Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  “Yes.” Emily sighed again and cuddled even closer against his strength and warmth.

  “Oh, Lord.” It was a little prayer for guidance.

  “You’re so strong, Will.”

  Emily’s words were a caress, stroking every nerve ending in Will’s body. “And you’re so soft,” he moaned.

  Knowing he was taking a monumental step in the wrong direction but unable to stop himself, Will tucked a finger under Emily’s chin and lifted her face. Her succulent mouth and half-closed eyes were all the invitation he needed. His lips descended upon hers, soft as a feather and hot as molten metal.

  Emily sighed into his kiss, surrendering any lingering thoughts of restraint to the bliss of the moment. In the very, very back of her mind was the understanding of where this kiss would lead, and she gloried in it. She loved Will Tate with her whole heart and mind and body. Even though her honorable nature would never allow her to marry him, she knew if they could share this one night together, her entire life would have been worth it. Perhaps she could savor its delectable memory in the long, cold, lonely years to come.

  “Oh, God, Emily, you taste so good. You feel so good.”

  “So do you, Will. Oh, so do you.”

  Emily had only been kissed twice before in her entire life, both times by Will Tate, but she was an excellent student. Taking hints from Will and guided by her own needs and desires, she met the thrust of his tongue with an ardor that made Will growl with delight.

  When his lips left hers to mosey their way to her soft throat, Emily nibbled his earlobes and used her tongue in so many delightful ways Will was sure he was going to die from pleasure before the night was over. One of his hands stroked a hot path from her shoulders to the small of her back while his other one explored beneath her robe.

  Emily’s sensitive breasts ached for his touch. When a large hand covered one of them, she cried out in pleasure.

  “Great God in heaven, Emily, you’re perfect.”

  The reverent words were wrenched from Will’s soul. He’d never before felt the aching need to make a woman his that he felt at this moment. With exquisite care, he lowered Emily to the sofa.

  Somehow or other, probably because Emily grabbed the ribbons and tugged, her robe became untied. It fell off of her shoulders as Will laid her down, and she shrugged it off as an annoying impediment to their mutual desire.

  “Oh, Will.” The tiny gasp escaped Emily’s throat at the first touch of his tongue to her sensitive nipple.

  She arched toward him in wanton innocence. Will wasn’t sure he could maintain his control long enough even to get his trousers unbuttoned. “Oh, God, Emily, I love you so much. I want you so much.”

  Suddenly the enormity of what he was doing hit him full between the eyes. Will sat up, bringing Emily with him, hanging onto his shoulders.

  A tremendous fear that Will’s scruples were going to interfere assailed Emily, and she almost wept. She clutched him convulsively, and tried very hard to form coherent words. Such an effort was difficult under the circumstances, when all she wanted to do was mew like a kitten.

  “Oh, Will, don’t stop now. Please don’t stop.”

  “But, Emily, you’re a—you’re a virgin. We’re not married. It’s not proper. I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can!” Emily could hear the barely suppressed panic in her voice. “You can, too, Will. Oh, I know you can! You must!”

  Emily was a complete innocent in the ways of men and women, but she had watched Gustav and Helga with fascination on more than one occasion. She had also once caught a very fleeting glimpse of a shocking book hidden on a bookshelf in her Aunt Gretchen’s adolescent son’s room. She knew at least something about the equipment a man used to accomplish what she wanted Will to accomplish this heavenly night.

  When he felt Emily’s hot little hand stroke the rigid proof of his desire through the coarse twill of his trousers, Will uttered a startled curse. “Damn!”

  Afraid she’d done something wrong, Emily drew back. Her hand flew away from Will’s crotch to press her cheek. “Oh, Will, did I hurt you.”

  Will’s eyes closed in an agony of thwarted desire. He tried valiantly to convince himself he could stop now before he accomplished the deflowering of the woman he loved. With a tremendous effort, he managed to say, “No, Emily, you didn’t hurt me. It felt so good, I thought I was going to die there for a minute, though.”

