by Yvonne Jocks
"I heard a cowboy call it a dingus," she said. "On a horse, I mean. He didn't know I'd heard him. But that's a silly name."
"Yes," he said under his breath, pushing the topic of their discussion harder against her belly. "No dignity whatsoever."
"So?"
So he told her: a Latin word, two more "vulgar" terms, as he put it, and several that just made her laugh.
"As the party with more experience in these matters," he cautioned her, "I must warn you that laughter may not be the best reaction in such a situation."
But having beautiful Collier's hands all over her—his mouth all over her—made it easy to laugh. "John Thomas?" she said in a gasp. He kissed her, but he laughed as he did, right into her mouth.
"Oh, and you ladies are so much more demure," he fussed pleasantly, rolling onto his back, his strong arms taking her with him. Ah! Now this had possibilities! It freed her hands to slide all over his chest, her legs to straddle his ... and still released his hands to caress her breasts.
"At least we don't have silly names for parts of our body." She slipped a hand downward to see how the rest of him worked.
It seemed a very long time before Collier argued that. "You," he insisted, "are just too innocent to know such names."
Then he told her some of them—and slid his hand between her legs to demonstrate.
"Oh!" Well, she certainly didn't want to laugh. She hadn't realized that was considered a part of her body! It felt... felt...
"None of which," purred Collier, his fingers seeking impossibly deeper, "I should be telling a respectable woman."
She squirmed on his hand, urging him to do more. "Good."
"Good?"
"I n-never cared about being respectable. I—oh!—only did it for my f-family." When he slid his fingers free, she felt wet.
He laughed again, which made him rock beneath her, and she liked that, too. "Well, my dearest, bed is one place you need not worry about being respectable. At least, not with me."
And who else would she be in bed with?
For a brief instant, quick enough to feel a blinding pain, Laurel remembered that they were to be married only a few years. She tried to banish that thought, and when she couldn't manage it alone, she enlisted Collier's help.
"Can't we do it now?"
"You're not liking like this part?" And it did feel...
"I'm liking this part." And she shifted so that she straddled the hardest, hottest part of him with the wettest, achingest part of her. Oh, that could help her forget anything.
"Patience, Lorelei." Cole grasped her hips with his long, strong hands and lifted her off him, but before she could protest the betrayal—or hit him—he then settled her back in a slightly different way, shifting his hips, and she realized— Oh, my!—just what he'd done. His most intimate part pressed between her legs, and when she squirmed, he slid into her a little bit.
Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my! She hadn't expected to have this much say over things. She'd thought it was something he did to her! But instead, when she stiffened, everything stopped. And when she took a breath and opened her legs wider, she let herself slide more firmly onto his thick hardness. His hands still on her hips, more to guide than to control her, Collier panted, hard and voiceless, while she experimented. She marveled at how such a tight place in her body seemed to make room for him—barely—and at the tingling, trilling sensation that bubbled up her spine and down her legs from where they'd joined. Every time she thought she'd taken as much of Collier as she could, she would relax and shift her weight and, surprisingly, slide another inch downward.
Finally she did have all of him inside her. And his hands slid up to her breasts. "Yes," he whispered worshipfully.
"Oh," she whispered. "I thought it was supposed to hurt."
"Didn't it?" He sounded drunk as he drew his hands down to her hips, then up again, and leaned up to kiss her.
This time, when his tongue filled her mouth, it seemed particularly naughty—knowing how thoroughly other parts of him were filling her—and she met it greedily with her own. She managed only a "Nn-hnn" as a denial.
And then he began to move beneath her, and she still didn't hurt, but, oh, she certainly began to want more again. It felt vaguely like riding, but awkward, more frustrating.
"Here, dearest," coaxed Collier after a moment of that. She protested with a mew of complaint when he rolled her onto her back again and took the position of rider. But he whispered, "Only until you understand better," in her ear, and the heat of his breath and the scratch of his whiskers sent shivers though her.
Then he began to withdraw from between her legs, and she grasped his legs with her own, grasped his buttocks with her hands, and tried to stay him. Not yet; she wasn't used to it yet! "No!"
"Shhh," he said, his voice laughing, his breath still shivering across her ear. "Trust me."
And she wasn't sure she could. But then he slid back into her, filled her again, and the swift, sure sensation of it rocked gratifyingly through her. "I trust you," she said quickly.
He kissed her, and kissed her again, and again, and while he did he pushed slowly into her, drew out of her, pushed in again, over and over until they'd created a rhythm together, better than dancing, more erotic than even the deepest kisses. She strained against each thrust, hungry, aching for... something. Something flirting with her. Something teasing at her. Just this was more thrill than she'd ever known, and should be enough, so she wasn't sure what more she could want—until suddenly, like a flash flood, something even more ecstatic rushed through her.
Then she screamed out in sheer joy.
Collier muffled her with more kisses, perhaps laughing, but she barely noticed for the euphoria that shuddered through every bit of her, every finger, every toe, every strand of hair. Yes, she wanted to yell. Yes, yes, yes!
Why wouldn't Collier let her yell?
