Time froze as he prayed she wouldn't stop. Then—merciful heaven—her lips slipped over the head of his cock.
“Ahh, yes! That's it, sweet Bella. Take me deep.”
Taking his words seriously, she swallowed half of his thick shaft before sliding back to the crown. Then she delighted him by swirling her tongue around the head.
“Oh, so good.”
Clenching his ass muscles he tried to thrust farther into her luscious, warm, wet mouth. She took the hint and reversed course, working him deeper with each bob of her head. His world centered around the searing pleasure of Bella's mouth and throat sucking on his cock. Another pull on his shaft and he'd be pouring his seed into her throat.
As if she read his mind, Bella slipped her mouth off him.
“No, please.” Damn. He didn’t want to beg, but he wanted—no, needed—her mouth back on him.
“Easy, Michael,” she murmured and slid her body up his, careful to climb over his erection until her knees straddled his body.
Like a sensual nymph he’d seen in a painting in Boston once, she pressed her breasts over his stomach and chest. The silky feel of her skin, the tight nubs of her nipples and the lush curves of her body glided over him until the folds of her hot sex lay just at the tip of his cock. Impossibly, the feel of her poised to take him sent more blood to his cock, making it bob and a small dollop of his seed leak out the top.
Just as he wanted to beg her again, she laid both hands on his chest and pushed up, forcing her nether lips to slide over his aching shaft then down, until she sat, completely sheathed around him.
Desperate to thrust inside her he tried again to clench his muscles and move his hips, but his bindings hampered the effort. To help prevent him from moving, she clamped her thighs against his hips.
“No, Michael. I’ll take care of us both. I want you to relax and concentrate on using your artist’s soul to picture us joined like this. Before the war you would’ve simply painted us.”
“Yes, in the glorious reds and golds of our passion and all the creamy silk of your flesh.”
As he described it, Bella rocked forward so his cock slipped out of her just to the head. Then she moved back to take him in deep.
“But our love is so much more than a painting can give.” She rode him more. “So much more than a flat, two-dimensional canvas can convey. Use all your senses to see us in a three-dimensional medium, like a sculpture.”
“Oh, God, yes, Bella. Ride me,” he begged.
With a few more rocking movements he felt her clench him tight and spasms of her pleasure rippled through her body, around his shaft, pulling him deeper and tighter.
“Michael!” she cried at the same time he spilled his seed into her womb.
As he crested the pinnacle of his climax a vision popped into his mind. A long slab of stone he’d seen all his life in the riverbed not too far from the cabin. It would be the perfect piece to carve Bella as she’d just been riding him in all her glory.
*****
“Can I help you fellas?” Bert Higgins asked the two burly strangers who stomped the snow off their boots inside his store the morning after the blizzard rolled through town.
“We’re looking for some information about a former comrade in the war,” said the older and larger of the pair, spitting tobacco juice on the floor.
Dammit. He’d have to get that up before his wife saw it. Thank goodness she’d stayed home with the children this morning because of the cold. Clara didn’t take kindly to bad weather or spittle on her polished floors.
“There’s a lot of ex-soldiers in these parts. Anyone in particular?”
“Goes by the name of Barclay,” the other man said, scratching his beard. “Heard tell his place ain’t too far from here.”
Something in the way they asked for Michael by his last name only set Bert’s nerves on edge. Same feeling saved his hide more than once while in the Union Army.
“Some Barclays lived about five or six miles west of here, over the Raccoon Creek. Seems to me only the son lives there now.” He started gathering wood to add to the fire in the store’s potbelly stove. “But the road out that way is probably impassible, especially the bridge over the river, after last night’s storm.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to make it passable?” the first man asked.
“Few days at least. Depends on if we get a warm spell or not.”
The two men looked at each other as if they were reading each other’s minds. After a moment they nodded, as if their decision was made. “We’ll be back for some supplies when it does,” the second one said, and the pair left the store.
Bert exhaled and went to the big glass window overlooking Main Street. The pair stomped their way through the snow toward the saloon. Without a doubt those two were up to no good. He’d watch for a break in the weather and hightail it out to Michael’s as soon as it warmed up some.
A friend didn’t let danger come calling without a warning.
Chapter Six
Metal clanged against metal.
“Dang it,” Arrabella muttered as she set the empty pail by the tin hip tub she’d dragged out of the pantry and in front of the fireplace.
A glance at the closed bedroom door told her the noise hadn't woken Michael.
Good. After all he’d been through last night and up early to care for the animals, he’d come back to bed to sleep longer.
Using a dishtowel to grip the handle of the second bucket, she lifted it and poured more steaming hot water into the tub. By the time she collected and heated two more pails of snow, once this melted she’d be able to have a nice warm bath to take the chill off the cold, winter morning.
Once again she bundled up in her heavy coat and carried the buckets out onto the porch. Her feet sank knee-deep in the snowdrift that covered the porch as she scooped more snow into the buckets. Setting the pails by the door for a moment, she stared out at the white-and-black landscape.
