Beguiled

by Paisley Smith

  Cinnamon pushed through the others to take her place as leader. I secured her head in the stall and then arranged my skirts as I sank onto the stool. Alice leaned on the wall behind me and watched intently as I reached underneath the goat and grasped her two udders in my fingers. I squeezed thumb to pinkie, thumb to pinkie, and the milk hissed into the empty pail.

  “Why goats?” Alice asked. “Why not cows?”

  “We had cows,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Until the soldiers took them.”

  Her mouth formed an O, and she averted her gaze back to where I milked Cinnamon’s teats.

  “But we’ve always kept goats,” I said, concentrating on the milking. “When my pa was a baby, cow’s milk made him sick, and Granny’s ma—she was the local wise woman back then—gave him goat’s milk to drink. We’ve had goats at Rattle and Snap since.”

  “Do you ever eat them?”

  “Oh no!” I said and stopped milking to glance at the kid pen where one of my beloved babies was missing. “These are dairy goats. I couldn’t bear to part with any of them…unless a human’s life was in danger.”

  Afraid I would start crying, I turned back to Cinnamon and commenced milking her.

  “What does the milk taste like?” Alice asked.

  “This milk tastes like summer. Like honeysuckles and blackberries and ripe persimmons, like the fresh, tart scent of leaves and grass,” I mused and then smiled. “In other words, goat’s milk tastes like what goats eat.” Since I’d milked Cinnamon out, I withdrew the bucket from between her legs and dipped my finger into the milk. Alice leaned in and sucked the digit between her lips.

  I gasped. My whole body reacted as her eyes locked with mine and her tongue teased the underside of my finger. The wet heat of her mouth reminded me of the tight warmth of her channel. My own insides clenched in response.

  Perspiration beaded at my hairline. My reaction shocked me. Cream gathered in my own sheath as a deluge of images assailed me. Alice spreading for my touch. Flicking my tongue over her hard nipples. I wanted to do all those things. With her. With a woman.

  My heart pounded.

  Breaking the spell, she slowly released my finger, pressing a flirtatious little kiss to it before she stood once again. “Delicious,” she said.

  Up until now, I’d reserved such actions for the bedroom. Never, not once, had I engaged in anything sexual outside my room or, up until last night, outside my bed. Right now, however, all I wanted to do was pull up my skirts and let her pleasure me. I dragged in a breath. What the hell?

  I stood, drawing up the front of my skirts at the same time.

  Alice stared. “Belle…”

  My resolved wavered. “Don’t you want to?”

  “More than anything,” she whispered.

  “Touch me, and let me touch you. I want to. Please don’t deny me.” I couldn’t believe the words that sprang from my lips.

  Alice came toward me, not stopping until my spine found the stall wall. Her gaze held mine as her fingers wriggled their way through the slit in my drawers.

  “Mmm.” She voiced her approval when she found me wet and ready.

  My eyes closed. I spread my feet farther apart. My body reacted as if it had a will of its own. I rocked against her hand. I wiggled on her fingers, desperately wanting her to appease my desire. Whimpering, I covered her hand and pushed it higher. “I need…” I couldn’t finish my request.

  “What do you need, Belle?” Her voice was like the rough nap of velvet brushed backward.

  “Please—”

  “Tell me.”

  “Your fingers.” I gasped.

  “Where?” She slid through my folds. “Tell me, baby doll, and don’t sugarcoat it. I want to know precisely where you want my finger.”

  I tried to swallow but couldn’t.

  She straddled my thigh and slowly rode it. “Where?”

  “My…my cunny. Inside my cunny,” I told her.

  At once, her finger glided upward. Her mouth found my neck, and she nibbled and sucked, and all the while she fucked me with her finger. I clung to her, tilting my head to the side to present more of my sensitive neck to her inquisitive lips.

  The sudden urge to touch her at the same time consumed me. I worked my hand under the loosely belted waistband of her breeches and underneath the hem of her shirt. She moaned and shifted to allow me admittance. Her finger slowed inside me, and she withdrew only to begin a circular assault on my clitoris while I delved into her damp sheath.

