Christie

by Veronica Sattler

  "The only one," replied Christie, but any other words she might have thought to add were cut off as his mouth quickly found hers again, and they were caught in a passion of kisses which succeeded wildly, one upon the other, their mouths crisscrossing each other's in fervent zeal, the breathing of each going ragged under the onslaught, body pressed against body, in a stormy mingling of passion still not at its heights. In seconds Garrett's shirt fell to the floor quickly followed by the rest of his clothes, Christie having worked as deftly as he to remove their constraints. Then they were locked together again, and Christie quivered in rapturous anticipation as she felt his heated manhood against her belly.

  At length Garrett brought one arm under his wife's trembling knees and swung her up effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. There he flung himself, still holding her clinging form onto it, and they toppled amid the pillows and sheets in a mindless embrace before Garrett rolled on top of her, pressing her down into the soft bedclothes. Then he supported himself on one forearm while with the other hand he began to fondle and caress what he knew to be the places of readiest access to her desire. At length as Christie began to moan and writhe under him, he fastened both hands at the top of the tiny gown's bodice and tore it open to the hemline in a single movement.

  Christie sucked in her breath and her eyes went wide as she looked at him; but then she moaned again as his hand closed over the hard-tipped softness of one round breast.

  "You'll order a dozen more of those tomorrow, and we'll go through one or two a night, love," Garrett whispered hoarsely.

  But Christie was beyond answering him, except with the signal of parting thighs which now she thrust forward to meet his pulsating hardness. Eagerly she arched her back in a wanton display of her desire to be possessed in the final measure. Swiftly, almost violently, Garrett pushed into the hidden warmth, his bigness making her gasp. Almost instantly Christie felt the heat of her passion welling up to meet the release his pressured hardness promised. Garrett moved his hands down under her buttocks and pulled her more tightly to him as he drove ever more deeply into her throbbing flesh, and in seconds he felt her body convulse with his as wave after wave of unutterable pleasure bound them together in a world that was totally each other.

  It seemed to Garrett that an eternity passed before he was even able to remember where they were, when—the time of day or night—or any other external detail beyond the fact that Christie was in his arms in the name of total love. Finally he was able to open his eyes and look down at her face as she lay beneath him; she lay completely still, except for the continued rapid beating of her heart as he felt it beneath her breasts which continued to press against his naked chest. There he found her eyes, dark and blue now, bent on him in absolute adoration. Garrett began to press soft kisses over her beautiful face, covering every inch of it as if is were a sacred thing.

  "Christielove—Christie—Christie, oh, little love," he murmured, "I can't get enough of you—not ever; and then, just when I think perhaps I can manage the tumultuous explosions you always set off inside me, like some poor juggler just learning his trade, I see you come along in a new storm of delight and send my scattered senses flying in yet another burst of disarray." He chuckled. "I've been accused, by some of those very women who triggered tonight's delightful play, of being an over demanding lover, a lusty fellow whose appetite surpasses their ability to give, and here I find myself bound in sweetest wedlock to a woman half my age, found in innocence, reached through much pain, whose passions meet my every imagined dream and whose capacity for loving overwhelms me and touches my very soul. Are you real, love? Do you truly eat, sleep, breathe, feel, see?"

  Christie brought slender fingers up to touch his lips and watched as he kissed them before pressing them close to his cheek. "Yes, my beloved husband," she breathed, "I am all flesh and blood, made by heaven itself, I sometimes think, for the sole purpose of loving you. All that I be, the woman I am, exists because of you, Garrett. Dear God, sometimes the very depth and breadth of the love I bear you scares me so!"

  Garrett saw her eyes begin to well up with tears. Quickly he kissed them back, smoothing her long hair until it lay spread out upon the pillow. "No, love," he whispered. "Shed not another tear over our love, except in joy. We are forever, and there's naught outside can hurt us. I promise you."

  Finding her briefly tearful mood vanish under the warmth of his words and gentle kisses, Christie asked, coyly, "Not even old 'light of loves'?"

  "Especially old 'light of loaves,'" whispered Garrett, sinking his teeth playfully into her earlobe.

  Instantly Christie's body responded with a shiver and a renewed stirring deep in her belly, and only then did she realize her husband's masculine strength still lay buried within her. In answer to her reawakened desire, his passion, too, began to rekindle as his manhood's brand commenced to heat, once again, growing hard within the confines of her depths.

  Closing her eyes, she felt his lips burn a hot trail of kisses along her throat and across her neck and shoulder. "Oh, yes, again, my darling, again," she breathed as Garrett's powerful body demanded of her what she had already begun to give. Hungrily, wantonly, they took and gave of each other, binding in rapturous union their love all over again.