How had Michael managed to get from the porch to the barn through all this ice and snow?
A rope stretching from the porch rail to the barn door. Ingenious. Michael might be wallowing in self-pity, but he’d planned ahead to care for his animals and not get caught out in the blizzard.
The freezing temperature quickly seeped through her clothing, so she hefted the buckets and dragged them into the house. The heat from the fireplace hit her as soon as she entered the cabin.
Pulling out the hooks, she hung both pails over the fire once more, then unbundled, staring out the kitchen window at the frozen land. Sleet had pelted the house most of the day and evening yesterday, turning to light snow before dark. When had the heavens dumped this much snow on them? Why hadn’t she noticed?
A different kind of heat warmed her as she remembered how she'd passed the time.
Had she really bound Michael to the bed like some male concubine for her to use to slake her own lust?
Oh, she’d had good intentions. She’d been angry that he intended to ship her back east like unwanted baggage. What angered her even more was his belief that he was no longer an artist. She’d always loved, and if she were honest with herself, envied his talent.
The image of him spread-eagled, naked and tied helplessly to the bed, sent more heat to the juncture of her thighs. If she were being totally honest, she had to admit that it felt delightfully sinful to have him at her mercy while she taught him a lesson about his talents.
“What are you doing, Bella?” Michael’s deep voice sounded behind her.
Startled, she turned to find him leaning against the bedroom doorway—gloriously naked.
The breath caught in her throat as she studied him. His shaggy hair and beard made him look dangerous. Arms folded over his chest, exposing the long ragged scar circling his ribs on his right side. The firm muscles of his abdomen making her want to run her fingers across them again. His narrow hips and the thick, lean muscles of his legs where he had one crossed in front of the other. His long naked feet.
Even in the cold of the day, he warmed her body with a rush of need and longing so strong she actually drooled.
Then her gaze focused on his manhood. Which grew and thickened.
Her gaze snapped to his face. Surely he couldn’t… No, he still had that unfocused look to his eyes, even though he faced her straight on.
“I can feel your eyes on me, Bella.” He uncrossed his arms and legs, striding in her direction and somehow avoiding the corner of the table. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to learn last night? That I’m more than just my eyesight?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed the lump that had formed there. “I wanted you to realize you are an artist in every one of your senses, not just your eyesight.”
The corner of his mouth turning up in a mischievous smirk, he reached up to cup her face. “Believe me, I understood exactly what you were trying to teach me last night. The lesson made its point. Now, what I want to know is what you’re doing and what you have planned next.”
“A bath,” she managed to get past the lump in her throat his nearness had caused.
“Now that’s something I wish I could see.” His smile deepened.
Seeing the more relaxed Michael she knew before the war, Bella smiled, too. “I thought you might like one.”
“You going to join me?”
“I doubt there will be room. Besides, I’d like to shave some of this off,” she said, tugging gently on his long beard.
He leaned in to nuzzle her neck, tickling her with his beard. “Hm, a beautiful woman to give me a shave? I think I could suffer a bath just for that.”
“Good. I have warm water in the tub already and more heating on the fire. Get in and I’ll heat it up when it cools.” With a gentle push on his chest, she got him to loosen his hold then slipped her arm inside his and led him over to the tub. “Can I trim your hair, too?”
Holding on to her with one hand, he climbed into the tub. “Ahh,” he said in almost a moan as he slid into the water.
“Like that, do you?” She couldn't help chuckling at the look of pure pleasure on his face.
“Been a long time.” He leaned his head back against the rim and closed his eyes.
“Hair first?” she asked.
In answer, he slid down, submerging his head completely under the water then back out. Bella lathered soap in his thick dark hair, working her fingers through it down to his scalp.
“God, that feels heavenly.”
“You can rinse now.”
She laughed as he sank back under the water. This was more like the carefree artist she’d fallen in love with.
When he surfaced, he shook his wild mane like a shaggy dog, soaking everything around him, including her.
“Ahh!” she yelped, jumping back, but the damage was done. “Great, now look what you've done.”
The devilish smile he gave her took any starch out of her anger. “Wish I could. Maybe you should come closer and let me have a feel?”
“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of a haircut that easily.” But she couldn’t stand around in a soaked gown, either. Smiling, she unbuttoned her bodice. Wiggling out of her gown, she laid it on a chair near the fire to dry. Since the bath water hadn’t soaked through to her chemise and the room was toasty warm, she decided not to get her robe.
Reaching onto the table, she picked up her scissors and comb. “Lean your head back so I can trim it up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a deep chuckle he complied, letting his head rest on the rim of the tub and exposing the long column of his neck. It took all of Arrabella’s willpower not to lean in and suckle along the length of it—to savor the salty taste of his skin. Shaking off the sensual need, she began combing his thick mane of dark, wavy hair.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” Michael said, his voice husky as she combed and trimmed his hair.
Heat filled her face as she remembered her wanton behavior in taking advantage of him. She swallowed before answering. “You have?”
