Rose, Exposed

by Afton Locke

  He took her hand and led her to the side of the tree facing the river, in case someone came by from behind.

  “Look, there’s a hollow.” Rose peered into the round hole in the tree. “I wonder if a dryad lives in here.”

  “A what?” he asked.

  “A dryad is a fairy who lives in a tree.”

  She resembled a fairy herself as she stood on her toes. What if he took her from behind while she hugged this tree? He cleared his throat to break the band of heat circling his groin.

  “I doubt it, but it would be a good place for us to exchange letters, if we have to,” he said.

  They both sat with their backs against the trunk, looking at the water.

  “I have a plan.” Leroy took off his plaid cap and turned it around in his hands, needing the strength it gave.

  Her dark eyes glittered with humor. “You’re going to buy a new hat?”

  He grinned at her. “No, I’m never going to replace this cap.”

  “Why not?”

  “My father gave it to me when I was a boy. His name was Charlie.”

  “Was?”

  “He passed away from tuberculosis last winter. Wasn’t a damn thing any of us could do to stop it.”

  Leroy looked away in case his eyes watered, but most of all, he wanted to throw something or hammer a nail. Anything but sit by at the mercy of fate.

  “At least I’ve still got Mama, my sister Sadie and Pearl.”

  “I’m so sorry about your loss.” When she touched his hand, his eyes flooded beyond his control.

  “Our fathers have the same names,” she said after a long silence. “Isn’t that something?”

  Her sudden, sweet smile melted him inside, but their fathers couldn’t be more different. Charles Wainwright III would dictate the tide if he could. Charlie Johnson would just wait for it to roll in.

  “The cap was too big for me then, but Papa said I’d grow into it.” He could see his father’s face now, smiling with approval of Rose. “Wearing it reminds me I’m a man.”

  And the man made the decisions. He was about to make one that could change the rest of their lives.

  Rose kissed his cheek. “I had no idea it was so special.”

  He clasped her hand and held it to his chest. “I hang on to special things. That’s why you’re going to elope with me.”

  “What?” But the way her gentle eyes snapped open told him she’d already thought of it. “I can’t marry you. You know that.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand. “I know your father doesn’t approve of me, which is why it has to be this way.”

  She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. “But that would be the biggest lie of all.”

  “Just one,” he said quickly. “Then you’d never have to lie again.”

  “I could never do that to my family.” She crossed her arms over her abdomen. “It would destroy them.”

  Damn stubborn woman. Convincing her would be harder than he thought. “Somehow I think they’d come around when they see how happy I make you.”

  “Why can’t we let things go on as they are?” she asked. “I wish there was no such thing as marriage.”

  Leroy gestured at the surroundings. “How long do you think this is going to last, Rose? What happens when it gets too cold to sit out here? Caleb told me he’s not going to let me work these special hours forever.”

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she stared at the water. When he took her hand, it felt limp.

  “I suppose tween times don’t last forever.”

  “Fairy talk?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It means the magical area between night and day. I-I need more time.”

  He brushed a finger down her jaw. “Don’t take too long, Rose.”

  With satisfaction, he noticed she shivered under his touch. If he couldn’t convince her with words, maybe he could seduce her.

  “I want to make you complete,” he said as he rained tender kisses across the mark on her neck. “I want to fill you with my body as a husband should.”

  She shivered again and dropped her head back, exposing her throat to him. While need ripped at his groin with urgent fingers, he forced himself to go slow.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Leroy didn’t care if he got soaked on the way home as long as he had some time with Rose. A strong breeze did nothing to cool his lust, but Rose jumped out of his arms.

  He saw rather than heard her easel fall over and followed her to help. It reminded him of the art school he’d decided not to tell her about. Neither one of them could escape lying, it seemed.

  “Is it ruined?” he asked.

  “No, it fell backward instead of forward.” She looked up at the clouds gathering in the sky. “But rain will surely ruin it.”