  Hot. Wet. The only sounds that met my ears were the chomping of the goats and our heavy breathing. Alice smelled like my clean linen, and I breathed in the fragrant scent of her as I explored her dewy cunny. I ached to kiss her, but somehow, that would be crossing an undefined line. I ached to do more: to kiss her between the legs the way Dalton had done for me.

  But that—with another woman—seemed taboo. Forbidden.

  My mind swam with images of burying my face in her cunny, of lapping up her cream and suckling her nether lips and her pearl.

  She half-squatted over my thigh and rode my hand. I wondered how it would feel to have her riding my face like that. To have her pushing down on my mouth, smothering me while I thrust my tongue up inside her hole. I wanted to die like that, consumed by her essence, with her cries of pleasure being the last thing I heard on this earth.

  My mind replete with visions, I found release first. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I writhed against her hand, letting this wicked heaven wind through my body and then crash. When the last trace of pleasure subsided, it was Alice’s turn to cling to me while I brought her to orgasm.

  Her mouth whispered hot words of encouragement as I alternately fingered her and then massaged her swollen pearl. Emboldened by her response, I pushed two fingers up tight into her cunny. I caught the short hair at the back of her head in my hand and tugged. Hard.

  “Pull it,” she ground out.

  A shiver tore through her, and she sank her teeth into my shoulder as she bit back a cry of pleasure. Her channel convulsed, squeezing my fingers in furious succession.

  Afterward, neither of us moved. I wanted to remain here forever, slowly caressing her, sliding my fingers through her juicy folds. At the same time, my mind struggled to grasp this thing between us. A woman. Another woman. Panic surged, and I tamped it back down.

  I couldn’t think about it. I refused to think about it. Doing more with her was merely a fantasy to enhance my pleasure. Besides, the goats wouldn’t allow me to interrupt their routine for any longer—not with their udders full.

  Trembling, I released Alice.

  We gaped at each other, and I resisted the urge to hold her, to kiss her. Somehow, I knew she wanted that same sort of connection with me too. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  Breaking the spell, she stepped away and shoved the tail of her shirt back into place.

  Osiris nudged her head into the stall and began chomping oats. “Would you like to try?” I asked Alice, my voice tremulous. After all, she’d told me she wanted to help. Besides, I had to do something—say something—to break this awkward tension between us.

  Eyeing Osiris dubiously, Alice sat on the stool.

  “This is Osiris.” I introduced milker to milkee.

  “Osiris? Isn’t that a male’s name?”

  “The finicky one is Isis, her twin sister. Isis and Osiris. I don’t think it much mattered to her that we gave her a god’s name instead of a goddess’s.” I placed the pail under the doe’s udders and showed Alice the technique again. She rubbed her hands together and grabbed hold of the udders. As if the doe knew a stranger had her teats in hand, she bleated and danced.

  “It’s all right,” I whispered to Alice. “Squeeze like I showed you before.”

  Her first attempts yielded no results. Osiris complained and stamped her hind hooves.

  “You’re cutting off the flow with your pinkie. See? You’re holding her teat too tightly,” I said, brushing my finger over A
lice’s little finger. “Gently. As if you’re playing a piano pianissimo.”

  “I’ve never done that either,” she quipped.

  I chuckled. “Imagine playing the keys starting with your thumb. 1-2-3-4-5,” I said demonstrating.

  Alice tried again, and milk shot into the pail. Her face brightened; her eyes flashed with triumph. “I did it!”

  “Go ahead and milk her out,” I said, folding my arms over my chest so I could watch.

  Suddenly, everything was as normal as if magic had not just happened between us, as if it had all been nothing more than a forbidden fantasy. I chewed my bottom lip, desperately wanting to dispel the cobwebs of confusion in my head.

  Instead, I contemplated the funny way Alice had of sticking just the very tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she concentrated. I found the habit strangely endearing.

  It took her twice as long as it took me, but when she’d milked Osiris dry, she turned and grinned, displaying her half-full pail of milk.

  I made sure the oat bucket was full. Isis was next in line. “I’ll milk this one,” I told Alice. “Isis is the kicker.”

