by Sweet Annie
“I think I’m more uncomfortable waiting.”
Encouraged, he smiled against her cheek. “Turn around.”
She obliged, pulling loose from his embrace and turning her back. With clumsy fingers that shook, he worked on the endless row of pearl buttons that ran from her collar to the base of her spine, revealing creamy flesh and lacy undergarments. He pushed a corkscrew tress from the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her smooth skin.
Annie shivered and carefully pushed the sleeves down her arms, over her wrists, and let the bodice fall forward. Pulse pounding through his veins, Luke fumbled with the last buttons and helped her push the voluminous white skirts down her hips. He took the dress from her and hung it carefully on a peg beside her veil.
Moving to face her, he ran his palms up the velvety length of her bare arms, smoothed his fingertips across her delicate shoulders to her collarbone, then slid his palm up her neck to cup her face.
She rose to meet his kiss, closer this time, without the yards of fabric between them, without the hard knots of the ornaments on her dress. The fragrance of lilacs and the erotic scent of her skin assailed Luke’s senses. She seemed smaller in his arms now, more delicate, more vulnerable.
He found a ribbon at her waist and untied her petticoats. She stepped out of them with his assistance.
He urged her to sit. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, her willingness an added aphrodisiac he hadn’t needed.
He knelt before her and removed her satin slippers, one at a time. Her feet were tiny, her legs slim and curvaceous in white pantaloons and stockings. Her breasts pushed upward over the top of a stiff-looking corset, her nipples visible through the thin white cotton of the garment she wore against her skin. Luke swallowed hard and set the slippers aside.
Never one to run from an adventure, Annie slid her hands across his shoulders, an audible rush of air escaping her lungs. His heart thudded so hard, he wondered if she could hear it.
Her innocent, yet ardent caress of his skin sent a shudder through his body, and he compressed his lips to hold in a carnal groan. They embraced, his chest in the V of her thighs, her mouth against his forehead, her petticoats crushed beneath his knees. He turned his head and nuzzled her neck, her chest, dipped his tongue out to taste her.
She made a sound of surprise, of pleasure.
He cupped her breasts above the corset, rubbed both nipples with his thumbs. “Oh, Luke,” she said breathlessly. “Luke, we don’t have to stop this time. We don’t have to stop ever again. Don’t stop.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and touched his tongue to a hard bud through the cotton.
She gasped.
He found the hooks and eyes and unfastened her corset, the popping sounds loud in the room. He couldn’t manage the tiny buttons of her chemise, so she hastily tugged it off over her head.
Her breasts came into view, full and plump, her nipples firm and pink. She moved the garment aside, pausing to untangle a strand of hair from a button.
He managed to help her, then leaned in close to inhale the scent of her skin. She brought her palm to his face, guided him upward until he had to raise off the floor to meet her lips.
They tumbled back upon the bed, and he kissed her leisurely, seductively, calmed now by her reminder that they didn’t have to stop. And they didn’t have to hurry. She was his now. He had all the time in the world to love her, and nothing and no one could take her away from him.
But when she met his kisses so eagerly, ran her hands over his chest and pressed herself against him as though she couldn’t get close enough, urgency sprang up anew. He sat on the edge of the mattress and peeled first one stocking down her thigh, calf, ankle…then the other. She didn’t help him quite as fluidly with the right as she had the left, and he remembered to be more accommodating.
His hesitation seemed to cause her distraction, and she rose on one elbow, the fear returning to her features.
“Annie, I told you I don’t care. You believe me.”
“What if I can’t really do this?” she asked, self-conscious now, as if she’d just remembered her limitations.
“Can’t make love?”
Her fair skin flushed from her breasts all the way to her cheeks. “I’m not made like other women,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I can’t be a true wife to you.”
Doubly frustrated, not only with physical tension, but with her obvious skepticism, he sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. “Do you have a regular monthly flow?” he asked bluntly.
Crimson, she nodded.
“Then frankly I don’t see the problem. You have all the parts you need to make love.”
She blinked and he saw the confusion behind her eyes. “But what if it’s not good for you? What if I can’t—give you pleasure?”
“Annie,” he said on an exhale. “Where did that come from?”
She shrugged.
“Why you would worry about not giving me pleasure is beyond me. That would be impossible. If you would be quiet for five minutes, you’d see that this—ungrounded worry of yours is the only thing keepin’ me from pleasure at the moment.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the horribly deformed girl you picture in your head. Toss that picture out of there.” He thought a moment. “You can ride a horse, can’t you?”
“Yes, but—” The denial broke off midsentence.
He gestured with an upraised palm as if to say, There you have it.
“Oh.” Illumination crossed her features. She raised a tentative smile. “Oh! Take your trousers off, Luke. These, too.”
“Remember what I told you?” he said, obeying and sliding his clothing down his legs. “My body is for your pleasure. It belongs to you.”
“Oh, my,” she breathed, reaching for him.
“Holy—!” He ground his teeth together at the exquisite pleasure of her explorative touches.
“This isn’t anything like I imagined.”
