His gaze dropped to her bosom, much of its fullness revealed by the low cut of her dress. He understood now. This was the time for the female to strut before the male, to entice him, and yet to take her own time so that she was ready. Dominic and Hernando and the others had deliberately kept them apart last night so that in his inebriated state he would not be too forceful on his new young bride. It was all planned. He grinned. “May I at least kiss my wife?”
She smiled. “I have been waiting.”
He leaned down and met her lips, parting them, searching her mouth hungrily. People around them cheered and called out more remarks, but Will did not care who watched. He pressed her tight against him, stretching out the kiss, on fire for her, wondering how he was going to get through the day. Finally he released her. “I promise not to drink one drop of wine today,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to be perfectly sober tonight.”
She kissed his cheek. “Perhaps it is I who should drink the wine today.”
He frowned, touching her face. “Don’t be afraid, Santana. Don’t ever be afraid. I promise you that sharing bodies will be the most satisfying thing you will ever know.”
Santana relished the feel of his strong arms, realizing he could easily break her in half if he wanted. But Will Lassater would never harm a hair on her head. “Tonight we will know, mi esposo,” she whispered in reply. “Come, share some breakfast with your wife.”
Will grinned, letting her lead him back to the table full of food. They spent the rest of the day meeting the many friends of Dominic Alcala—farmers, ranchers, miners, businessmen, customers, suppliers, ranch hands. He had met many of them the day before, but he had been too drunk to remember them. There followed more gift giving, games, music, and dancing. Never had Will known a people who could make so much out of celebrating something. Everyone was warm and friendly toward him, welcoming him into their world.
Morning moved into afternoon, and afternoon into night. Many of the men got drunk again on Dominic’s endless supply of wine, but Will did not touch it. He wanted to be fully aware of this night, of every touch, every move, the glorious sight of Santana’s body. A huge bonfire was lit, and Santana turned Will over to her father and brother. They sat him down on a log and told him to stay right there for a special treat. Moments later the musicians struck up a rhythmic song with a provocative, sultry beat. People let out a chorus of aaahs when a dark-haired woman appeared. She wore a brief red top that bared her middle and was also cut low to expose a good deal of her breasts. Her red ruffled skirt wrapped tightly around her hips, the waistline below her belly button.
The woman advanced toward Will, hips swaying enticingly to the rhythm of the music. She stood in front of him, whirled around so that the full skirt exposed her slender legs all the way to her thighs, then turned her back to him, gyrating her hips in a motion that had a hypnotizing effect on him. Men grinned and whistled, cheering her on, and Will found his lust for his new wife building at the suggestive movements of the Spanish dancer.
For several minutes she danced, finally reaching out to him. But as he reached to take her hand, she darted away. Then Santana appeared from out of the darkness, wearing a low-cut, form-fitting red dress, her hair brushed out long, her dark eyes showing desire.
“No other women for you now, my husband,” she said. “Only Santana Maria Chavez de Lassater.” She held his eyes boldly, putting her hands on his shoulders, and he rose. The music continued, and Santana moved with the rhythm, gradually coming closer to Will until her swaying body rubbed against him. Finally the music ended, and everyone clapped and whistled and made suggestive remarks to Will.
“I wish to go to the guest house now,” Santana told him.
Will realized what a fabulously beautiful, hot-blooded woman he had married, and he suddenly felt nervous. It occurred to him that he might not be able to please her, but he was damn well ready to try. He picked her up in his arms and carried her off.
Twelve
Will walked inside the guest house and kicked the door closed, shutting out the cheers and sly remarks of those who had followed them there. He had carried Santana for the entire quarter-of-a-mile walk, but she was so light that it had not been a task. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, and her head rested on his shoulder. The way she was curled up, when he looked down at her he could see almost the entire fullness of her breasts, breasts he longed to touch, to taste, but that would depend on Santana.
“Here we are,” he said, kissing her cheek. He started to put her down, but she protested.
“Wait. I like it here. I like feeling your strength, carino mio.” Santana looked into his eyes, and in the next moment his lips met hers in a hot, hungry kiss. Something in her came alive, a youthful passion mixed with curiosity and an eagerness to please, and in turn to enjoy the pleasures of being a woman. Something in her ached fiercely, maddening desires welling up unexpectedly. She never dreamed she could feel like this, but she wanted Will Lassater to do terribly naughty things to her. She wanted him to touch secret places. Fiery needs swept through her, dulling her fear and apprehension. Perhaps it was the little bit of wine she had drunk, mixed with the desires she had awakened in herself when she danced for him and saw how his gaze raked her body.
“Te amo, carino mio,” she whispered between more kisses. “I did not think I was ready, but…” His lips moved down her neck, and she threw her head back, gasping when he kissed her breasts.
He carried her to the bedroom, paying no heed to the fact that the entire house was decorated with flowers and pinatas that they were supposed to break open to find money and other gifts. Nor did he pay much heed to the beautiful mahogany four-poster that Dominic had ordered from San Francisco as a gift for his daughter and her new husband. It was covered with red satin sheets and a red quilted spread. White silk was draped gracefully between the posts. Will kept hold of Santana in one arm while he leaned down to rip away the quilt and the top sheet, then he laid Santana on the bed.