  Later, much, much later, Christie awoke to find the candles in their chamber burning low. Beside her she felt her husband's warmth as he lay holding her in sleep. Turning her head up slightly, she observed his strong profile, softened now in slumber from the more sharply defined lines his face had taken on in the heat of desire, desire which had risen and ebbed and risen again through the night's sweet passing. And what a night this was! Christie closed her eyes as she quietly reviewed the delicious hours they had just spent together. Even though he had warned her, she had been quite unprepared for the turbulence his passions had caught them up in. Heretofore, she now realized, ever since their marriage, Garrett had always made love to her with utmost care, letting tenderness be the underlying watchword for his attentions toward her—"probably out of regard for my newness at our game," she thought to herself, smiling. But tonight there had been times when—no, she had to admit, even during his most ardently heated moments, he had never allowed her to feel his regard for her wasn't tender—but there had been something new in their play, nevertheless, something wildly exciting, brought on by the seduction she had arranged. Tonight she had become aware, more than ever before, of the power of this man she loved. It was a power and a,strength which demanded of her a return of the same. For in her reaction to his call, Christie had surprised herself by the fierce, almost violent nature of her own passions and the turn they could take. Wide-eyed, she beheld the small, almond-shaped mark on his shoulder, a mark left by her own teeth! When had she done that? Softly, she brought her lips to the spot and kissed it.

  "I fear you've branded me, my little wildcat."

  She looked up to find Garrett looking at her with an amused smile on his face.

  "Did—did I really do that?" she stammered.

  "That, and a host of other things." He grinned. "Some of them resulting in the visible, like this, and some of them quite, quite audible," he added, kissing her love-bruised lips. "I wonder that you didn't rouse the babe as you cried your pleasure, love."

  "Ohhh," groaned Christie, blushing furiously as she buried her face in his chest. "Was I that loud?"

  "No one but me seems to have heard you, my little wanton," chuckled Garrett, "and I found the sounds gave me unspeakable pleasure and untold delight."

  "Oh, Garrett! You—you made me feel so—so—I didn't know myself!"

  At her husband's soft laughter, she rose on one elbow and moved until she was stretched, full length, atop his hard, muscular frame. As his arms went about her, she raised herself up slightly on her forearms, until she could look into his face easily.

  "We—you showed me things this night which the mere thinking on now brings a ready blush to my cheeks," she whispered, eyes turquoise, bright, and wide.

  Gar
rett looked at her through lazy, half-closed eyes, as he moved his hands down to stroke her delicious little buttocks; he was fully conscious of the touch of her breasts' twin peaks which seemed to burn his chest while he lay there. "And—?" he questioned, with an indolent grin.

  "And," returned Christie, grinning back impishly, "I find I want to taste, them all over again!" With a quick movement, she brought her mouth down and pulled at his lower lip, playfully with her teeth. Then she saw Garrett's grin vanish, to be replaced by a look of more serious intent. In a single movement he rolled and had her beneath him and his eyes searched her face with a hungry intensity before he brought his mouth down greedily to her lips; like a volcano, the bed, the chamber, the very air around them seemed to explode with this instant renewal of their passions' hungers. And this time, the dawn provided light before either noticed the candles had burned completely down.

  In the morning, as preparations were made for their visit to Charleston, Garrett found it necessary to force himself to concentrate on the routine tasks this involved. Every time he found himself looking at Christie, he felt the air between them become charged with electricity as their mutual looks and glances reminded them of the previous night. At one point he thought, chuckling to himself, "Who would have guessed that, at this stage in my life I'd find myself so smitten over my own wife as to be mooning over her like some lovesick schoolboy?" Then, savoring the notion and finding it warmly satisfying, he willed himself, not without an extreme effort, to continue seeing to the loading of the trunks on the carriage that would carry them to the city.

  Christie's mood matched her husband's. Finding herself free of any remnant of doubt concerning the security of her relationship with Garrett, she spent the day alternating between the impulse to find some excuse to delay the trip and find renewed privacy with her husband in their chambers, and an eagerness to be on their way toward the social engagement in which she might, as she was seen in public with him, by her looks and behavior toward her husband, silently shout her love to the world, proudly proclaiming what they had found together.

  By midafternoon, the carriage having been loaded, with Lula, Christie, and Adam comfortably seated inside, they were ready to be under way. Garrett would be riding Jet, joined in his escort by three of the men from the stables, each of whom carried a pistol and long rifle and knew how to use them; for at the back of everyone's mind was still the disquieting memory of the recent threats of gunfire.

  "I find myself doubly anxious to make this journey," Garrett had explained to Christie as she had seen him readying his weapons after the noon meal. "First, because of the information a talk with your uncle might bring forth, and then because it will serve to remove you and the babe to a place of safety from this other nefarious business. When we are in Charleston, I intend to make contact with the authorities on the matter. In the meantime, I've been thinking you ought not to return to Riverlea until the matter is settled and the danger clearly past. What say you, love, to the idea of a visit to Virginia and an extended stay at Windreach after the trip to Charleston?"

  Christie had greeted the suggestion with mixed feelings, saying, "Oh, I'd love seeing Father and Windreach again, but, Garrett, wouldn't it be like running away? And what if this mysterious attacker is not found in the interim? We cannot hide in Virginia forever. Much as I love Windreach, darling, I've come to regard Riverlea as home."

  Smiling at this, Garrett had answered with a tight arm about her waist, "It's not to my liking to be running either, Christie, but your safety, and the child's, override all other considerations. While you're secure in Virginia, Jesse and I might be able to—"

  "Jesse and you!" she had exclaimed. "Garrett Randall, do you mean to tell me I'd be traveling to Windreach without you? Do you think me mad? How can you even suggest we separate!"

