. “Do you mind?”
A foregone conclusion. “Let him in,” I said.
Andy set me onto my feet and opened the door to the yard; the collie loped in. He promptly sat down and, with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, commenced to give me the stare down.
“He really is a good dog,” Andy said in his defense.
“An oxymoron,” I told him. “The only good dog is someone else’s.”
“How about if he sleeps on the porch?”
“As long as we have a wall between us,” I said, idly buttoning my dress.
Andy’s eyes flared. “Hey, stop that.” He looked to Bucky. “Dog—stay.” Then, throwing the door open, he swept me up in his arms and swifted me inside.
The dusk had cast a glow over the room, gilding it in crisp ambers, the brass bed gleaming like a shiny Krugerrand. He set me beside it then faced me, unbuttoning the last of my dress before gently pulling it over my head. When I undid my bra and let it drop to the floor, I was naked, hoping the falling night would be kind enough to gild me, too.
Andy’s gaze fell over me in waves as he stood silent, taking me in. “My God you’re lovely . . .” he whispered, his hands skimming my shoulders and down my sides, resting lightly on my hips. From there he slowly drew me in, my belly pressing against the hardness beneath his jeans, my neck arching to meet his kiss.
My heart pounded in my ears. Not from fear—I was at last, past that—but from restless anticipation, an almost feral need to continue what had happened way too quickly just minutes ago. The realization nearly floored me. I’d always been so sensible! But with his scent all around me, his taste clean on my lips, all coherence vanished and I groaned, slipping my hands into the back of his jeans.
“Not yet,” he said softly as he took a step back, going for his fly, still half undone from our first encounter. He unzipped then pulled out his shirt, unbuttoning it with torturous efficiency. I stared, transfixed, breathless with wanting him. When he slipped it off I got my first look at what I had lusted over every night since we met: his wide shoulders cascading to near perfect proportions, his chest taut, lightly tanned, and just hirsute enough to telegraph that this manly-man didn’t much go in for trends. Then his thumbs slipped inside the waist of his jeans and down they went. As I should’ve surmised, he’d worn no shorts to land atop them. Because if he had, that would have meant he’d have to keep me waiting one split-second longer to look upon what I was openly gaping at.
Andy was one beautiful man.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.
I melted into him and he twisted us about until we fell on the bed, arms and legs weaving together as we rained kisses upon each other. I don’t know how long it took, seconds only, before I felt myself rising, Andy’s mouth on me sucking, nipping, driving me insane. I tried to hold on, keep his lips firmly on my own, but it was no use, he was everywhere, my skin alive, on fire. I dug my nails into his shoulders as he sunk lower and lower, his tongue trailing little stabs of lightning, my head arching into the quilt as the pleasure expanded and broke loose. When I could finally breathe again he turned me over, kissing my neck, the jut of a shoulder blade, the small of my back. Then he slipped lower, lower still, opening me to perform another small miracle. Before I could stop shaking he was atop me and I could feel his delicious heaviness, the drag of his chest across my back, his muscled leg twining mine, his hardness pulsing atop my bottom. He kissed my shoulder, my arm, his hands sliding under me to palm my breasts, but how much could one woman stand? I turned around in his arms, my sensitive nipples savoring the exquisite pressure, while the more immediate part of my body craved much more.
“Andy,” I begged him, feeling him right at the entrance. “I can’t stand much more.”
He held my head between his hands. “Julie,” he said softly, a bit gravely, “I didn’t have time to say this to you before when we . . .” His gaze deepened, and he nipped my lower lip. “But I want to say it now, because it’ll be true of every time we’re together.” He kissed me, so sweetly. “You honor me.” Then he spread my legs with his and slipped inside me.
We both gasped, stilling. “Julie,” he said, barely audibly. He kissed me, his forehead on mine. “Now we’re truly married.”
In another recent rendition of myself, the one more attuned to the ridiculous, the one who thought even the day before was passé, I would have heard those words just whispered and rolled my eyes, drolly opining, if only he were real. But at that moment, with my husband buried within me, his gaze languidly fixed on me, it was all I could do to keep my emotions in check. Even someone as jaded as me sometimes has hope, when my dissolute mind allows just enough slack to believe—yes, sometimes things actually lean in my direction. And because of that I reached up and pulled my husband to me, his kiss meeting mine with tenderness.
“Yes, Andy, we are,” I answered, still barely believing it, fully realizing it’d never be ‘til death do us part. And that’s the line that kept me tethered in the real world, a line taut and unbreakable.
But for now I was in a place filled with natural rhythms, with a man strong and beautiful, filling me. So as he whispered words that sounded too achingly lovely, I let each thrust of his lovemaking remind me that sometimes nothing matters but the moment, and what’s right in front of you.
He fell in even deeper, the sheen on his forehead matching mine as he pushed us even over the edge. As he spilled himself I kissed him, keeping everything.