“I realize you wanted me to open my other senses in a way to tap into my talent.” He paused and she had a feeling there was something more he wanted to say. Patiently, she finished cutting his hair, allowing him to gather his thoughts.
“And?” she prompted when his silence grew uncomfortable.
“Something happened.”
Curious now, she laid the scissors aside and leaned forward, cradling his head between her breasts. Slowly, she slid her hands over the slick, wet skin of his shoulders then down over the hairs lightly covering his chest. “Something good or bad?”
“Something odd.” Grasping her hands, he stilled them on his chest. “When you were riding me hard and deep I had a vision.”
“You saw something?” Her breath caught slightly, hope edging her words.
“No, love. My sight will never return. The doctors assured me of that.” He gently stroked a thumb over her left hand as if to comfort her. “What I had was the vision of you carved in stone in just that position—riding my cock.”
“Oh, my.” If possible, more heat surged through her.
A deep chuckle rumbled through him. “I had the same reaction, but close on its heels another image flashed in my brain.”
“Of what?”
“A huge river stone not too far from here. I used to climb all over it as a kid. It would be perfect for carving. And, this may sound strange to you, but I believe I’m meant to carve that image of you from that particular stone.”
Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It doesn’t sound odd at all to me.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. It’s said that when someone asked Michelangelo about how he could carve such a beautiful image, he replied, ‘I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free’. Perhaps it is the same for you.”
His lips turned up in that mischievous grin that first won her heart. “I can definitely see you in that stone.”
“I’m serious.” She gave his chest a playful slap.
“Oh, so am I, my Bella. Once this snow thaws, I think we should venture down to the river and see if we can locate the rock and haul it back here.”
“You’ll do it? You’ll turn your talent to carving?” She couldn’t keep the excitement and hope from her voice.
Grasping her hand, he lifted it to his face to place a soft kiss in her palm. “I had no intention of ever trying to make art again, but last night, when the vision of you carved in stone was followed so quickly by the vision of the stone itself, I felt the calling.”
“The calling?”
“When I was young and just starting to realize I had a talent for drawing and painting, I’d get these sudden flashes of images I wanted to capture. My mind wouldn’t let it go. It became a craving, a need to get the picture out of my head onto paper.” Holding her hand, he continued stroke his thumb over her knuckles, his voice trailing off as if he were remembering those days. “My father, the bastard, believed I was possessed, especially when he’d been drinking too much. Maybe he was right, as I couldn’t rest or do anything else until the image had been purged from my mind, not even with his fists pounding away on me.”
“Dear God.” She pressed another kiss to his temple. “I never realized—”
“Shh, love. There was no way you could know. Besides, those beatings drove me out of this house to Boston to study art. That’s where I knew the craving was more of a calling. The moment I met you, I knew I’d been meant to paint you. Now I’m meant to carve you from stone.” He released her hand. “Now, do you think you could warm up this water a little?”
“Why, yes sir, I believe I could.” Laughing, she grabbed a towel and went to the fireplace. She lifted one pail and slowly poured the water in near his feet.
“Careful, love. Let’s not burn anything we might want to use later,” he said, scooting up in the tub to give her room to pour more.
“What? Are you afraid I might revert back to torturing you like I did last
night?” she teased. Finished pouring in the first pail of water, she did the same with the second.
“Mmm, that does feel nice.” He sank back into the water, but snagged her hand just as she passed by the side of the tub. “I was thinking you might want to help me wash?”
The huskiness in his voice and the rising of his cock told her he had more than bathing on his mind. Washing him, running her soapy hands all over him, suddenly sounded like a perfect idea to her, too.
Using the soap and washcloth, she started with his hands and arms, firmly working the long muscles from his fingertips to his shoulders. Then she moved closer to work her hands over the expanse of his chiseled chest and abdomen. He moaned deeply as she worked. After rinsing off the sandalwood-scented soap she’d found among his things, she shifted and started on his feet.
“Oh, yes, that feels like heaven,” he said, followed by another moan as she worked her hands over his feet for several minutes.
Watching the pleasure on his face and his body relaxing as she moved up his firm legs, she took her own pleasure in the feel of each defined muscle. Heat filled her face once more as she realized her gaze had focused on the straining pole of his manhood.
“That’s it, love,” he murmured as she worked closer to his groin, arching his body up to meet her hands as if begging her to continue.
She stopped a moment, dropping the cloth and lathering soap on her hands. Gently, she ran them down his shaft. “Is this what you want? To feel my hands here?”
“God, yes.” He clenched his ass cheeks and thrust up to meet her cupped hands as she stroked him from base to tip.
Dampness swelled at the juncture of her thighs as she pumped her hands up and down his thick cock. The desire to let her mouth follow suit had her rocking on her knees as if she were already riding him.
Keeping one hand stroking him, she slipped the other down to cup his balls, working them round and round. A drop of clear liquid escaped the tip of his cock as she continued to slide her hand over the shaft. She was rewarded with another deep moan from Michael. Then he slid his hand up her arm to still the hand on his cock.
Bella's Touch Page 6