When the slow thaws of spring arrived, Clara sought out gossip and rumors about what had actually happened on the field during the prisoner exchange. She learned General Strathmore had been killed by two men—not just Hawkins—that there had been an ensuing fight, that Sam had been wounded but was alive. Word was the Americans were making headway into the Chesterton area hoping to secure positions for a future assault on Manhattan.
Clara missed Sam terribly, his company, his conversation, his body, his touch. Her fantasies were filled with the when and how of their reunion. Despite the daily tasks of farm life, the boisterous play of the Cuyler children, and the good-hearted conviviality of the farmer and his wife, emptiness oppressed her. Tears accompanied her unsuccessful attempts to satisfy herself, the solitariness of masturbation only heightening her loneliness.
The emotions of pregnancy stirred Annabella’s pining for her Sebastian, and night after night she cried herself to sleep. In the darkness of winter, Clara and Annabella, while sharing the warmth of the same bed, eventually discovered comfort in each other’s arms. Annabella’s lips were soft, her cheeks smooth, sensations so unlike being with Sam, but sensations she was willing to explore. Clara discovered new delights in pleasuring her former servant whose uninhibited nature was infectious. Another woman’s pliant curves were certainly no substitute for Sam’s hard muscular form. But until spring, when she could try to search for him, Annabella’s soft flesh would have to do.
The jangle of horses in the front yard woke Clara from her late morning reverie. American rebels. Her heart pumped loudly as she frantically searched for Sam amongst them. The clamoring of soldiers in the entryway sent her running to the landing. She stopped upon seeing the tall, lean, handsome figure of Samuel Taylor dressed in his officer’s uniform, resisting the urge to scream in delight, to fling herself into his arms. He relayed orders to his soldiers to secure the house and grounds, his masculine authority sending long-awaited sensual thrills to rile her core. He looked up and locked eyes with her, easily dismissing the soldier at his side as he approached her on the stairs.
“My lady, I must inform you that the Continental Army now controls this area and will need to make use of this farm.” His tone was firm, but tempered with an underlying expectancy. “Are you alone in this house?”
“No, I—”
A rebel ran through the front door, panting and eager.
“Major Taylor, sir—”
Major Taylor? Clara tried to make sense of Sam’s uniform. It was clean and new-looking. His cockade was no longer yellowish, but red. He must have been promoted. Her heart skipped a beat in pride.
“—we found the owners, the farmer Cuyler and his wife, in the field,” the young soldier pointed behind the house. “They have welcomed us, as anticipated.”
“Thank you, cadet. Clear the house of any soldiers and fetch my officers.” Sam licked his lips as one corner curled into a sly smile. He took a step forward.
As the cadet shouted orders and men filed out into the yard, Sam simply stared at her. It took every ounce of self-control to remain where she was. She stared back, desire quickening her breath while joy dampened her lashes.
* * * * *
Sam could barely maintain his veneer of authority as his men filed out. When the last man had closed the door behind him, he let out a much needed exhale.
“Clara,” he said, his voice shaking from restraint, “love, please accept my apology. The plan had been to follow your coach, and then everything went horribly wrong. We had to wait until after the snows to make our move. I’ve been—”
The wail of an infant came from down the hall.
His mouth fell open as he turned to face the sound. “Yours?” he asked softly. “Ours?” He swallowed the incredulous hope welling within.
Clara beamed as tears wet her cheeks. “No,” she said. “My maid Annabella had her baby. The father was Redmond, Strathmore’s groom who died at the fort after fighting alongside Paul.”
“Oh. Of course.” He had never met Annabella, but Sebastian had gushed over every detail of his sweetheart. The man was head-over-heels smitten.
“The child came early. Annabella stays in the kitchen by the fire for her son’s sake.”
The front door swung open and Sebastian and Pat charged in.
“You called for us, major?” said Pat.
Sam raised a brow and nodded in Clara’s direction. She stood frozen, her hand over her mouth to barely stifle a squeal. Pat and Sebastian grinned broadly.