Minutes later he lay back, his arm flung around me, his hand lost in my hair. I sprawled across his chest, listening to the slowing rhythm of his heart as he fell asleep. It was only after his breath deepened and he curled with me to his side that I eased away and crept into the bathroom, extricating the plastic bag containing my journal and the raft of birth control pills, from beneath the dresser drawer. So it was from there atop the toilet, with this stranger’s remains still seeping from me, his grandmother’s wedding ring encircling my finger, that I swallowed my insurance and rejoined my real purpose: recording mendacity, deep into the night.
Chapter Eight
* * *
Falling In
FROM JULIE KNOTT’S JOURNAL
30 August
Six days ago the only Andy Devine I ever heard of was a tubby, squeaky-voiced character actor who drove a stagecoach in a 1939 movie starring John Wayne. Yet, that afternoon I was to meet an identically-monikered twenty-first century version: an impossibly muscled, blue-eyed, dark-haired, and mythically gorgeous alpha male, advertising for a wife via a handwritten flyer on a utility pole, deep in the New Jersey Pine Barrens. As a feature reporter for WPHA Channel 8 News, Philadelphia, I went to cover the interviews this Victorian throwback was giving for potential bride
s at the local firehouse, all the while wondering why it was even necessary. But instead of covering the story, five days later I became it.
My manly-man’s asleep now in the other room, while I’m naked on the toilet writing in this journal. I’ve stashed it under the linens dresser, in order to take notes for a book I’m going to write about this adventure. But, because I intend to bare all (no pun intended) and hold nothing back (except for one key point), I’d like to keep my initial impressions to myself and away from my new husband for a while.
Just this afternoon we were married posthaste at Town Hall in Iron Bog, after which I was then driven deep into the Pine Barrens, to what could only be loosely construed as a “farm.” Our reception consisted of midwifing the birth of Betsy the Jersey Cow’s yet unnamed calf; getting chased through a flock of chickens and into a lake by Bucky, an obsessed Border Collie; and nearly breaking my ankle confronting Rocky the stuffed raccoon in the groom’s landfill of a living room. Afterward I was ultimately fed, wined and unequivocally bedded by the stranger who’s now my husband.
The reasons why aren’t very complicated: I’ve got nothing to lose because I’ve already lost everything—my job, my home, the man I was supposed to marry. Not that I can go into detail at the moment; I can hear Andy stirring, and I’ve maybe a minute to get back to bed. And that’s a part of this story one I can honestly say merits further investigation.
I WOKE UP on my back in the chill bedroom, arms over my head, my body dampened from his warmth. And smiling. Good Lord, was I smiling.
With my eyes still closed I could picture him, lips soft and feathery against my breasts, his emerging beard deliciously abrading my skin as he traced from one nipple to the other. I squirmed, his tongue trailing down my belly to encircle my navel, his hands kneading my hips as he continued even lower, my hips rising with a jerk as he flicked the sweet spot, sending me aloft again.
“Oh Andy . . .” I purred, wrapping my legs around him.
“Jesus—tu m’excites,” he growled and rising up, thrust into me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had this much sex, my randy Andy taking me with a masculine possessiveness that left me breathless and thoroughly overcome. Was it the third or fourth time? Or even fifth? I wasn’t sure. Richard and I usually had sex every night when we were on vacation, but Andy set a whole new . . . Richard. My breath caught at the thought of him, luckily just as Andy nipped my earlobe, a definite precedent for that. I wouldn’t think of Richard; I couldn’t. Not in that way, at least. I would focus on my anger and his betrayal, and on the exquisite revenge this lusty adventure would grant me. But in the meantime . . .
Andy lowered himself to me, the soft hairs of his chest tickling my breasts as he slowly swivelled his hips, filling me like Richard could only dream of. I let my hands slide down the twin slopes of his rump, smooth to my fingers, flinching under my touch. I palmed them, squeezing.
His eyes flared. “Minx,” he rasped, and biting my neck, thrust hard.
I almost shot through the roof. But I couldn’t; I was thoroughly impaled. And enjoying it so much I allowed myself another orgasm. Andy did as well. I delighted in the way he went a little swoony, his eyes at half-mast, his exhale long and slow. I smiled with satiety and recovered confidence, firm in the resolve I could do this. And I was still smiling who knows how long later when I turned to curl next to him—only to find he was gone.
From outside I could hear a dog barking. Bucky, of course. “Andy,” I called toward the bathroom as sunlight streamed through the windows. “I think the dog wants you.” When he didn’t answer, I raised up on my arm. “Andy?” I looked toward the screen door. “Andy—”
A gunshot reverberated from outside and I bolted from the bed. I was half-way to the door when I realized I was naked. Grabbing my robe, I barely tied it around me before I ran into the yard and around the house to the front. Not a hundred feet away I found Andy, shirtless and barefoot, his jeans half-zipped, a smoking rifle in his hand. Bucky was sniffing a mound of something most definitely dead in front of him.
“Bucky—stop,” Andy said, nudging him away.