  She laid it gently in the cart. With the mood temporarily broken, Leroy reached for a tube of white paint, unscrewed the cap and squeezed some out on his finger.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she put her supplies back in her art box and put it in the cart.

  To answer her, he wiped the paint across his cheek. “Do you think it’s white enough for your father?”

  Her mouth worked with surprise and exasperation. “Leroy Johnson, you must be fool crazy and you’re going to waste all my paint.”

  Laughing he smeared it around to cover his entire face. It felt slick and good on his hot, sweaty skin.

  “I like this stuff,” he said. “It feels as slippery as you do inside, sweet girl.”

  She pulled on his arm, alternately frowning and laughing. “You’re awful. Horrid.”

  “I look white now, don’t I?” he asked. “I bet I look even whiter than you. Sure wish you had a mirror so I could see myself.”

  Rose clutched her stomach as gales of giggles poured out of her. “You’re lucky you can’t. Your face right now is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Raindrops hit the ground as hard as small pebbles.

  “I should get back to the house before my art supplies get ruined,” she said.

  “Not yet.” He grabbed the cart and wheeled it under the oak tree. “This cart has a cover and it’s not as wet under the tree.”

  Before he put the cover on everything, he removed the quilt. It wouldn’t stay dry and fluffy for long, but it would be a barrier between them and the muddy ground.

  “Your face is wet,” she said.

  The feel of her fingers sliding through the paint on his cheek sent a ball of fire racing down his cock. Maybe the storm affected him. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

  “What about you, Rose?” he asked. “Are you wet for me too?”

  “Always,” she admitted.

  “Show me.”

  She shot him one of her bone-melting smiles. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

  Damp spots appeared on her blouse as the rain fell. Soon her nipples would be almost visible through the thin fabric.

  “Lie down,” he ordered.

  She hesitated too long. He’d wait for her answer to his proposal, but he couldn’t wait to taste her sweet flesh. She gasped when he lifted her off her feet and tumbled her to the ground. Their bodies wrestled, limb to limb, across the quilt. He noticed blotches of paint on her blouse from his face, but was too aroused to care. Her teasing laugh urged him on and he grunted every time she jostled his erection.

  Finally, he pushed her underneath him and grasped both her wrists. “Are you going to show me that wet pussy now or do you want to keep fighting?”

  “I told you to see for yourself.”

  But at least she finally lay still on the quilt. Leroy wasted no time pulling her skirt over his head. While cool rain bathed his body outside, Rose’s flesh filled the area under her skirt with humid warmth. Running a hand up one of her long, bare legs lit a fire at the base of his cock. He’d never touched a woman with such soft skin.

  “You feel softer than rose petals,” he said.

  When he lightened his fingers on the inside o
f her tawny thigh, her leg trembled. He varied his touch and watched her shivers slow and deepen. Come to think of it, everywhere he’d ever touched her had made her react somehow.

  “Damn, you’re so sensitive, Rose. I like that.”

  “I am an artist,” she replied.

  The bloomer fabric between her legs magically parted under his insistent hands.

  “You didn’t sew these up, did you?”

  “I suppose I didn’t get around to it,” she replied.

  Smart girl. Soon her beautiful pussy was laid out before him, dewy cream clinging to the delicate petals of her lips.

  “Leroy, it’s getting so wet.” Her voice sounded far away from this private cavern.

  “It sure is,” he replied, knowing she meant the rain.

  He salivated while he wondered what part to lick first—the swelling bud, the tender lips or the slick center in between? Starting with her clitoris, he slid his tongue over it slowly, getting her used to the idea. The last thing he wanted to do now was stop.

  The writhing of her hips told him how much she enjoyed it. He moved down to the vertical folds, letting his tongue travel each length and dart in between. Each place he tasted was stickier and sweeter than the last.