  "It's not an easy notion to set in my mind, either, love," Garrett had retorted. "But how can I scurry safely off to Virginia and leave my brother here alone

  to face the matter?"

  Suddenly reminded they hadn't seen Jesse since the evening before, Christie had asked, "Speaking of your brother, where is Jesse, anyway?"

  A slow grin had stolen across Garrett's face at this. "As you become better acquainted with him, Christie, you'll discover Brother Jesse frequently goes out for the evening and remains away for a longer length of time. He's a Randall, you know, and not a monk!"

  "Ohhh," Christie had replied, flushing uncomfortably. Then, making a swift recovery by returning to their previous subject, she had stated, "Garrett, I simply will not agree to being sent so far away from you! At least let me stay out of harm's reach by remaining in Charleston. There, at least, you might travel easily enough to warm my bed at night!" This she had said with only the barest blush. "Even a prolonged stay with Aunt Margaret would be preferable to separating from you, darling, please!"

  And seeing the tears begin to threaten her eyes, Garrett had held her close and promised not to send her further than Charleston. God knew, he hadn't been fond of the idea either!"

  During the ride to the city, Christie and Lula conversed easily, discussing topics which ranged from the wedding which was to take place in less than week's time—another reason not to be away from the area, thought Christie—to a discussion of a recently acquired volume of poetry by a little known Scottish poet named Robert Burns. Both women had read it, stumbling together over the words of Scottish dialect, but each had found herself in agreement with most of the strange, new egalitarian sentiments of the man, who was rumored to be a self-taught Scottish peasant, another factor which pleased and intrigued them.

  From time to time, Garrett stopped the carriage and stuck his head inside to assure them all was well; and during these moments, when Lula noticed his and Christie's eyes meeting, she smiled and let the previous night's farewells lace her memory.

  Lucille Baker's thin, tall mulatto, Andrew, carefully observed his mistress as she emerged from the front doors of The Eastern Banking House's Dock Street offices in Charleston. He sighed. From the look on her face, she had not received the loan, and Andrew quickly replaced the sigh with a worried frown as he contemplated the hell there would be to pay at the Setting Sun for the next few days as madame took out her resulting ill temper on everyone who worked there. Sighing again, he forced himself to lean back into the plush upholstery of the barouche's rich interior, for madame had ordered him to wait here for her, and if Andrew knew anything, it was never to disobey Madame Lucille.

  Andrew knew why Lucille required the money, and he smiled wryly to himself as he remembered the hot, muggy morning, several weeks ago, when Annette's letter had arrived. Annette . . . Lucille's younger sister, ten years her junior, and the only person in the world, madame had once told him, she had ever truly loved. Ah, but Lucille had been in a fit of temper that day! He could still hear her oaths as she cursed the wealthy protector of her beloved sibling for dying so suddenly and leaving poor Annette without a sou! Not that it had been Annette's

  penniless state alone which had enraged his mistress, but the suggestion that her little sister would now have to resort to working in a New Orleans brothel to support herself—that had been the true source of Lucille's rage.

  "I didn't work my way up through the whorehouses of New Orleans myself," Lucille had screamed, "didn't force myself to do anything for money—anything, do you hear, Andrew?—except to spare Annette from having to endure the same kind of filthy existence! She's my baby sister, and I didn't come all this long, hard way, just to see her end up the kind of broken-down, overpainted whore I almost became, and would have, if I hadn't stumbled on that rich old fool who furnished me with enough money to buy this place."

  Andrew smiled to himself again. He had been with Lucille since the "rich old fool" had set her up on that balmy Louisiana evening so many years ago. He had sat up with her, evening after evening, carefully plotting ways in which to ply cash from the old man before he died, something they had expected to happen daily, and which, in less t
han two years time, had happened. But by then Lucille had hoarded enough of the old fool's gold to set herself up handsomely, as well as, or so she had thought, to procure a comfortable "arrangement" for little Annette.

  But now Annette's wealthy protector had died, and heartlessly left everything to his wife and family, and not a thing to his mistress of ten years beyond the clothes on her back. Lucille would have been beyond living with, so furious had she been at the thought of her sister's having to enter the profession she herself had so narrowly escaped, had it not been for Andrew's idea for an alternate plan—a loan from the bank to finance—

  "Andrew, help me up!" Lucille's sharp voice cut across the mulatto's thoughts as she neared the carriage.

  "Of course, madame."

  With Lucille quickly settled in the seat opposite, her skirts carefully arranged, Andrew gave the driver his cue and turned to regard his mistress' face. The cold smile he observed on its beautiful features surprised him.

  "Madame was successful?" he offered tentatively, for he had been prepared to offer her comfort for her disappointments—comfort her face now told him might not be necessary.

  "Yes, Andrew," Lucille intoned stonily. "Madame was . . . successful. Annette will have her own house."

  "Ah, but madame, that is magnifique!" The mulatto smiled. "But why, after refusing you the first time—"