“I suppose not.” Lord, she was a talker. He covered her mouth in a kiss until he couldn’t bear her touches another second.
He helped her off with her pantaloons, and she turned one side of her body away from him. “Don’t hide from me now. I love all of you, Annie.”
She rolled to lie flat on the bed and with an air of solemn apprehension let him look at her. Her hips were not of equal proportions on both sides; one side of her pelvis jutted out a trifle farther than the other. Not caring a bit, he caressed her silken pale skin.
His attention became distracted by the wispy red-gold curls, the soft curve of her belly, the picture of her as a whole woman, flushed and lovely, with so many vivid emotions lighting her lovely face.
“You are beautiful, Annie,” he said, emotion thick in his throat.
“No,” she whispered.
“Beautiful.” He stroked her from shoulder to hip, knee to toe, kissed the seductive arch of her foot, the curve of her hip, the valley between her breasts, her hot moist lips.
A tiny sob escaped her, hiccuping against his mouth, jutting a breast flat to his chest. He opened his eyes and saw hers, gray-green and luminous with tears. One rolled from the corner of her eye into the hair at her temple. Luke dried the path with his tongue.
A flood followed, a stream of tears that tasted of salt and ate a hole right into his heart. “Don’t cry,” he said gruffly.
“I’m not crying,” she denied.
“What are these then?”
“Sometimes my eyes leak when I’m happy.”
“Are you happy?”
She clutched his cheeks fiercely between her palms. “I’ve never been so happy, Luke. You make me happy. You loving me makes me happy. I have wanted this. Have wished for and dreamed of this. I have loved you since I was ten years old. Don’t make me wait any longer, please.”
“I wasn’t the one holding things up.” He touched her then, finding her ready, finding her eager and responsive. Kissing her, he talked to himself, speaking silent reminders
of caution and patience.
She would have none of it.
He tried to be gentle; she urged him to boldness. His attempt at preparing her body leisurely was thwarted by her insistence. When he would have paused, she demanded haste. And made a soft cry.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she assured him, framing his face with her hands.
“And your hip?”
“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you, Luke, thank you for showing me and loving me.”
He groaned and held himself still. He kissed her so she’d know he cherished her.
“I’m not going to break, you know.” She moved beneath him, a quivering flex of limbs and muscles that pushed him to the edge.
“I am,” he replied. He took a moment to gaze into her lovely eyes, to bask in the need and the love and the fire, collecting himself, but holding back while her muscles tightened and her limbs wrapped his body was like trying to stop a runaway train. The rhythm came from inside his head, the sensations from someplace deep and glittering, and there was no waiting.
Luke shuddered against her.
She’d fallen asleep. After the sleepless night before and the physical and emotional release of tension, it was no wonder. At the unfamiliar rustle of movement beside her, Annie opened her eyes, disoriented. The first thing she saw was the bare window with the setting sun streaking the sky purple and orange.
“Feel better?”
The deep voice brought a familiar thrill. She turned to see Luke sprawled beside her on top of the covers, dressed in his faded dungarees. Oh, my goodness. She nodded and gratefully noted the crisp white sheet that he’d placed over her. She held it to her breasts. The memory of their eager lovemaking sent a curl of delight all the way to her bare toes.
She had never imagined the wonder of it, the energy and heat of his mouth and body, the sensations of him sliding against her, into her…. She closed her eyes.
“Good. I sliced some ham and bread that Glenda sent. Are you hungry?”
Annie examined the freshly painted ceiling a moment, placing her sensual thoughts aside to consider his words and her empty stomach. “A little.”
“Want to eat in bed or go out there?”
She studied his vivid blue eyes, let her gaze wander down to that glorious chest. “Read my mind.”
His grin inched up. “You wish I’d put my shirt on.”
“Nope.”
“You can’t keep your hands off me, so you want to stay in here.”
“Something like that.”
He chuckled and kissed her. “Lord, you’re fun.”
She threaded her fingers into the ebony mat on his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Did I—did you….”
“What?”
“Did I please you?”
He sighed against her hair. “Any more pleasure and I’d have died of it.”
“So I please you as much as those others did?”
He looked at her and frowned. “I wish they had never happened so you didn’t have to think about it. There’s nothing to compare. Those women were years ago and it wasn’t anything like this.”
She brushed her fingers over his nipple once. Twice, hoping to distract him from his annoyance.
“I didn’t love them, Annie. They didn’t love me. Because you love me, what we share is beyond simple physical pleasure. I have never wanted anyone like I want you.”
How she needed those words. “Still?”
“Always.”
“Did anyone ever watch you shave?”
“Gil. Didn’t have the same effect, believe me.”
She laughed and snuggled her face against his chest where she’d wanted to place her cheek ever since she’d first seen him without his shirt.
“Do I know any of them?”
“Who?”
“Those women you made love with years ago.”
“It wasn’t love and Lord, no!”
“Well, I wanted to be sure, just in case I was sitting beside someone in church or shopping at the mercantile or perhaps borrowing a book from the library, that I didn’t have to wonder if this woman or that woman had seen your chest—and all the other parts of you.”