  His balls tightened, ready to explode as he rubbed his crotch against the ground. He groaned when she squirmed, releasing more of her sweet, rosy scent under the tent of her skirt.

  “Leroy, you’re getting paint all over me,” she protested. “I can feel it.”

  “Then you need to stop squirming so much.”

  He saw the drops of paint on her thighs and even a few in her pubic hairs. Instead of stopping, he rubbed his cheek along the inside of her thigh until his tongue slid into her depths.

  She moaned and bucked as his tongue filled her to the hilt. Pointing it as though it were a sword, he thrust it into her, wishing his cock could follow. Her sweet flesh yielded to his probing, hugging him with its thick tightness.

  I have to have this woman. I have to marry her.

  Only stopping now and then to suck on her clitoris and lips, he kept up the pace of his thrusts. Inside his trousers, his cock coated everything with hot fluid. It was enough to slide with. While his hips thrust against the ground and his own juices, he clenched Rose’s hips, rocking them to and from his face.

  When her thighs trembled, reminding him of taut bowstrings, he knew she was close to coming. So was he, damn it. In fact, he’d been holding it back.

  “Come, Rose,” he said. “Come in my mouth.”

  To coax her, Leroy’s tongue laved her bud, measuring the new swelling by circling round and round it. He hardly noticed the rain seeping through his clothes. He tried to stop thrusting the ground with his hips but he couldn’t. It was as if all of him, tongue and cock, were inside her scorching depths at once.

  He cursed when the climax seized him because he’d wanted her to go first. Grunting with release, his chin slipped upward, grinding hard bone against her soft flesh. She pushed back, grinding all the more until her flesh contracted against his face. He slipped his tongue back into her, wiggling it to extend her climax and taste the height of her pleasure.

  At last, her knees collapsed over his head. He pulled out from under her skirt and kissed her hard.

  “You look even more beautiful with wet hair,” he said as he brushed a sodden lock from her cheek.

  She lifted her head and wiped the rainwater out of her eyes. “Oh, Leroy, you’ve got paint all over yourself and me. I really have to get back.”

  “I do too.” Leroy had lost track of the time, but he couldn’t work in the rain anyhow. “Is my face still white?”

  She nodded. “It’s sort of smeared now, though.”

  Leroy rose to one knee and spoke in a pretentious voice. “Mr. Wainwright, I am whiter than white, as you can see. May I have the honor of marrying your daughter?”

  “No, you may not.”

  Leroy turned at the sound of the cold voice and found himself staring up the barrel of Mr. Wainwright’s rifle.

  Chapter Nine

  If I ever see you on my property again, I’ll shoot you full of holes.

  Father’s words ran through Rose’s mind with deadly finality for the hundredth time while they walked back to the house. He pushed the cart with one hand and squeezed her upper arm with the other.

  Every inch of Rose’s body was soaked. Rainwater dripping from her hair mixed with the tears swimming in her eyes. Maybe it was a good thing Father led her because she couldn’t see a thing. Most of all, she was thankful he hadn’t actually shot Leroy.

  Right before Leroy left, he’d subtly cocked his head toward the tree. They might have to resort to putting letters in it to communicate.

  One sodden step followed another in what seemed the longest walk of her life. Father didn’t seem inclined to talk, but Rose knew she was in for the scolding of her life when they reached the house.

  How long had Father been there? Long enough to witness Leroy’s head under her skirt? The memory of Leroy’s strong lips and hot, firm tongue torturing her sensitive folds sent tingles of electricity through them. No, if Father had seen that, he would probably have pulled the trigger.

  What a fool she’d been to believe things could go on as they were. Now she was about to be punished for it. Even though she’d known all along doing things only married people did was wrong, she’d done them anyway. If only she’d listened to her mind instead of the raw demands of her body. Her parents would never forgive her if they knew everything she’d done.

  When they entered the house, Father marched her to a wooden chair in the parlor and sat her down. Was it her imagination or did his footsteps on the floorboards sound especially loud today? He took the armchair across from her. As usual, the heavy, depressing drapes were drawn, blocking out daylight and freedom.