  * * *

  By the end of the day, we’d stored the milk, raked and mucked the barn, trimmed the goats’ hooves, and traded milk to the neighbors for late summer vegetables. While Alice and I took care of the outdoor work, Uncle Hewlett cooked, cleaned, and kept an eye on Ma.

  Showing Alice how to do everything slowed me down considerably, but I knew my patience would bless me in the future. With a strength that matched, if not exceeded, my brother’s, Alice worked hard. Even when we choked on the fumes from the fetid hay as we raked it out of the barn, she hadn’t complained.

  Our conversations flowed seamlessly, and even when we weren’t talking, I found her company soothing. Easy. I could simply be with her.

  But I couldn’t figure out what she meant to me. Were we friends? We’d hardly known each other long enough for that. What was the meaning of the intimate moments we’d shared? I refused to acknowledge that we might be lovers. We were both women.

  Maybe our connection lay in the fact we’d been thrown together by misfortune and necessity, and we’d simply chosen to make the best of an otherwise difficult situation.

  I enjoyed the help she offered. I needed it—just as much as I needed the comfort she offered me.

  Alice seemed surprised when Uncle Hewlett sat down to the supper table with us.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony here,” I told Alice.

  I fixed Ma a plate, taking care to cut everything into small bites before I placed in front of her.

  Uncle Hewlett set a bowl of the leftover goat stew in front of Alice to go along with the plate of stewed carrots and potatoes he and I would eat. After he said grace, Alice dived hungrily into the stew and had half finished the bowl before she stopped eating. “This stew is delicious. Won’t you be having any?”

  I merely shook my head.

  Uncle Hewlett unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. “The stew is for you, Miss Alice.”

  Her gaze shot from Uncle Hewlett’s to mine and back to her bowl. “Why? Is…is something wrong with it?”

  A lump welled in my throat.

  “The stew was made for you,” Uncle Hewlett told her, “from one of Miss Belle’s kid goats.”

  Alice’s head dropped as doubtless she remembered what I’d told her that morning about the only reason for slaughtering a goat. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, and I thought I heard her mutter a prayer before she finished the stew, eating it this time with far less enthusiasm.

  After supper, we adjourned to the parlor. With just us four, Uncle Hewlett opted to read rather than regale us with a reel. Amazed, Alice gaped as he chose a book of sonnets. He sat and opened the book and began to read.

  “You can read?” Alice blurted, obviously shocked.

  Indignant, he looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “Of course I can read.”

  Alice fidgeted. “I thought it was against the law to teach slaves to read.”

  Uncle Hewlett’s lips stretched into a taut, grim line.

  “Uncle Hewlett isn’t a slave,” I interjected.

  Alice’s lips parted. “Then…why would you stay here?”

  “Because, Miss Alice, this is my family. Rattle and Snap is my home.” With that, he went back to reading in his melodic voice. “‘If amour’s faith, an heart unfeigned, a sweet languor, a great lovely desire…’”

  Throughout the busy day, I hadn’t had time to dwell on the fact that my house was now empty. The relatives were gone. I could return to Grayson’s room, or now that Alice was better, I could ask her to take one of the other beds in the house.

  I stole a glance at her in the mirror that hung over the mantel. She sat, elbow cocked on the armrest, knees apart, feet planted firmly on the floor. The fingers of one hand curled loosely on her thigh. Her posture was slightly slumped. Comfortable.

  In contrast, I sat rigidly straight. My corset prevented any measure of slouching. My corset seemed to be the last vestige of my old life—my world before the war. These past years had changed us all. Before, my complexion shone as white as buttermilk. In spite of my attempts to keep my face shielded from the punishing sun, I was now freckled and sunburned. Everyone had to work long, hard hours outdoors. Frivolities like fair skin and curled hair were a thing of the past.

  I brushed a loose strand of my black hair back into my chignon, and as Uncle Hewlett droned on, my gaze caught Alice’s in the mirror.

  When she did not immediately look away, my breath froze in my lungs. With difficulty, I forced myself to hold her stare. Nerves rattled me, and I rubbed my damp palms on my apron.