  Emily smiled in triumph. “Oh, good,” she said. And her hand left her cheek to assume its former occupation of driving Will Tate crazy.

  Will groaned. “God, Emily, do you know what you’re asking for? Do you really, really know? Because if I don’t quit now, I’m not going to be able to. I want you so much, it hurts.”

  “I want you, too, Will,” she whispered. Just to make sure he heard her properly, she pushed her words into his ear with a delicate poke from the tip of her tongue.

  The very last of Will’s honorable resolve deserted him in an overpowering surge of desire. “Oh, God, Emily.” Those were the last words he uttered for a long time.

  Emily was on her back on the sofa before she knew what she was about. Her nightgown vanished as if by magic. If she had not been so busy feeling new and exquisite sensations, she might have been shocked.

  Will’s shirt followed Emily’s nightgown on the floor. Her fingers found blissful delight in burrowing through the soft, springy, light brown fur on his chest. When she discovered his nipple and had to nip at it, Will groaned his approval and pleasure.

  As Will suckled one of her tender breasts, his hands were not idle. They stroked the sensitive skin on Emily’s silky thighs until his fingers delved between the petals of her secret treasure and found her damp, hot, and ready for him.

  It was Emily who unbuttoned Will’s trousers at last. The proof of his passion leapt out into her hands. She was amazed at the satiny smoothness of it, but any verbal reaction was smothered by Will’s fervent kiss as he positioned himself over her.

  With a sigh of pleasure as old as time itself, Will eased himself into Emily’s tight sheath. When he came to her maiden’s barrier, he hesitated a moment too long for the impatient Emily, who couldn’t wait to be completely filled by him. She pressed her hips up and, with one strong thrust, became his. They both groaned in satisfaction.

  The pain of his invasion did not pass unnoticed, but Emily was too involved with the incredible fire of pleasure and need Will had stoked within her to bother about pain right now. An ache of longing overwhelmed the sting of her lost maidenhood.

  Will had been with any number of women in his colorful life, beginning at age thirteen when a lady friend of his Uncle Mel’s decided he was too pretty and ripe to go untasted. In the twenty years since his delightful introduction into the mysteries of carnal love, Will had never felt the pleasure he felt now. He had become, over the years, a skillful and thoughtful lover. Yet all his lessons nearly failed him tonight in the arms of the woman he loved.

  Emily’s unstudied, candid response to his touch ignited him utterly. He had always held a little bit of himself back from his partners before, always kept a smidgen of himself locked away, safe from harm.

  Not tonight. Tonight, everything he was and everything he ever would be he laid bare before his Emily. He gave her his all, and his all was almost more than he could handle. He rode her like a stallion, thrusting deeply, unable to be gentle, passion driving him.

  In her wildest erotic dreams—and she’d had many—Emily never guessed the act of love could be so all-consuming and wonderful. She adored Will’s almost brutal, piercing plunges into her depths, and strove to meet them, thrust for thrust. And she loved the sharp, musky scent of their passion. Her nails raked his back, and she didn’t realize she was biting his shoulder as she reached for her final, shattering climax.

  It came to her in a wild starburst of clenching pleasure, and took her completely by surprise. She cried his name, startled, and then her body convulsed under his.

  “Oh, God, Em
ily.” When Will felt her contractions suck the very life force out of him, and he finally found his own release. Afterwards Emily subsided into a sated heap in Will’s arms. It was a full five minutes before she could speak, and even then her voice was breathless. “Did I hurt you, Will?”

  It cost Will a good deal of effort to lift his head and peer into Emily’s worried blue eyes. As crazy as it seemed, he wondered if she were laughing at him. Did she hurt him? When he read only honest concern in her expression, he knew she had really meant to ask the incredible question.

  “No, Emily, you didn’t hurt me. I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you that.”

  He smiled so tenderly, Emily was hard-pressed to keep from crying. Oh, dear Lord, she loved him so much.

  “I—I bit you, Will,” she confessed in a tiny, guilty little voice. Again she brought a hand up to stroke the marks of her passion.