His own movements quickened; then he stiffened and groaned on top of her, poured himself into her, hot and hard, and finally lay there, trembling.
"Oh, my Lord," he murmured, and it really did sound like a prayer. "Yes, Lorelie. Yes."
Just what she'd wanted to say.
"Cole," she said in a gasp. Her body tingled all over, as if she could leap out of the bed and fly, as if she could melt right into the bed. Or right into him. "This is wonderful!"
He kissed her again, deeply, more tenderly than before. "I am pleased you find it so, darling."
"Why haven't we been doing this all along?"
He began to laugh again and wrapped his arms around her. He rolled onto his back so that she was on top of him again. "I apologize for being derelict in my duties," he assured her.
"Well, I hope you don't plan on being derelict anymore!" She leaned down and kissed him again, loving the feel of his lips on hers, his special taste, his special smell. She loved being naked with him, and she loved him. Whether she'd meant to or not.
"Not in the least, my dearest," he teased, petting her hair out of her face as if he could see her.
"Can we do it with the lamp lit next time?" she asked.
"We can do it any which way you like." That intrigued her.
"Is there more than one way?"
He laughed but eased her off him. She wasn't so happy about that. "You, Lorelei, are no lady."
For a moment she felt cold. He'd known she wasn't a lady—not like his Lady Vivian was. He'd known that!
"What's wrong?" he asked more quietly. He drew her into his arms, kissed her cheek, her healed nose, and she tried to relax. Why would he have meant that as an insult, when everything else had been so nice? "Are you sorry—"
"Have you done that with Vivian?" she asked.
"Ah." He cleared his throat. "I've done that with Vivian only once, the night we became secretly engaged."
Oh. Well, she shouldn't ask the question if she didn't want the answer. Yet she kept on asking. "Was she ladylike?"
"A gentleman never speaks of such things," he said.
She kicked him. Lightly. He answered the attack with another kiss. "You would not want to suspect that I might tell her about this, with you, would you?"
Which was completely true, damn it.
"However," he whispered, nuzzling her ear, "I will confess that I have never had such fun in bed with a woman in my life as I just had with you. You are marvelous. You are beautiful. You are exciting in ways I'd never guessed I'd like so very much."
She felt herself blush and guessed Lady Vivian must not have been very good after all. "That was just my first time."
"I know," he agreed, cuddling her tighter against him.
"Will I get better with practice?" she asked.
"If I survive it, I imagine you might."
She liked the sound of that, and snuggled into his chest. She didn't know what the future held—she doubted she wanted to. But for now, deciding to do this with Collier had to be the best decision she had ever made.
"Thank you," said Collier, as if reading her thoughts. "Thank you, Laurel, for being my wife like this."
She supposed that "no, thank you" would not be the ladylike response, so she giggled instead.
He kissed her. "Go to sleep."
"Why?"
"So that we can rest up and do this again."
Ooooh! She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, as she used to when she was a child.
Before she knew it, she was waking in the most delicious way with Collier all over again.
Across the next day they consummated their marriage twice more—passionately, blissfully, delightfully—before Collier remembered the French letters.
The birth control they'd forgotten.
He debated telling Laurel of their mistake. His mistake. But it seemed unfair to worry her needlessly. Instead, after he'd returned from feeding the horses, he pulled her into his lap and said, "Now that we're getting the hang of things, perhaps we'd best discuss how to be sure nothing comes of it. In the future."
In hopes that they still had that choice.
Laurel looked confused—well, she kissed lasciviously about his ear at first, as if deliberately to taunt him into more love play, but then looked confused. What a beautiful young woman—and bold, and capable, and adventurous. The miracle that she had allowed him to ... That she wanted him ...
Collier kept himself from thinking of the consequences— beyond the possibility of conception, at least. He would not darken this joy with fears of a future they could not control.
Instead he asked, tentatively, "Our bargain not to have children ... that still holds. Doesn't it?"
He tried to imagine living his life in Wyoming or dragging Laurel to England. Neither idea appealed.
"Oh! Of course it does." She nodded quickly, and even forgot to return to his ear. "This is just..."
He waited, uncertain, and she ducked her head. "For now."
From your beautiful lips to God's ear, Lorelei.
"Then we'd best start keeping that from happening," he said. "Soon. Begin as we mean to end, don't you say?"
She nodded, so far not looking panicked. That relieved him. Only one of them should be panicked at a time.
"So why don't I get out the box of French letters I told you about, and you get your calendar, and we will show each other what we know. Agreed?"
Laurel stroked his whiskers. "Show each other... how?"
"I doubt the calendar will be too amusing," he admitted. "But I rather hoped that the others we might demonstrate."
She bolted off his lap, quick as that, for the calendar. He made her show him before he would open the box of condoms, and could have prayed his thanks when he saw that— if her mother's system was sound—she was unlikely to have conceived this week.
Then he opened the French letters, and they both laughed at them, but then they began to kiss and laughed less, and soon they had returned to the bed together to wait out the snowstorm.
Best purchase Collier had ever made, that bed.