The infant cried out again.
“Captain Hawkins,” Sam said, “Annabella and her son await you in the kitchen.”
Sebastian quickly sobered. “Thank you, Sam.” He rushed toward the sound of the crying child.
Sam leaned in to Pat. “As we planned, captain,” he whispered.
Pat flashed a smile and saluted before he left, closing the front door behind him.
Finally they were alone. Sam hastened to Clara on the stairs, grabbing her around the waist with so much enthusiasm she squealed and gripped his shoulders for purchase. She kissed him, tenderly at first, until his mouth sought to slake the thirst of desire his body craved. She drew back, his desperate need reflected in her eyes, and clasped his hand to lead him up the stairs. Once inside her bedroom, he led the frenzy, tearing at her clothes, she following suit, touching, kissing, licking, as they both removed layer after layer. Finally nude, he pressed against her, the pounding of his heart matching hers, sighing in relief as she gripped and kneaded his muscles, memories and fantasies flashing through him with every caress of her flesh.
Clara nestled her head on his shoulder. “Sam, Sam. I’ve been so worried—”
“Shh. Hush, love.” He pulled her cap off, then released her hair from its prison of pins. “I’m here now. We’re together. There is nothing to worry about anymore.” His cock grew impatient, jutting insistently against her belly.
“I heard you were wounded,” she sniffled as she smoothed her palms across his shoulders.
“Only a scratch, my love.” He stepped back and pointed to a scar on his left thigh. “See?” The bayonet blade had seared and shocked him with pain, but he had fought back, preventing the British from pulling him off his horse, avoiding more injuries, or even death. Yet the tussle had held him back and Clara’s coach was long gone by the time he had broken free. “Thinking of you, knowing I would—must—find you again, helped me heal quickly.” He kissed her forehead. “Clara,” he said against her ear. “I want to make love to you.” He pulled her closer to feel the heat of his prick. “Christ, I’m desperate for you!”
Her lips curled in a sultry smile as she led him to the edge of the bed. She climbed under the covers and reached her hand out for him to join her. He snuggled against her under the quilt, stroked the tender skin of her thighs and belly, cupped her breasts. She arched her back, her nipples peaked from the chilly air and arousal, willing him to suck. She gasped as he rolled the tender flesh against his tongue, then raked her fingers through his hair when he nipped gently. He turned his attention to her other breast while his fingers coursed over every once-familiar curve.
But something was different. Winter had been harsh.
He propped himself on an elbow. “Clara,” he said brushing aside a stray curl from her face. “You’ve changed. You’re—” he hesitated for a moment “—thinner, love.” He kissed her cheek. “You gave your food to Annabella, for the baby, didn’t you?” he asked gently.
Tears pooled in her eyes. He clutched her close, blinking back his own tears, angry with himself, with the well-stocked British who had camped so close by, with the entire damn war. He laid her against the mattress and kissed her, letting his lips and tongue touch every inch of her yearning, undulating body. He urged her thighs open and pressed his lips reverently against her clit before his tongue explored the swollen folds of her sex. She was deliciously wet, and he was more than ready.
He slid up her body until they were face to face, his legs between
hers. He guided his prick to play in her wet folds and watched her expression dissolve to wanton desire. He poised himself at her entrance while he toyed with her clit.
“I have dreamed of this moment, Clara. It has been too long. I promise, we will never be separated like that again.”
She traced a finger around his lips. “There have not been others with whom you could have bided your time, Major Taylor?” she said teasingly.
He smiled. “After you, I could never have another woman. However, I do confess I used the willing services of my next-in-command. But even he was far too preoccupied with his own lady love to offer condolences with any frequency.”
Clara giggled until his ministrations between her legs caused her to catch her breath and exhale in a lustful moan.
“And you?” Sam asked suggestively. “A farmhand perhaps?”
She giggled again. “No, love. Never.” She raised a brow. “Only Annabella.”