  Why did this woman have such an effect on me? My own reaction frightened me. It terrified me that I sat here contemplating going to bed with her. I knew I had no intention of taking any other bed in this house. I would go to bed with Alice. We’d undress, and then…

  I swallowed thickly and blinked slowly. When I opened my eyes once more, Alice gave me the tiniest smile. Instantly, I warmed as desire unfurled and spread through my body like sweet wine.

  I didn’t understand this. Right now, I didn’t want to, because I knew if I gave too much thought to my relationship with Alice, I would have a very unpleasant decision to make.

  * * *

  Silently, Alice and I undressed each other. As soon as the last stitch of my clothes fell to the floor, she took up the washcloth and tenderly bathed every part of my body. First my face, my neck, my arms, my breasts. Lower.

  Relishing the feel of the cool water on my fervid skin, I closed my eyes and allowed her to thoroughly clean me.

  My channel hummed, growing damp in anticipation. I couldn’t wait to feel her fingers exploring me. I ached for the feel of her warm mouth teasing and tasting my nipples.

  “Get on the bed, Belle,” she said.

  Immediately, I obeyed. She took the cloth and hastily washed herself in all the same places she’d washed me. When she finished, she limped toward the bed.

  “How’s your leg?” I began.

  “Shh,” she cooed. Her gaze held mine as she climbed onto the bed. “Lie down and spread your legs.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I lay back on the pillows and parted my thighs. Alice inhaled sharply. “I can’t fight this anymore. I want to taste you, Belle. I want to taste your lovely…” Her voice trailed off as her head descended between my legs.

  I didn’t have time to be shocked. Her mouth latched on. Her tongue wriggled through my folds. And all I could do was burrow my hands in her hair and hold her head there. A violent shudder rippled from my scalp to my toes. Exquisite. I think I said the word aloud, but I couldn’t be certain.

  Exquisite.

  I inhaled and surrendered as she wedged in impossibly closer. She moaned against my flesh, and new sensations rippled through me. Her fingers gripped my thighs so tightly I knew I’d be bruised. I didn’t care. Of course Dalton had done this to m
e, but I’d been so self-conscious I’d never allowed myself to enjoy it. But Alice…

  Alice was the same. She was a woman, and her intimate acceptance of my body—of me—stunned me, released me.

  I lifted my head and watched her. Eyes closed, she snuggled her face into me. Bliss relaxed her angular features. Her mouth moved over me lovingly and hungrily at the same time. Expert lips suckled my clitoris until I thought I’d die from the sheer pleasure. Her tongue tantalized every crevice, every fold, every recess. I had dreamed of this very moment, and now it was happening.

  I brushed my fingers through her short hair, and her lashes lifted.

  Ours eyes connected; every muscle in my body drew taut. Still holding my gaze, she raised her head but only slightly. Her lips and chin glistened with my juices. Her tongue traced her top lip. “When I’m done with you, I want you to taste me,” she whispered, and then, still looking into my eyes, she pressed a kiss to the spot where my thigh met my body.

  I whimpered, desperately wanting more. Her finger found its way inside me, and she pushed home. I sucked in a breath, mesmerized as she trailed the tip of her tongue up and down the engorged little hillock crowning my sex.

  “You taste sweet,” she said and sucked the nub between her lips.

  My back arched off the bed. I never wanted her to stop. But, oh, she did stop. Frustration surged. I couldn’t stand this sweet torture.

  “You taste like honeysuckles.” Her gaze lingered on my open sex, and she watched her slowly thrusting finger work its way in and out. “And you look like a butterfly. So delicate. So beautiful.”

  Her mouth sought my nether lips again, and this time, she didn’t stop. She sucked my clitoris. Her finger prodded and pleased me, and I mewled helplessly as her kisses hurled me into that ethereal paradise where the world stopped and there existed only this.

  This. This understanding, this connection between Alice and me. Between two women.

  Everything inside screamed at me to let go, to surrender, to face my fears and my passion and my deepest, darkest desires—to let Alice into my heart as well as my body.

  Intense and violent, the spasmodic throes continued until I could tolerate them no longer. Gasping, I pushed at her head and cried for her to stop. “Please, Alice. Please. You’re killing me.”