Courting Miss Hattie (38 page)

"Really? I guess I could describe my feeling as kind of like the Yule log," he said, and held her tightly in place, one hand still on her inner thigh as he pressed his taut erection against her backside.

She let out a little gasp of surprise. "Is that
…
I
mean, do you
…
?"
She ran her hand gently across his face, then threaded her fingers in his thick black hair. "Do you want to do
that
with me?" she asked quietly.

His hand traversed the last forbidden inches across her cotton drawers to cup her gently. "Oh yes, Hattie—I want to do
that
with you."

She hardly heard the words because of his touch. Throwing her head back, she softly called his name. Reed looked at her, his vision clouded by the desire that assailed him. "Don't worry, Hattie," he choked out, trying not to look at her eagerly parted lips and the beautiful breasts she held before him like an offering. "Nothing will happen. I swear nothing will happen." His breathing was labored as she squirmed on his lap, attempting to settle his hand more firmly against her. "Nothing will happen, Hattie. Nothing, I promise."

"Are you sure?" she asked him as she lowered her head, her lips hovering above his, her fingers desperately seeking the opening on his shirt.

Reed was nearly strangling with his desire. "As long as we stay on this swing, Hattie, I promise you nothing will happen."

"Then let's get off the swing!" she cried as she finally ripped off the last buttons on his shirt to find his naked chest.

Reed gaped at her, but she didn't have to ask twice. Removing his hand from the warm haven of her femininity, he caught her up and rose to his feet, intending to carry her into the house to a nice soft bed. When she ran her tongue across the hardened nub of his nipple, he promptly forgot his plan and dropped to his knees, gently laying her on the hardwood porch. If he was surprised that the flowers he'd brought for her table lay around her in sweet splendor, he said nothing. It seemed only right.

He leaned over her, planting tiny pecks on her face, her shoulders, her breasts. She pulled his suspenders out of her way, tried to relieve him of his shirt, and finally succeeded as he continued his foray across her body. Pulling him against her, she reveled in the contrast of the dark coarse hair of his chest against the softness of her bosom.

"Peaches, peaches," she whispered to him, and he complied. Then he thrust his tongue into her mouth, startling her. But as they began the strange duel of tongues, she found she liked it. It affected her potently, and instinctively she raised her pelvis, trying to press against his thigh.

"Easy, Hattie," he whispered, bridling her with peaches and pecks.
"I
know you feel it there, but we're going
slow
tonight."

He slid a hand down to clutch her aching mound, and she ground against it eagerly, a plea of desire falling from her lips. She was hot and wet and throbbing against his hand. He wanted to rip down her drawers and plunge himself inside her
…
deep inside her. He threw his head back and sought cool air. She was fresh, a virgin. He couldn't go tearing in with the wild recklessness of a Hampshire boar. With determined gentleness, he undid the ribbons on her drawers and mentally began reciting the multiplication table.

He lowered the cotton drawers from her hips, her ankles, and laid them aside. When his hand returned to the mat of light brown curls, she arched against him once more.

"Nine times eight is seventy-two," he murmured against her breast as he again worshiped the
pouty
nipples. Working his way to her lips with a sweet trail of hot kisses, he allowed his hand to explore the hidden secrets of her depths. When he placed his mouth over hers, she thrust her tongue eagerly inside him, and he answered her silent request gratefully.

Capturing a knee with each arm, he bent them back, holding her legs high and wide, and positioned himself between them. "Twelve times seven is eighty-four," he said hoarsely as he eased himself slightly into her. She was so hot, so tight. He gritted his teeth to hold himself back.

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly as he found the guardian of her innocence.

In truth, he had little experience with virgins. Bessie Jane had felt nothing like this. He tried to move forward slowly, gently. The shield didn't budge. The barrier was an annoyance. He became more forceful and heard her catch her breath. "
Shhh
…"
he
cooed to her
. "
It's just because you're innocent."

"I'm not innocent anymore," she whispered.

The blood was roaring in his ears, and he wasn't sure of her meaning. Her words were so final and so sure, though, he feared there was regret in them. "You're still innocent," he said against her lips. "I haven't breached you yet—that's why it still hurts. Do you want to move back to the swing?"

"Move back?" Her breathless whisper was incredulous. "No, never, never. Please move forward, Reed," she pleaded, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Move forward now!"

And he did.

Hattie's cry of pain rang loud in his ears, and he braced himself on his arms to hold back, plying her lips with peaches until he felt the tension ease from her thighs. He was throbbing with the need to have her quickly, and the tight warmth that surrounded him had caused him to lose his place in the multiplication table. Gritting his teeth and resuming his silent recitation, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Is that it?" she asked, her tone rife with disappointment.