“Truly?” His cock sparked with interest. Sebastian had described his love as voluptuous and lusty. “I regret having missed your frolicsome romp.” He pushed an inch inside her. “As you haven’t had a man in over six months,” he murmured, nudging in a little more, “then you will enjoy what I have to offer.” He filled her slowly, fully, watching her emerald eyes widen in abandon with every measure of penetration. When he was utterly sheathed in her warmth, he slowly pulled out, again marking her reaction at every inch.
And then he slammed inside her with winter’s pent-up energy.
Clara let out a sharp cry and clutched him to her, digging her nails into his back, raising her hips in pleading. Her first climax engulfed him, taking him to the edge, her body continuing its release with a seemingly unending succession of orgasms. He was trapped between needing to explode and wanting to prolong her utter joy. He had to hold on for her sake.
He bent his back to take her sensitized nipples in his mouth, one after the other and back again. Clara wailed, clenching him in her sensual rhythm. She tugged him away from her chest and lifted her body to press her mouth to his, the thrusts of her tongue mimicking his forceful penetration. Dizzy with lust, they tumbled to the side, never breaking contact. Clara righted herself on top, straddling him as he continued driving into her from below. She closed her eyes and shook her head, her hair whipping the air, her absolute abandon challenging his control, her moans tearing down his otherwise sharp defenses.
She bent over him, her hair falling like curtains on either side of her face, creating a private space for their feasting mouths. Unbelievably, she still climaxed. Sam closed his eyes, relaxing, focusing on her pulsating grips…
“And I thought the two lovers downstairs in the kitchen were lost in their own world.”
“Christ!” Sam jerked back, grabbing Clara at the waist to shield her from the intruder.
Patrick stood at the side of the bed, sloughing off his waistcoat, smirking. His jacket and hat lay on the ground near the door.
“Damn you, Pat!” Sam scolded as he fell against the mattress in relief.
Unwinding his cravat, Patrick chuckled and grinned wolfishly at Clara, locking eyes with her before he pulled off his shirt. She still straddled Sam, unmoving, as his cock twitched in complaint. She flashed him a sated smile before reaching to stroke Pat’s chest, tracing the muscles with her fingers. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she pulled Pat to her and took him in a devastatingly sensual open-mouthed kiss. He growled his appreciation as he gave in willingly, and raised no objection when she unbuttoned his breeches.
Clara drew back to free his erection from his fly. Slowly riding Sam, she flashed him a provocative look before curling over to take Pat’s cock in her mouth. Pat let out a shocked gasp, then groaned contentedly. Finally, he would understand. The lady was good, so very and amazingly good, with a remarkable tongue and lips every bit deserving of Sam’s panegyric. As Clara sucked and licked, Pat’s expression slackened in stunned delight.
He protested when she let him slip from her mouth. She smiled wickedly at them both, her chest rising and falling in anticipation of some imagined scenario. “I want both of you,” she said. “Both of you inside me at once.”
Sam’s cock jumped, shooting desire through him to coil in his stones so utterly ready to burst. Pat bit his lip, thwarting the smirk of victory that tugged on his mouth. It was something they had both fantasized about, had talked about, had strategized as a diversion during the long winter nights. They knew exactly what to do.
Sam repositioned himself to the middle of the bed and spread his legs. “Come here, love. Straddle me.”
Clara scrambled over and opened her thighs wide, ready to take him inside her.
“Not yet.” He touched her belly to halt her descent. “Just bend forward, so your face is near mine.”
Clara hunched over a little, then more so when Sam pulled her closer. Patrick knelt behind her, between Sam’s legs, naked and erect, holding a small bowl in one hand. She turned around to watch Pat, then looked at Sam, perplexed.
“How—” she began.
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh, shh. Just do what you’re told, sweet.”
“Yes, Sam,” she breathed.
Pat stroked the cheeks of her buttocks, pulling them apart. She dropped forward with a gasp when he found her tight hole, giving Sam a better view. Pat scooped his fingers through the bowl, the flexing muscles of his arm making plain what his fingers did to her.