  Mother appeared from the corner of the room. “Rose, we were so worried when you didn’t come in out of the rain. Are you all right?”

  “No, she isn’t,” Father snapped. “Just look at her.”

  Rose realized she must look a sight, wet and smeared with white paint.

  “Sit down, Ella,” Father ordered. “It’s time to get some answers.”

  His voice echoed against the walls with extra sharpness today. Mother winced and rubbed her forehead as she took a nearby seat.

  Father crossed his arms. “Instead of going to the waterfront to paint as she says she is, Rose has been seeing that dark fellow.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mother murmured, studying the pattern in her upholstered chair.

  Father’s gaze moved from Rose to Mother. “Were you aware of this, Ella?”

  Mother’s gaze caught Rose’s before sliding away. “N-no, I had no idea.”

  Thank you, Mother. But she blinked a lot. This episode might give her the worst headache yet. Why did Father have to hate Leroy so much?

  Then he pursed his lips and glared at Rose for several agonizing seconds without speaking. Her neck scorched under his scowl even though her long, sodden hair hid the mark. Why was the room so quiet? The faint scent of dampness and aged furniture made it resemble a tomb.

  “You weren’t with the mayor’s son after that dance, were you? You were with him. He put that mark on your neck.”

  Rose shook her head. “No, he—”

  But Father held up a hand. “The lies stop today, Rose. That goes for you too, Ella. Did Rose go off with Leroy after the dance?”

  Mother gripped her forehead, shading her eyes. “As I told you, I left her there.”

  “You’re a poor liar, Ella. You’ve both acted shamefully.”

  The wet chill in her clothes made Rose shake, or was it only her emotions?

  “Charles, the girl is soaking wet,” Mother pleaded. “Please let her clean up and change into dry clothes before she catches pneumonia.”

  “I’m almost finished. Rose, you’ve disgraced this entire family and you shall be punished.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rose leaned fo
rward and bowed her head. “I accept punishment, but please leave Mother out of it.”

  Father stood. “There will be no more painting at the waterfront. Seems you aren’t doing much painting anyway. From now on, you are to stay inside the walls of this house unless I’m with you.”

  Rose clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “You can’t make me a prisoner. If I must marry, let it be to Leroy. He’s the only man I’ll ever care for.”

  Father’s face turned dangerously pallid. “You’ll marry the mayor’s son. Only then will you be allowed to leave this house!”

  She bolted out of her chair and ran upstairs crying. Despite the wet clothes and white paint, she flung herself on the bed and screamed her frustration into her pillow. She’d never see Leroy again. Never feel his kisses and the circle of his strong arms. It wasn’t fair. She rubbed at a patch of white paint on her arm until her flesh stung. Damn white skin. Why couldn’t she have been all black or white?

  Minutes later, Mother entered and sat on her bed.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” she said, stroking Rose’s hair.

  Rose lifted her head. “Why should you be sorry? It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Or was it? Suddenly, everything made sense to her and she sat up.

  “No! This isn’t your fault or mine. It’s Father’s. Don’t you see he’s making us miserable?”

  Mother patted her shoulder. “Don’t excite yourself. He simply wants what’s best for you.”

  “Then why am I so miserable?” Rose cried.

  “You’ll forget about that boy in time,” Mother promised.

  Rose jumped off the bed. Her fingers were wrinkled from being wet so long, but she had no desire to change into dry clothes. The misery of her physical body matched the anguish in her heart.

  As she stood beside the bed, she looked at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. When she patted at a pinned curl back into place, Rose pulled it loose and reached for another.

  “Ouch!” Mother batted her hands away. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Isn’t this hairstyle uncomfortable?” Rose asked.

  “At times, but your father prefers it this way.”

  “What about you?” Rose demanded. “What do you want?”