Okay, two things were running through my head, both alternately horrifying and eye-opening: how perversely sexy Andy looked with a rifle in his hand, and the bald fact there was a rifle in his hand.
“Andy! What the hell?” I said, coming up to him. I bent over a dead raccoon, its eyes bulging, its tongue hanging, a bullet hole neatly centered through its forehead. “Oh God,” I whispered, recoiling.
He uncocked the rifle, half-opening it. “Bucky had him cornered, and he was ready to lunge, so I couldn’t chance it. Especially since they trapped a rabid one not far from here last week.”
“But how could you tell?” I asked, just as Bucky’s head swivelled around to look at Andy. “Was he foaming at the mouth?” I glanced at the animal. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Doesn’t have to be. This one’s a male, and they’re not supposed to be out during the day. Females, maybe, looking for a meal for their kits, but this one should’ve been sleeping. Besides, he was skulking the chickens.”
“Oh,” I said, staring at the poor pathetic creature. Suddenly, and for whatever reason, I felt an affinity. “How dare he? Didn’t he know it’s our job to wring their necks?”
He eyed me wryly. “I detect a slight note of indignation.”
“Moi?” I pointed to my chest. “Non . . .”
“C’est Malin,” he said, his mouth crooking. He set the rifle against a post. “Look, sometimes I’ll have to kill things. It’s not that I enjoy doing it, but when you’re living this close to the wild, a lot of times you can’t help it. Later on, I’ll probably kill a deer so we’ll have something to eat over the winter.”
I laughed. “Kill a deer! Christ, Andy, haven’t you ever heard of a place called a supermarket? They have all kinds of meat already dead for you.”
“So it’s better if they get so overbred they get hit by a car? Something’s going to get them either way, you know. It might as well be—no, I said!” He yanked Bucky off the carcass again, the dog hunkering down with a whine. “That’s the way it is here. You just do what you have to do.”
The way he said it gave me a little chill. “I bet if there were lions out here you’d want to kill them, too.”
“I don’t think you’re getting this,” he said, his cheek twitching.
“Just never knew I married the Great White Hunter, is all.”
“Trust me, when you catch a herd of them munching on the tomatoes you’re about to harvest, you’ll be yelling for the shotgun, too.”
Now I was truly horrified. “So it’s just blast away at anything trying to survive out here, right?” I looked around. “Why don’t you show me where the salt licks are, then? Or your tree stand? Shall we rub ourselves with musk to get them all fired up, too?”
He cast a gaze up and down my body. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
I started to say something, then quickly demurred, my face going crimson. I gathered my robe closer around my neck.
He sighed. “Come here,” he said, pulling me to him.
I laid my head against his chest, his richly masculine scent evidence for the logic of his conclusion. He ran his fingers through my hair.
“Sore?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
I felt an erotic twinge at the bald intimacy of his question. “A little.” I glanced at him, a bit abashed. “But I’m not complaining.”
“That’s good.” He tipped my chin to him. “You’re a beautiful woman, Julie, and as you may have already suspected, I find you pretty hard to resist.”
“And here I was thinking it was my scathing wit.”
“That came first. And then . . .” His hands slipped to my behind. “There was this.”
I was struck by the irony. “Yet you didn’t even so much as hold my hand until we were married.”
“Yeah, well . . .” His fingers flexed against me. “I didn’t want to i
nfluence your decision. I wanted the idea of our marriage to stand on its own merit.”
I looked at him squarely. “This,” I said, sliding my hands up and down his torso, “is pretty damn meritorious. You’re one hot little package too, you know?”
He reddened slightly himself. “So . . . I guess we can pretty much agree we’re attracted to each other.”
God, he was so cute. “You can say that.”
He leaned back against a post, taking me with him. “Even though we may have nothing in common?”
I pushed up on my toes, brushing my lips against his. “Seems like we’ll have a lot of time to find out. We’ve already taken a big leap.”
“By getting married,” he concluded, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“By falling seriously in lust,” I said, kissing him right back.
His arms tightened around me as he proceeded to set every vein in my body on fire. I could feel him hardening beneath me, his breath coming short as he trailed kisses down my jawline, my neck, toward my breasts. As I arched back to allow him easier access, my addled mind managed to fire a few pain synapses to my nether region, reminding me that, amid all that heating up, I’d better cool it down for a spell. As if on cue, Andy reacted.
“Jesus,” he said, flushing, “I think we need a swim. Come on.”
I pulled back as he hauled me toward the lake. “Wait—my suit’s in the house.”
He looked back, adding blithely, “You’re joking right?”
Although it couldn’t be much past six, whatever morning chill there was had already dissipated, the day rising warm and brilliantly sunny. Which only caused me to realize: all the better for Andy to zone in on every single flaw my body possessed. Now, I was no prude by any stretch of the imagination, but and the thought of being naked under the magnifying glass of full sunlight was suddenly enough to make me want to hide under the bed. Not that he’d give me a chance. As soon as we hit the dock, so did his jeans. Andy stood stunningly naked before me.