She curled onto her side, watching him as he tore off his shirt to reveal a broad chest and beautifully muscled arms. There was still a fresh-looking scar on the upper left part of his chest from where Hugo’s shot had torn through him from back to front. Another scar on his lower left side showed where he had been shot by the bandits that had threatened to kidnap her. Both times he had risked his life to save her from harm, and to her he was her brave hero, a man who deserved to take pleasure in her now. Hair the color of that on his head covered his chest, just enough to make him even more masculine and appealing. He bent down and removed his leather boots and his socks; he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them off. Now he wore only his knee-length underwear, and something bulged at the junction of his thighs, that mysterious part of a man that she only partly understood. Like a stud horse he would put that huge thing inside her tonight, and to her surprise she wanted him to do just that. She was afraid of the pain, but not of Will Lassater; and he had promised that she would learn to enjoy it.
He started to climb onto the bed, and she could see his blue eyes were dark with desire.
“Take them off,” she told him. “I am not afraid. I want to see you.”
Will felt on fire with the want of her. He was surprised at how she had suddenly awakened to the woman in her, and was delighted at her eagerness. He removed the underwear, and watched her eyes widen at the firm manhood that was presented to her. She sat up, meeting his eyes as she undid the bodice of her dress and pulled it down over her shoulders, then farther down, to her waist. She wore no undergarment. She was so beautiful that Will’s head spun with the fierce need to be inside her.
“I want to do it quickly so that the pain will be over,” she said. “Then we will sleep in each other’s arms, and later in the night, you can teach me other things. We will go slower then, and we will learn about each other, and I will enjoy being your wife.”
“Santana—”
“This is the way I want to do it.” She got off the b
ed and stood beside him, removing her dress completely. She stood there naked, her arms folded over her breasts. Hesitantly, she looked up at him. “Do you like what you see, Will Lassater? Do I please you?”
Will was literally shaken by her boldness. He had not expected this, had thought she would protest at the last minute. Yet in spite of her boldness there was a lovely innocence about what she was doing, a child yearning to become a woman. He knew without question that this was her first time, that she would not do such things for just any man…only for him, her husband, her love.
He picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed, then climbed up beside her. He watched her eyes as he ran a hand over her soft skin, her belly, cupping a breast, stroking his thumb over a taut nipple.
“You’re so beautiful, Santana. How can you ask if I am pleased with what I see? There is no woman who can compare.”
He met her mouth hungrily, then trailed his lips to her throat, and down to kiss each dark nipple. He lingered there, savoring the sweetness of her breasts, knowing by her whimpers that she liked what he was doing. She grasped his hair, and he took a breast more fully into his mouth, unable to control his desire as he sucked wildly, knowing it would help her if he brought out her wildest passions before entering her. He must make this as easy as possible for her.
He licked and kissed at her other breast, then met her mouth again in an intimate kiss, searching deep with his tongue while he massaged her breasts and teased her nipples. He ached to explore, to taste, to see every private inch of this dark beauty who was now his wife, but some things would have to wait, or he might frighten her. She wanted him to do this quickly, and he would gladly oblige.
He reached down and gently felt her, touching her in light circular movements, awakening the ripe womanhood waiting to be freed. She gasped his name when he stroked the little nub that he’d learned stirred a woman’s desire. He could feel the slippery wetness that told him he could easily slide into her now, but he waited until she drew in her breath in a sweet climax. She looked almost surprised as she arched against his hand, and quickly he moved between her legs, smothering her gasps with kisses. He told himself it was best if he did this quickly. It would be easier for her.
He shoved hard, felt himself breaking through something. All his life he had only done this with whores or loose women who had already been with men. Santana was his first virgin, and it made him feel like a virgin himself. Her scream frightened him, yet he could not stop. No woman he’d ever been with had made him feel like this, and he groaned in his own ecstasy as he pushed over and over, unable to stop in spite of the tears he tasted on her cheeks, her cries of pain.
Santana knew she had no right to make him stop, but her fierce desire and excitement had turned to piercing pain. She dug her nails into the hard muscles of his arms, closed her eyes, and reminded herself that it would not always be like this. Pain tore through her insides like hot fire, consuming her privates, her belly, yet there was a strange pleasure in that pain, a tiny hint of how this might feel once the hurt was gone.
“I’ll end this quickly,” he whispered, just before she felt a surging pressure deep inside her. She knew instinctively that it was his seed spilling into her, seed that could make her pregnant with his child. She would like nothing more now than to give him a son. Finally he relaxed against her, remaining inside her for a moment. She sniffled back her tears, and he pushed himself up, resting on his elbows on either side of her. He leaned down and kissed her eyes, kissed away her tears.
“I’m sorry, Santana. I swear by Mother Mary that soon you will want this. You will enjoy it and take as much pleasure in it as I have had this moment.”
