Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  It was his job to show her the beauty and purity of their love. She stroked his bare shoulders, her fingers trembling on his skin, skimming down his arms, kneading his neck. She had no idea of the fire she fueled in him.

  Against his lips she parted hers and he sensed her waiting breathlessly for the play of his tongue. He teased her by darting it against her lip.

  She made a soft cry in the back of her throat.

  This time he drew a line across her lower lip.

  Annie held his head still and raised on tiptoe.

  "You do it, Annie," he whispered.

  She hesitated only a brief moment, then swept her tongue into his mouth, against his teeth, tasting him, drawing him deeper into the kiss.

  Her erotic kisses and the glide of her hands over his chest had him aching and burning with want.

  She separated their lips by a fraction of an inch to speak. "Can we do it all now?"

  His head was a little numb and he had to rethink to make sure he'd heard right. "All?"

  "Take off my dress. And the part that comes after that."

  “Make love, Annie? You want to make love now?'' She nodded.

  As if he would say no? But he wanted her reassured. "There's something you should know," he said.

  "What's that?"

  "I am yours Annie. My heart." He placed her hand over his chest and her fingers curled deliriously. "My body." He made out her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. “My body is yours. For your plea­sure. If you can understand that, then you won't have to be afraid."

  "I'm not afraid." Her quavering voice belied those words.

  “Has anyone ever told you—that—that it hurts the first time?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  “It's normal,'' he offered, hoping to reassure her.

  Her body trembled in his arms. "Okay."

  "Are you cold?"

  "No."

  "Then you are afraid."

  "Not of you, Luke."

  "What are you afraid of?"

  She lowered her gaze, encountered his chest, and turned to the window, the picture of innocent beauty in her pristine gown and veil.

  He imagined all the things she might fear. "You're not afraid I will hurt you?"

  "No."

  "You're not afraid to have a baby?"

  She blinked. "No."

  "Tell me, Annie. You can tell me."

  Her cheeks bloomed with bright color. She lowered her eyes to the floor. "It's me," she whispered. "I'm not... perfect."

  That word stunned him. As well as the fact that she doubted her perfection. “Is this about your leg? Your hip?"

  Tears gathered on her lowered lashes.

  "It doesn't look the way you'd like it to?"

  "No. It doesn't look the way it should."

  He raised her face with his knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You think I care about perfection? You think after what we've shared and the way I've always treated you that a small thing like outward appearance makes one damn bit of difference to me? You hurt me if that's what you think."

  Tears spilled over and ran down her pale cheeks. "I think you're the kindest, most loving person I've ever known."

  "Then you know I don't care about a physical dif­ference. I love you. You."

  With a sob, she hugged him around the waist and clung.

  Luke rubbed her back until she calmed, then pulled away. "I'll help you with your dress and then I'll bring fresh water for you to wash if you'd like."

  "Here?"

  "No. In the other room. In private."

  She nodded and he led her toward the bedroom. She stepped in ahead of him.

  Luke's hand trembled on the knob. He closed the door behind him, and self-consciously dropped the be­traying hand to his side.

  She had moved to stand with her back to the win­dow, haloed in a shimmering silhouette of white lace and seed pearls. Reaching up, she found the combs that secured her veil and drew the headpiece from her hair, then turned to hang the yards of gauzy fabric on a wall peg. Expression serene, she stepped toward him, an action that spoke of trust and courage and strength in itself.

  "Luke," she breathed on a rash of air.

  He smiled a smile of love that came from a place deep inside, honored beyond belief that she'd taken more than physical steps for him—humbled that she'd stood up to her parents and taken steps of trust, of commitment toward him. God, how he loved this brave woman. He never wanted to hurt her or disap­point her or tarnish the beauty of what they shared. And he never wanted her to feel less than perfect.

  He was in front of her without consciousness of the steps, raising a hand to her temple, to the springy curls that shone like red-gold fire in the sunlight streaming through the windowpane.