His grim expression dissolved into a smile, followed by a light laugh that helped him gain control. "Oh, there's more," he promised. "But the part that hurts is all over."

He kissed and caressed her, holding back as she grew accustomed to him. Slowly, so achingly slowly, he began to move inside her. She pressed up against him timidly. But timidity was not what he desired. "Are you afraid, Hattie?" he asked quietly.

"Only of not pleasing you."

He raised his head to look
at
her. "You do please me, very much, my Hattie," he said. "I think we should work on pleasing you."

To her complete astonishment, he rolled over on his back, pulling her on top of him. She gave a startled cry of exclamation when the new position lodged him more deeply within her. "You can do this with the woman on top?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Rolling his hips provocatively and smiling with devilment, he replied, "At least we can try."

Little by little, Hattie began her own motion, fascinated by the pleasure and the power.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

She nodded as a sweet sigh of delight escaped her lips.

"I like it too," he said, loving the look of her swaying body in the moonlight. "I like
to
watch you."

"Watch me what?" she asked, her eyes half closed with passion.

Her faded calico dress rode high on her
thighs,
and the bare flesh between it and her dark cotton stockings glowed in the silvery light. The bodice was bunched around her surprisingly small waist, and the chemise, its ribbons all undone, lay wide open,
caught
only by her elbows. The breasts that he'd so admired were full with the eagerness of desire, the nipples luscious and erect.

"I only wish you could see yourself as I see you now, Hattie," he whispered. He watched her eyes darken in distrust. She would never be able
to
see her own beauty, he realized. He would have to make her feel it.

His hand disturbed one of the dahlias as he lifted it
to
touch her, and he grasped the flower. With a quick assessing glance he brought it to his lips. "I'm sending you a kiss, Hattie." He extended the flower until it brushed her mouth.

She smiled against it. "Are you so far away, you can't bring them yourself?" she asked.

"Sometimes it's best
to
send an emissary." As he spoke, he slid the blossom slowly across her cheek, following the path of her smile and traveling farther to her sensitive ear.

Hattie's smile faded, her lips parting in anticipation as she realized his intent. She wriggled enticingly upon him as he eased the gentle petals down the warm flesh of her throat. Ever so slowly, he trailed the flower
to
her breasts, teasing them. He
flicked her distended nipples with the silky red petals until desire shuddered through her and she arched her back, eagerly offering her bosom to more caresses.

He continued to toy with her as she writhed with building arousal, seating him more strongly inside her.

Perspiration beaded on Reed's
upper lip as he watched her.
He was hot and throbbing inside her now. The teasing dalliance
with the flower had spawned a wild lust, but he would not permit
himself the indulgence of giving in to it alone. Allowing the dahlia to drift from her alluring breasts, now tender and aching with want, he watched as Hattie's hands replaced the flower, clutching and caressing herself wantonly.

Resuming his determined recitation of the multiplication table, he dusted her belly with the fiery magic that fell from the soft red flower. When the bunched yards of calico got in his way, he moved to remedy the situation. Jerking up the offending skirt, he caught his breath at the sight of himself buried inside her. His hand trembled as he lowered the flower to its final destination, an aching, eager nub, nearly hidden in the small triangle of brown curls.

Her cry as he caressed her there sent fire coursing through his veins. Clenching his jaw, he increased the friction against her flesh. He would have her with him, he vowed.

Slowly, slowly, the pretty dahlia cajoled her cooperation. Her head thrown back and gasping for
breath
, she moved vigorously upon him, and he met each rhythmic thrust with one of his own. Passion glazed his eyes as he watched the rapid bouncing of her breasts and listened to her deep-throated moans of desire.

"Reed! More! Yes, Reed! I want more!" she pleaded in a litany that her lover could no longer ignore.

Pulling her into his arms, Reed rolled her onto her back and thrust into her wildly, his powerful movements scooting them across the floor.

Hattie's fingernails dug deep into the flesh of his buttocks as she screamed her fulfillment and Reed cried out her name as the hot thick power of his passion flowed into her.

When he could breathe again, he raised himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her and kissed the end of her nose. Her eyes opened, and a smile of satisfaction spread across her face. They lay entwined for several minutes, not talking but occasionally touching, kissing, still connected in the ancient fusion of male and female.

Finally Reed rolled over to lie beside her, holding her close, not yet willing to release her completely. Contented, she sighed and kissed the fingers that reached over to wipe the hair from her face. With a possessive sense of pride, Reed lovingly ran his hands along her body, leisurely reminding them both of the secret geography they had learned.

When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he picked up a flower that lay there. The red dahlia had been crushed and flattened between them. He brought it to his lips for a tender kiss.

"Will you marry me, Hattie?" he asked, offering the much-abused blossom.

She took it.

 
CHAPTER
 
20