Clara’s mouth fell open at the sensual assault, her breaths hot and ragged on Sam’s neck. She glanced over her shoulder at Pat.
“Butter,” he explained, tossing the bowl onto the bed. “I almost tripped over Hawkins and Annabella in the kitchen to get it.”
He continued his ministrations, lubricating and loosening Clara’s tight muscles, her panting moans so deliciously beguiling. Sam pulled her mouth to his in a plundering kiss.
“I think we’re ready,” came Pat’s voice.
Clara pulled back, curiosity clouding the cast of lewdness on her face. Sam delved his fingers between their bodies to toy with her aroused clit, drawing her natural wetness to coat the little nub, massaging steadily. Clara moaned and her eyes fell shut as she faded into lubricious oblivion.
Until Pat prodded her with his engorged prick.
She gasped as he entered her slowly, deliberately. Sam worked her harder, taking her to the inexorable peak. She came on his hand, soaking his palm, his abdomen, and Pat took the opportunity to press in fully.
Pat gripped Clara’s waist as he pumped in and out, digging his fingers cruelly into her flesh as she undulated to the tempo of his thrusts. Sam grabbed his yearning prick, the rapturous expressions of his lovers as they merged in carnal union taking him to the brink of need.
“Lift up a little for me, love. I want to enter you now.”
She raised her hips just enough. Sam wet his cock in her slickness, then entered her, slowly, watching every twinge of emotion flitting across her face at the double invasion. Pat waited patiently as Sam filled her, pushing in to the hilt.
“Oh, God!” she screamed, grabbing Sam’s chest hair, clawing at Pat’s fingers on her waist. Both men remained still as she clenched and released unceasingly, panting and growling with each climax.
She was already so exquisitely tight, but this, this was torture. Sam had to muster every ounce of control to keep himself from coming, knowing if he did, it would not be a satisfying climax. He needed to move inside her.
“Clara—”
She clenched again. “Please … Sam …” she rasped, her eyes tightly shut, her face red from want of air. With one final scream she slumped forward.
Sam lightly caressed her shoulders. “Sweet, are you well?”
“Oh, God,” she exhaled, barely recovered, yet smiling. “Sam, love. Pat,” she turned her head weakly over her shoulder, “spend in me. I want you both to spend inside me. I want you to feel what I just did.”
Released from her sensual torment, Sam laughed out loud, exhilarat
ed, meeting Pat’s relieved gaze. Sam set the rhythm, and Pat followed, thrusting in as Sam pulled out, his cock sliding along the length of Pat’s through warm wetness, the excruciating tightness relieved only when he was embedded fully and Pat had pulled back.
There was simply no more luscious feeling than a double fuck.
But the time for indulgence was over. The need for release had never been so strong.
“Now!”
Pat grinned at the command and followed Sam’s lead, matching his movements, pumping in and out simultaneously, two men as one. Clara offered fresh encouragements, moaning and tensing, taking them to the edge. Sam hung on as Pat gripped Clara’s waist, threw his head back, and with one final thrust, loosed himself deep inside, the heat of his emission penetrating her core, enticing Sam to let go.
He gazed up at Clara, his Clara. She smiled as a tear fell from her cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.
It was his undoing. Sam jerked up in release, filling her with his seed amidst curses and blasphemies.
For a moment, the three lay in a spent heap, catching their respective breaths, the pounding of their hearts slowing in concert. Pat pulled out first.
“I expect our guest is here by now, waiting in the parlor downstairs,” he said as he cleaned himself with a handkerchief before starting to dress.
Clara tumbled off Sam’s body. “Guest?” she said, looking from man to man.
Sam pulled himself up on his knees and took both her hands in his. “Clara, love, the man downstairs is the parson from the town of Chesterton. I’ve had a license prepared. He’s here to marry us, if you will have me.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Sam,” she said with a soft sniffle.
The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale Page 25