  The coils sprang back when he released them, nes­tled against the ivory skin near her eye. He leaned toward her and kissed her there, felt that gentle pulse beneath his lips. He moved his hand to her arm and caressed her through the lace.

  She sighed and her warm breath brushed the base of his throat, provoking an internal tremor. He wanted to be calm and strong for her. He wanted to take things nice and slow and show her his devotion in gentle measures. After what had happened in the other room, his body demanded something entirely different, mak­ing him feel like a callow young boy.

  "Oh, Annie," he said against her hair. "I want this to be good for you. I don't want you afraid."

  "I'm not afraid of you," she said, and she placed a palm along his jaw.

  He took her in his arms again, looking down into those trusting loving eyes. If love could be seen, then he was looking at it, suddenly overwhelmed by the devotion she lavished with her entire being. "I love you."

  Her smile added more sunshine to an already blind-ingly bright scene, more pleasure to a heart already full to bursting. "Maybe you would want to kiss me again, then," she said.

  He loved her playfulness, appreciated her security to feel at ease with him. "Maybe."

  She touched his lip with her forefinger, traced the scar that caused her so much concern.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting the fa­miliarity of her lips, the newness of their bond, sensing her hesitancy and her need, and loving the heady com­bination. Her lips were warm and willing, and she leaned into him, her breasts crashed to his chest.

  "Oh, Annie," he said against her lips, enfolding her and holding her flush against him and speaking his desire. "I don't want to wait a minute longer."

  A multitude of tiny hard seed pearls bit into his flesh where they pressed together, though not nearly enough of a diversion to quell his ardor.

  "Do we have to?" she asked, eyes open wide with concern.

  "No, no, we don't have to wait, I just thought... well, I don't know what I thought...that you'd be more comfortable if we waited, I guess." He wanted her to be comfortable, able to enjoy their lovemaking without embarrassment or distractions.

  "I think I'm more uncomfortable waiting."

  Encouraged, he smiled against her cheek. "Turn around."

  She obliged, pulling loose from his embrace and turning her back. With clumsy fingers that shook, he worked on the endless row of pearl buttons that ran from her collar to the base of her spine, revealing creamy flesh and lacy undergarments. He pushed a corkscrew tress from the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her smooth skin.

  Annie shivered and carefully pushed the sleeves down her arms, over her wrists, and let the bodice fall forward. Pulse pounding through his veins, Luke fum­bled with the last buttons and helped her push the voluminous white skirts down her hips. He took the dress from her and hung it carefully on a peg beside her veil.

  Moving to face her, he ran his palms up the velvety length of her bare arms, smoothed his fingertips across her delicate shoulders to her collarbone, then slid his palm up her neck to cup her face.

  She rose to meet his kiss, closer this time, without the yards of fabric between them, without the hard knots of the orna
ments on her dress. The fragrance of lilacs and the erotic scent of her skin assailed Luke's senses. She seemed smaller in his arms now, more delicate, more vulnerable.

  He found a ribbon at her waist and untied her pet­ticoats. She stepped out of them with his assistance.

  He urged her to sit. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, her willingness an added aphrodisiac he hadn't needed.

  He knelt before her and removed her satin slippers, one at a time. Her feet were tiny, her legs slim and curvaceous in white pantaloons and stockings. Her breasts pushed upward over the top of a stiff-looking corset, her nipples visible through the thin white cotton of the garment she wore against her skin. Luke swal­lowed hard and set the slippers aside.

  Never one to ran from an adventure, Annie slid her hands across his shoulders, an audible rash of air es­caping her lungs. His heart thudded so hard, he won­dered if she could hear it.

  Her innocent, yet ardent caress of his skin sent a shudder through his body, and he compressed his lips to hold in a carnal groan. They embraced, his chest in the V of her thighs, her mouth against his forehead, her petticoats crashed beneath his knees. He turned his head and nuzzled her neck, her chest, dipped his tongue out to taste her.