  “You did?” Will craned his neck to look at his shoulder. He smiled when he realized she had, indeed. “By damn, you did at that,” he breathed.

  “Does it hurt?” Emily was afraid she had done something awful. She hadn’t realized how carried away one could become whilst in the throes of passion. She was very embarrassed.

  But the expression on Will’s face wiped away her every fear. “No, Emily, it doesn’t hurt. It feels just wonderful”

  When Will again lowered himself onto her body, Emily sighed with pleasure. Her arms circled his back once more, and she stroked him from his bitten shoulder to his sweat-drenched buttocks, trying her best to memorize every rugged, muscular inch of his hard flesh. She didn’t expect she would ever get the opportunity again. She wanted—needed—to remember everything about this night.

  “Aw, Emily, I love you so much. I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

  “Please don’t, Will. I don’t want you to go.”

  She didn’t, either. The thought of him leaving her now almost broke her heart. It was bad enough to know they could never share this glory again. But at least they could savor it and make the night last as long as possible. Emily didn’t want to sleep again tonight. She wanted to stay awake in the circle of Will’s embrace until the cruel morning parted them.

  “I can’t stay, Emily. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Oh, rot propriety!” The words popped out of Emily’s very proper mouth in a burst of honesty, causing Will to chuckle in delight. Emily felt her cheeks get hot, but she didn’t regret her outburst.

  “My aunt and uncle are away, Will. What will one night matter?”

  He knew it was a mistake, but Will couldn’t resist the longing he heard in Emily’s voice. So he circuited the parlor, picking up all of their clothing, while Emily lay back on the sofa, looking for all the world like Mr. Goya’s famous painting, and not giving a hang about it, either.

  As he stood before her, clothing draped over his arms, Will drank in the sight of her and knew he would be a happy man when he had married his little Emily. The idea of being able to wake up beside this womanly treasure every day for the rest of his life made his heart sing.

  Emily giggled when he transferred their clothing to her stomach and scooped her into his arms. She wriggled in his embrace, trying to feel as much of him as she could against her naked flesh.

  By the time he had carried her to the top of the staircase, Emily probably could have balanced herself on a certain part of Will’s anatomy, it had grown to such stiff, impressive proportions.

  “Which is your room?” he growled.

  “This one.”

  He barely got her to the rumpled bed before his flesh was buried in hers again, and she was once more digging her nails into his back and whimpering in ecstasy beneath him. This time, Will was able to exercise somewhat greater control over his rampaging desire, but not much. When he felt Emily’s teeth nip his shoulder, he growled like a lion.

  His fingers rubbing the nub of her pleasure very nearly caused Emily to buck them both off of her bed. Her orgasm was so quick and so powerful, she screamed.

  It wasn’t until after his body stopped shuddering from his heavenly release that Will began to worry about her scream. “Hush, love,” he managed to gasp. “We don’t want to wake the Blodgetts.”

  “Nothing wakes the Blodgetts, Will darling. They’re both deaf as posts.”

  “Oh, good.” It was all he could manage to say before collapsing on Emily and hugging her until he could bear to release her. Then he flopped to her side, pulled her tight against him, and sighed into slumber.

  Emily yawned in contentment and allowed herself to relish, one more time, the hard length of Will’s huge, hairy body cradling her soft, smooth one. Before she joined him in the arms of Morpheus, she decided this one night might just keep her from despair in the long, lonely years to come.

  # # #

  When Emily stretched herself awake in the morning, her feeling of well-being lasted until she realized she was alone in her bed. Then her eyes flew open and she frantically scanned the room for Will. She longed to see him one last time. But he was gone.

  Her heart fell, but then she found the note he had left her. With trembling fingers, she opened it.

  “My love,” the letter began, “I didn’t want to cause you any embarrassment in front of the servants, so I left before you awoke. (I kissed you soundly first, you may believe it.) I will be back later today. I know you will marry me now, Emily, and when you do, you will make me the happiest man on earth. I love you with all my heart. Will.”