She wiped the last of her tears away. “Do not be sorry. I told you I wanted it this way.” She met his eyes. “I love you, Will Lassater, and now I belong to you. Our marriage is consummated, and there is nothing Hugo Bolivar can do now to change it. It is done, and I…”—new tears came—“I cannot imagine how horrible this would have been…to have Hugo doing such a thing to me.” A sob shook her. “He would have laughed at me. He would not…have been sorry like you. He would not have been…willing to wait if I was not ready, but I know…that you would have.” She flung her arms around his neck, loving him for the simple reason that she was not afraid of him. “I hope that quickly I will be with child. I want to give you many children, Will. And I want…” She kissed his cheek, his mouth. “Tell me that I pleased you. I do not want to disappoint you.”
Will grinned. “There isn’t a woman on earth who could please me more, not in looks and beauty, and not in the way it felt to be inside of you.” He met her mouth in a gentle kiss. “Let’s go and wash,” he whispered. “Then we’ll just lie in each other’s arms for a while, maybe get a little sleep. When we wake up we’ll eat, or maybe we’ll just make love again. I could do this over and over all night, but maybe you aren’t—”
She touched his lips. “The more we do it, the less the pain. Isn’t that right?”
He nodded. “Something like that. I’ve never been with a virgin before. I suppose all women are different, but eventually it always becomes enjoyable.”
She scowled. “I am jealous of all the other women you have been with. Promise me you will never again touch any woman but me.”
He slid a big, callused hand over her, touching the hairs between her legs, massaging her soft belly. “I already promised that when I married you. Besides, why would I want anyone else, when I have the most wonderful wife in California?” He got up from the bed. “I’ll see about getting some water to wash.”
Will walked into the kitchen to get a bucket of water, only then noticing how beautifully decorated the house was. The kitchen table was loaded with all sorts of food and wine. He smiled at how Santana’s people seemed to think of everything, how supportive and friendly they had been, so happy for them, everyone celebrating the marriage. He had married into a good family, and he felt like the luckiest man alive. It struck him that he could never go back to the life he had known in Maine. He was becoming even more deeply enchanted with the Spanish culture, the magic that was California.
In some ways he and Santana were still strangers, yet it didn’t matter. He had no doubt that they would find themselves totally compatible over the years, and he knew he had done the right thing. He would not change any of it. He carried the water into the bedroom, where some towels were stacked on a small table for them. They washed themselves, and he calmed Santana’s alarm at the blood on her thighs, assuring her it was normal and she was not dying. He gently washed her himself, then carried her back to the bed. They pulled the covers over themselves and wrapped their naked bodies together, nestling into a pillow to sleep.
Santana relished the protective arms in which she rested, thinking what a night of horror this would have been with Hugo. “Thank God for my Will,” she whispered. “You are like a gift from heaven.”
“And you are like an angel,” Will said.
They fell asleep, while outside the many friends and relatives continued to dance and eat and drink well into the night.
Will awoke facing the outside of the bed. He could see a hint of pink light coming through a crack in the curtains at a window, and all senses told him it was from a sunrise. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but then something moved against his back, and he was quickly reminded of where he was and who was with him. He turned over and pulled Santana into his arms. “You awake?”
“Si, mi esposo. And I am so happy this morning.” She kissed his chest, his throat.
“Wait,” he told her. He turned over to take two pieces of peppermint candy that had been placed in a dish beside the bed. Now he knew why. Newlyweds would not want to jump up and clean their teeth on their first morning together, but they would most certainly want to make love again. He put a piece of candy into his mouth, then rolled over and held one against Santana’s lips. “Kissing in the morning will be more pleasant if you suck on this first,” he told her with a wink.
“I like when you touch me,” she said. She traced her own slender fingers over his chest, touching his nipples in return. “Does it excite you when I touch you here, as it does me?”
He grinned, looking down to watch her nipple grow hard at his caress. “Yes, I like it too.” He quickly chewed and swallowed the candy so that he could savor a breast. He moved his hand down to her private places, feeling his way into the warm crevice between her legs to find the magical spot that would excite her. He wanted her to feel the least amount of pain possible when he loved her again, which he most certainly would do this morning, maybe more than once before they dressed and went back to the main house for breakfast. After that he intended to come right back here with her and spend the rest of the day in bed.
“Will,” she whispered. “What is this you do to me?”
He kissed her other breast as he moved his finger in a circular motion. He felt her legs opening for him. “Just making love to you, mi esposa,” he answered. “Te quiero mucho.”
“Oh, Will…”
He covered her mouth in a sweet kiss, telling himself to be patient. If he could stir her to another climax before he moved inside her, it would help her relax. He wanted so much for her to enjoy it more this time. He slipped a finger inside her, and she gasped with delight. He returned to stroking the hard crown of her love nest until finally she shuddered, crying out softly. She reached around his neck and kissed him wildly, grasping his hair and begging him to make love to her again, to come inside her again.
The Forever Tree Page 16