  She made a sound of surprise, of pleasure.

  He cupped her breasts above the corset, rubbed both nipples with his thumbs. "Oh, Luke," she said breath­lessly. "Luke, we don't have to stop this time. We don't have to stop ever again. Don't stop."

  "My pleasure," he said, and touched his tongue to a hard bud through the cotton.

  She gasped.

  He found the hooks and eyes and unfastened her corset, the popping sounds loud in the room. He couldn't manage the tiny buttons of her chemise, so she hastily tugged it off over her head.

  Her breasts came into view, full and plump, her nip­ples firm and pink. She moved the garment aside, pausing to untangle a strand of hair from a button.

  He managed to help her, then leaned in close to inhale the scent of her skin. She brought her palm to his face, guided him upward until he had to raise off the floor to meet her lips.

  They tumbled back upon the bed, and he kissed her leisurely, seductively, calmed now by her reminder that they didn't have to stop. And they didn't have to hurry. She was his now. He had all the time in the world to love her, and nothing and no one could take her away from him.

  But when she met his kisses so eagerly, ran her hands over his chest and pressed herself against him as though she couldn't get close enough, urgency sprang up anew. He sat on the edge of the mattress and peeled first one stocking down her thigh, calf, an­kle... then the other. She didn't help him quite as flu-idly with the right as she had the left, and he remem­bered to be more accommodating.

  His hesitation seemed to cause her distraction, and she rose on one elbow, the fear returning to her fea­tures.

  "Annie, I told you I don't care. You believe me."

  "What if I can't really do this?" she asked, self-conscious now, as if she'd just remembered her limi­tations.

  "Can't make love?"

  Her fair skin flushed from her breasts all the way to her cheeks. "I'm not made like other women," she whispered. "I'm afraid I can't be a true wife to you."

  Doubly frustrated, not only with physical tension, but with her obvious skepticism, he sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. "Do you have a regular monthly flow?'' he asked bluntly.

  Crimson, she nodded.

  "Then frankly I don't see the problem. You have all the parts you need to make love."

  She blinked and he saw the confusion behind her eyes. "But what if it's not good for you? What if I can't—give you pleasure?"

  "Annie," he said on an exhale. "Where did that come from?"

  She shrugged.

  “Why you would worry about not giving me plea­sure is beyond me. That would be impossible. If you would be quiet for five minutes, you'd see that this— ungrounded worry of yours is the only thing keepin' me from pleasure at the moment."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You're not the horribly deformed girl you picture in your head. Toss that picture out of there." He thought a moment. "You can ride a horse, can't you?"

  "Yes, but—'' The denial broke off midsentence.

  He gestured with an upraised palm as if to say, There you have it.

  "Oh." Illumination crossed her features. She raised a tentative smile. "Oh! Take your trousers off, Luke. These, too."

  "Remember what I told you?" he said, obeying and sliding his clothing down his legs. "My body is for your pleasure. It belongs to you."

  "Oh, my," she breathed, reaching for him.

  "Holy—!" He ground his teeth together at the ex­quisite pleasure of her explorative touches.

  "This isn't anything like I imagined."

  "I suppose not." Lord, she was a talker. He covered her mouth in a kiss until he couldn't bear her touches another second.

  He helped her off with her pantaloons, and she turned one side of her body away from him. "Don't hide from me now. I love all of you, Annie."

  She rolled to lie flat on the bed and with an air of solemn apprehension let him look at her. Her hips were not of equal proportions on both sides; one side of her pelvis jutted out a trifle farther than the other. Not caring a bit, he caressed her silken pale skin.

  His attention became distracted by the wispy red-gold curls, the soft curve of her belly, the picture of her as a whole woman, flushed and lovely, with so many vivid emotions lighting her lovely face.

  "You are beautiful, Annie," he said, emotion thick in his throat.

  "No," she whispered.