  “Oh, my,” Emily breathed. Tears that might have been from happiness or might have been from unhappiness filled her eyes. The emotions warring in her breast were so contradictory, even Emily didn’t know what lay behind her tears.

  Had she confessed her feelings for him? Had she told him how very much she loved him? How much she would always love him, even though they were destined to part?

  Emily couldn’t remember. She slowly made her way out of bed, wincing slightly at the tug of pain between her thighs and feeling a distinct twinge of embarrassment at her nakedness. She couldn’t remember ever being naked before, except in her bath. How odd, she thought, that she hadn’t been the least embarrassed to be naked in front of Will Tate.

  Her practical nature asserted itself with the thought that the only thing she had ever been told before regarding the act of love was about the pain. Nobody ever mentioned the phenomenal pleasure a man and a woman could share with one another.

  It was to keep people pure, she decided almost at once. If people knew how good it felt, nobody would wait until they got married, and then where would the world be?

  Lazily, she donned her robe and went over to the window to stare out onto Hayes Street below.

  She should be in the country, she thought as she gazed at the morning fog. Such a perfect night should be followed by bird song, sunlight, and green trees, not gray mist, ugly city walls and grimy pavement.

  She clutched Will’s note to her breast, then lifted it and read it again. Her eyes filled with tears of love and loss.

  Maybe she could marry him after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be evil of her to marry him. Not now.

  Even as she thought the words, she knew they were a lie. She had tricked him. She hated herself for it, too; and she couldn’t imagine him not hating her when he found out about her perfidy.

  She couldn’t bear to see the love in his eyes turn to hate. She simply couldn’t bear it.

  Emily succumbed to a mournful sniffle and swallowed her tears. At least they had had last night.

  She made quick work of her morning ablutions, grateful for one of her aunt’s many extravagances as hot water spurted from the tap. It wasn’t everybody who had hot and cold running water, but Aunt Gertrude did. Emily hoped that, with Will’s timely intervention into their affairs, she and her relatives would at least be spared a move into a shabby cold-water flat.

  It was amazing how quickly luxuries could become necessities, Emily realized as she brushed her long hair into a soft knot, a la Mr. Gibson,
and pinned it up on the top of her head.

  When she got to the back yard, Gustav greeted her with a furor of happy barking. Then she discovered her Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick, which she’d forgotten about in the commotion last night. It was now a gnawed stump of its former solid, Germanic self. If she hadn’t known it in its prior incarnation, Emily would not have recognized it at all. Helga was still blissfully chewing on it, and Emily had a battle on her hands to get it away from her.

  “I might just as well let you finish it off now, I suppose,” she muttered as she tugged on one end of the stick. “Although I guess that would only be teaching you it’s all right to chew walking sticks.”

  She eyed the two canines at her feet and decided the assumption one could teach them anything at all was perhaps absurd. Still, they were adorable, if one could get past their dispositions. She knelt in the yard and petted the two animals.

  “I do love the two of you, really. And you were very brave last night to attack that awful man. I guess you deserve to chew on Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick. I’m sure he won’t mind, anyway.” The loud ringing of the telephone startled Emily out of her reverie. She dashed into the house and into her aunt’s office only to lift the receiver a second too late. The line was dead.

  She just wasn’t used to telephones, she guessed. But she planned to do everything in her power to make sure Uncle Ludwig’s business became successful.

  With that firm resolve, Emily made a quick trip to her room. There she fetched materials for another column, a book to read when her column was finished, and some mending she had been putting off.

  Then she took a deep breath, seated herself at her aunt’s desk, reminded herself it was the only honorable thing to do and, with a heart aching with grief, penned the most difficult letter she had ever composed in her life. It took her a long time to dry her eyes, and even longer before she dared face her aunt’s Chinese houseboy, Chung Li, with instructions to carry the missive to Thomas Crandall’s Nob Hill mansion. The letter was addressed to Will Tate.