The following week brought a hard freeze, air so cold and fast that Laurel called it an "Alberta clipper." Collier was able to walk on the snow to go about his chores, instead of walking in it. Mostly. Occasionally he fell through.
"When you can jump up and down on it and not fall through, maybe we can go to town," said Laurel. He hesitated to take her out in the cold weather, even for such a treat as
that... except for how quickly they were going through the French letters!
He'd never met such an adventurous woman, in or out of bed, and they did indeed celebrate their marriage, their youth, and their survival both in and out of bed. And against the wall. And over the table.
Once he gave up being proper, it seemed, Collier gave it up fully. Impropriety was so much more fun, and the bright side to the horse feeding and slop emptying!
Sometimes they lay in bed for hours, petting and exploring and loving each other with leisurely grace. Other times they chased each other, naked, about the cabin until one of them would win, pinning the other down and having his or her wicked way. Always they slept, deep and exhausted, entwined with each other as tightly as possible.
Falling asleep with Laurel, waking with her, lying with her, laughing with her, Collier sometimes thought this was all he could ask for in life.
But he knew better than to believe it just yet. Not in this insulated little world of theirs, where he could play at being a mountain man and she could work toward recovering enough to be a rancher. Sooner or later the outside world would intrude.
And they must not do anything irreversible until they knew how they would feel when that happened.
He just did not realize they might be tested so soon.
Collier awoke with a start, to Laurel punching him in the arm. "Cole. Cole! Someone's coming!"
"What?" He caught her offending fist, kissed it, then pillowed his head more comfortably on her bosom. He loved her bosom. He loved a great deal about her, especially sleeping.
She persisted. "Lord Collier!"
Inhaling slowly, deeply, he opened his eyes. "How would you know there's someone—"
A solid knock at the door interrupted him.
"The horses," whispered Laurel, glancing frantically at the window. "We slept late. It's midmorning!"
Considering how late it had been before they'd finished their latest, most enjoyable battle of the bed yet—she'd been named queen by time they fell asleep—this news hardly surprised him.
"I'll go ask them to wait." Then he climbed out of bed, drawing the uppermost quilt with him. Lord, but it was cold!
"It's Papa!" she guessed, eyes wide. "And we're naked!"
"Perhaps it's Cooper," he reassured her, wrapping the quilt firmly around him.
But Laurel dove fully under the remaining covers anyway before he reached the door, unlatched it, and drew it open.
Good Lord. It was her father.
Considering everything Collier had recently enjoyed with the man's daughter, this was rather awkward.
Jacob Garrison, hand still lifted to knock again, looked startled. Then he dropped his gaze to Collier's bare feet—and by the time that gaze climbed the quilt, back to Collier's unshaven face, it had narrowed to something far more dangerous.
"Our apologies," said Collier as primly as he could. Considering. "I fear we slept in. If you will allow us a moment to put ourselves in order, we will happily invite you inside."
Garrison did not agree or disagree. He just stared.
Collier began to shut the door.
Garrison stopped it with a firm hand. "How's the girl?"
Collier considered taking offense ... until it occurred to him how poorly equipped he was—or had been—to care for Laurel, and how close she'd come to not being at all well.
"She's safe," he assured his father-in-law. "Merely hiding."
Laurel's muffled voice called, "Hi, Papa!"
Garrison did not look happy. But he shook his head, turned around, and headed for the corral.
Collier shut the door, latched it, then slid slowly down, quilt and all, laughing. Partly at the irony. Mainly from relief.
"Cole!" Peeking out from the foot of the bed, seeing that the door was indeed latched, Laurel struggled from the covers and began pulling on clothing. "It's not funny!"
"Of course it is."
"Get dressed! He's had a cold trip, and we should be giving him hot coffee, not sitting around!"
That did spur him on to find his cleanest pair of long underwear, then start the extended process of dressing for the winter. Pants. Shirt. Boots.
"How can I face him?" asked Laurel more than once, dividing her attention between putting stockings on her beautiful, bare legs and putting coffee on the stove. "After we've ... we've ..."
There was no way her father could guess all that they'd done. At least they had that... if Collier wanted to live.
"We are married, Lorelei," he reminded her. He combed his too-long hair, then tied it back with string. "Most people believe we've been doing that for far longer than we have."
Though perhaps with not as many variations.
"I know." She faced him. "Do I look all right?"
Except for the faint flush of whisker burns on her cheeks. He decided then and there that, as soon as he got the chance, he would shave. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he assured her, which made her blush. Then, so that she wouldn't have to go into the cold, he went to the door himself and called his father-in-law back in.
He saw that the man had managed to bring a one-horse sleigh with him and grinned. A trip to town it was!
Garrison entered, stomping the snow off his boots, and took off his hat. "Laurel Lee," he greeted stiffly.
She threw herself into his arms, cold or not. "Papa!"
Collier liked seeing Garrison's arms enfold her as tightly. But he hoped Laurel did not smell too much of her husband.
Or of sex.
Chapter Twenty-one
"Fell in the creek," Papa repeated, when Laurel explained why he'd seen only Collier's tracks outside the cabin.
"Yes, sir." Here was where he would say he'd told her so.