  "Beautiful." He stroked her from shoulder to hip, knee to toe, kissed the seductive arch of her foot, the curve of her hip, the valley between her breasts, her hot moist lips.

  A tiny sob escaped her, hiccuping against his mouth, jutting a breast flat to his chest. He opened his eyes and saw hers, gray-green and luminous with tears. One rolled from the comer of her eye into the hair at her temple. Luke dried the path with his tongue.

  A flood followed, a stream of tears that tasted of salt and ate a hole right into his heart. "Don't cry," he said gruffly.

  "I'm not crying," she denied.

  "What are these then?"

  "Sometimes my eyes leak when I'm happy."

  "Are you happy?"

  She clutched his cheeks fiercely between her palms. "I've never been so happy, Luke. You make me happy. You loving me makes me happy. I have wanted this. Have wished for and dreamed of this. I have loved you since I was ten years old. Don't make me wait any longer, please."

  "I wasn't the one holding things up." He touched her then, finding her ready, finding her eager and re­sponsive. Kissing her, he talked to himself, speaking silent reminders of caution and patience. She would have none of it.

  He tried to be gentle; she urged him to boldness. His attempt at preparing her body leisurely was thwarted by her insistence. When he would have paused, she demanded haste. And made a soft cry.

  "I didn't want to hurt you," he said.

  "It doesn't hurt," she assured him, framing his face with her hands.

  "And your hip?''

  "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you, Luke, thank you for showing me and loving me."

  He groaned and held himself still. He kissed her so she'd know he cherished her.

  "I'm not going to break, you know." She moved beneath him, a quivering flex of limbs and muscles that pushed him to the edge.

  "I am," he replied. He took a moment to gaze into her lovely eyes, to bask in the need and the love and the fire, collecting himself, but holding back while her muscles tightened and her limbs wrapped his body was like trying to stop a runaway train. The rhythm came from inside his head, the sensations from someplace deep and glittering, and there was no waiting.

  Luke shuddered against her.

  She'd fallen asleep. After the sleepless night before and the physical and emotional release of tension, it was no wonder. At the unfamiliar
rustle of movement beside her, Annie opened her eyes, disoriented. The first thing she saw was the bare window with the set­ting sun streaking the sky purple and orange.

  "Feel better?"

  The deep voice brought a familiar thrill. She turned to see Luke sprawled beside her on top of the covers, dressed in his faded dungarees. Oh, my goodness. She nodded and gratefully noted the crisp white sheet that he'd placed over her. She held it to her breasts. The memory of their eager lovemaking sent a curl of delight all the way to her bare toes.

  She had never imagined the wonder of it, the energy and heat of his mouth and body, the sensations of him sliding against her, into her.... She closed her eyes.

  "Good. I sliced some ham and bread that Glenda sent. Are you hungry?"

  Annie examined the freshly painted ceiling a mo­ment, placing her sensual thoughts aside to consider his words and her empty stomach. "A little."

  "Want to eat in bed or go out there?''

  She studied his vivid blue eyes, let her gaze wander down to that glorious chest. "Read my mind."

  His grin inched up. "You wish I'd put my shirt on."

  "Nope."

  "You can't keep your hands off me, so you want to stay in here."

  "Something like that."

  He chuckled and kissed her. "Lord, you're fun."

  She threaded her fingers into the ebony mat on his chest. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything."

  "Did I—did you...."

  "What?"

  "Did I please you?"

  He sighed against her hair. “Any more pleasure and I'd have died of it."

  "So I please you as much as those others did?"

  He looked at her and frowned. "I wish they had never happened so you didn't have to think about it. There's nothing to compare. Those women were years ago and it wasn't anything like this."

  She brushed her fingers over his nipple once. Twice, hoping to distract him from his annoyance.

  "I didn't love them, Annie. They didn't love me. Because you love me, what we share is beyond simple physical pleasure. I have never wanted anyone like I want you."