He was silent a long moment.
“Like that woman who works at the café or one of the girls who takes in laundry. Perhaps Mrs. Krenshaw.”
He pulled her head away from his chest and looked her in the eyes, his raised eyebrows creasing his forehead. “You’re teasing me!”
She chuckled at his astonishment and loved that she could make him laugh…and groan…and lose control. Her insides turned to liquid again.
He rolled her to her back and leaned over her to kiss her soundly. “If you have any more questions, ask them now, ’cause I don’t intend for this to be a nightly subject. I barely remember anyway.”
“I think I know enough,” she said, brushing her finger across his lip.
He loved her with his eyes, surveyed her face, her hair, then reached to pull a pin from the tangled mass.
“I must look a fright.” Suddenly self-conscious, she reached up to her mangled coiffure and removed the remaining hairpins.
“Oh, yes, a fright. I don’t know how I’ll stand lookin’ at you every morning for the rest of my life.”
She placed her hands on his forearm, found the soft hairs there and rubbed. She’d always admired his face, but he was equally incredible all over. So different from her. And so perfect. “Looking at you is such a joy. Can you possibly feel that way about me?”
“Looking at you is like feeling the sun on your face on a mild afternoon. It’s like sittin’ by a fire and enjoying the heat until your skin feels tight, but you don’t want to move away because it feels so good.”
She contemplated him in amazement. “Me? Really, you think those things about me? You speak like a poet, do you know that? If you had never touched me, I would have been seduced by your pretty words.”
“Someday I’ll put that to the test.” He ran a finger down her shoulder to the edge of the sheet that covered her breasts and lazily skimmed it back and forth. “Right now touching you is much more fun than talkin’.”
“What about the food?”
“Man cannot live by ham and bread alone.”
His words were teasing, but the passion in his eyes was real. Annie brushed her fingers along his smoothly shaven jaw, understanding that he’d shaved for her—for this. She caressed his silky thick hair and drew her finger across his brow, down his nose, across his lower lip. “Loving you this much almost hurts,” she told him, serious now. “Loving you is fierce and greedy and—and confusing. Sometimes tender, sometimes so desperate I ache inside. I hoped this ache would go away after we were married, but I feel it still.”
Luke kissed her tenderly. “Just so you feel me lovin’ you back. Feel it?”
She closed her eyes, concentrated on her senses and heard his breath, felt the thud of his heart beneath her palm, smelled his salty skin and the musk of their lovemaking. “I feel it,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
They awoke early Sunday morning, and Luke boiled coffee. “I forgot about a teapot and tea,” he apologized.
They sat at the table with the sun streaming through the new panes of window glass. The smell of the biscuits he’d showed her how to make lingered in the air. Annie wore her wrapper and a pair of Luke’s wool socks. “That’s okay,” she assured him. “I’ll try a cup of your coffee.”
He leaned across the table to set down a cup and fill it, and she admired the hair and muscle visible in the open V of his shirt. Her belly quivered at the memories of their afternoon and night together. Embarrassed, she changed the direction of her thoughts. “Are we going to church?”
“Do you want to?” He sat across from her. “Burt is handling the livery today, so I can do anything you’d like.” He sipped his coffee.
Anything she’d like was quite
tempting. She smiled to herself. Annie couldn’t help imagining facing her parents, friends and townspeople, and having them thinking about Luke and Annie’s private moments on their wedding night. “Let’s not go.”
“All right. Guy and Lizzy are bringing our gifts this afternoon. You’ll have a lot to do once those things get here. Until then we could make plans. Go over the things we’re going to need to make this place a home.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the bare window. “Fabric for curtains should be on the list.”
Luke got up and found a wrinkled piece of brown paper and a pencil. “Right. A list.” He touched the tip of the pencil to his tongue and scratched out a word.
Annie thought of the notes he’d sent her and tenderness washed over her. Astonished that he was truly her husband now, she swallowed welling tears. His strength and agility were tempered by tenderness and compassion. She remembered him walloping Burdy after being provoked, thought of the tasks he performed every day which required power and muscle, and compared that to the poetic words he spoke and the gentle way he touched her.
How had she ever deserved him? What divine quirk of fate had brought this man into her life at an early age and made him fall in love with her?
“Tea. And a kettle,” he added, still absorbed in his list. “Sorry about the bucket, you’ll need a pitcher and bowl for washing.”
“The bucket gets the job done. Can we afford to pay for these things?”
“We have a bank note for the house, but we’re not destitute,” he assured her. “It’ll be tight for a while.”
“Maybe I can contribute?” she suggested timidly, accustomed to any mention of performing tasks being sternly ruled out by her mother.
“How?” he asked without hesitation.
His interest startled her. Now she had to think the idea over. The freedom to actually think about it without fear of censure was exhilarating. Annie straightened in her chair. “The girls and their mothers were largely impressed by my sewing skills. Lizzy’s mother said I have a real sense for style and fabrics. I promised to make Charmaine’s wedding dress…perhaps I could find ladies to sew for.”