Blood and Iron Ch. 05

"Alice..." His own voice had never seemed so thin, so hollow as it did this moment. Almost pleading. "Little rose..." A conflicted kind of anguish in those strong brown eyes, that at any other time would have made her hesitate herself, would have impelled her just to leave aside her own aching of desire, to nestle only softly there against him, offer as she had before that he did not have to venture any farther than his comfort. Slip into that twilight kind of closeness between the chastity of blood and the deeper wants that burned beneath her belly.

Different, now. Anger there inside her, tempestuous and wild, furious at him for what he'd tried to do, for the almost faithlessness he'd shown and the empty words he offered up in its defense. There was no cause for his unease, nothing that she would accept, nothing she should humor anymore. Her own shirt cast off onto the floor - she could feel the tickle of his gaze as it flickered guilty on her skin, as a touch of nerves stroked slowly at her heart despite the heat of her resolve. Her fingers fumbling for just a moment at the tie of her corset...then a better thought occurred, and she grabbed his hand from where he'd left it loosely grasping on her waist, brought it there instead. Her smaller fingers holding his against the strings as she glared fierce into his eyes. "You got to do it, pa. Take this off me." The demand uncompromising, firm and quiet on her lips.

God, but she was beautiful. He could think of little more than that, hesitating as the warmth and weight and scent of her whirled tempting in his consciousness. So vibrant and alive, thrilling, as enchanting in this fury as she was in her so-often softer sweetness. He could manage just the shadow of resistance, a token tugging of his hand away, unsurprised to feel her fingers briefly tightening around him as this feeble effort was refused. Faced against this little goddess slipped into his lap, fire blazing in the forest of her eyes...

It would be nothing new. His fingers twitched against the strings, grasping for their ends. The thought, the excuse, purring gently in his mind. He'd seen her bare before already; it would surely be no horror just to do so once again. To gaze upon those breasts of which he'd dreamt, which he'd felt against him in the night, halfway fondled as she'd roamed her body with his hand. She was asking for this, demanding it. What man would have the strength to stand against her will, the cruelty to refuse her?

The strings slid easily past each other with the tugging of his fingers, reaching for their freedom as though they, too, were only waiting for this moment, eager to release her body to the air. James breathing only shallow as he worked at her corset, his hesitation stilled enough to bring around his other hand to help, pulling at the slack until the whole affair hung loosely on her chest. An almost feverish excitement aching in his gut to lift the sturdy fabric from her body, to feel her squirm a bit upon his lap, helping it along. The weakness in his arm almost unfelt, attention fixed instead to the advancing inches of her trim and leanly-muscled belly, the subtle shaping of her ribcage, the exquisite moment as her breasts were caught on the edge of the corset. Just their milky, rounded bottoms exposed for him to see, a strange, delicious mirror of décolletage...

Then the cloth was gone, slipped free. Cast aside and instantly forgotten as he gazed again upon her naked bosom. The skin there pure and white, protected from the sun; a little scattering of freckles along its upper curves, running down enchanting from her shoulders. Shining with the faintest sheen of sweat, from exertion and enclosure - he could just barely smell it on the air as he inhaled, a subtle sourness that tickled so delightful in his consciousness, that wet his tongue with urgent, undeniable desire. The supple softness of her breasts, sitting bold and brazen there before his eyes, fleshy teardrops clinging to her chest. The fruit of her young womanhood at their peak of ripeness, succulent and firm. Their shape a thing that spoke so deeply into the minds of men, rousing instincts and desires that cared not a thing for reason, for what was right or wrong, for what could be...how mad, then, that as he glanced up into her eyes he caught a trace of worry there amidst her anger and resolve. As if she were somehow uncertain of how she might compare to the woman who had been there before, to her swollen curves and all-too-practiced wiles. As though there were any question for whom his ardor groaned and struggled, who it was that stirred the beating of his heart into such a fevered pace.

"Touch me, pa." Softer now, a touch of almost plaintive thickness to her voice - but the words still had the flavor of an order, a command. One that he could hardly help but to obey, fingers rising eagerly to grasp again upon her waist. One hand slipping up along her side, tracing out the lines of wiry, practiced muscle, feeling in his grasp the shadow of her bones beneath. Arriving there beside her breast, his thumb stroking up to just before its lower curve. A moment's hesitation, like a man before some holy relic, fearful that just a touch might bring down wrath and vengeance. Then he glanced up again into her features, and the subtle tinge of color that simmered on her cheeks sufficed to spur his lust past all misgiving. His better arm around her back, pulling her closer yet against him as he boldly grabbed her breast, cupped it in his injured hand. Giving it at first just the softest, loving squeeze...oh, and how his fingers tingled as he did, exhilarated triumph erasing all their normal awkward weakness.

How divine, as well, to hear the gasping little inhalation which issued from her throat at this first caress. Preceded by that alluring pop again of moisture as her pink and perfect lips were parted, the tips of pearly teeth peeking out for him to see - if he could tear away his gaze from her exquisite breast beneath his hand. If he could focus his attention on anything beyond the feeling of her luscious flesh, bulging barely outward to the space between his fingers as he kneaded at her bosom, calloused digits scraping roughly on her pure and private skin. Her tiny, pink-brown nipples standing tall like eager soldiers, proud and stiff; delight thrummed warm and wicked in his veins to pinch one firmly between his thumb and finger, to hear the answer of her squeal only just restrained, ringing sweetly in his ears with a shivering of pleasure.

It was not enough. Hunger growling ever stronger in his belly, only sharpened by this taste, by the heady rush of masculinity and power as he grasped and fondled at her naked flesh. As he pulled her lower body closer yet to his, hips squeezed together with his arousal burning there beneath, straining for her despite the damnable cladding of their clothes that blocked the way...so tempting, this girl, this woman. Her other breast ignored for longer now than he could bear; there was no other choice but to dip his head down to her chest, caress his lips on that delicious, silken treasure. To gently bite her nipple, provoking yet another strangled, fervid cry, before he soothed it with his tongue, sucking at her as though she were a nursing mother, as though to draw his sustenance from the heaven of her breast. A different kind of satiation taken there instead, the flavor of her body singing subtle on his tongue, sweat and youth and vigor mingling together into the headiest of brews. Sweetened by the sounds of satisfaction that trickled down like honey from her lips, little sighs and murmurs vibrating from her throat as he attended ardent to the cleaning of her bosom.

"Oh, pa..." It was a whisper, a whimper, a breathy purr that tingled through his nerves. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him against her breast, while her slender hips ground a slow, instinctive rhythm in his lap. And how great a thrill it was to hear her satisfaction, her delight, to feel it in the arching of her back and the sudden clenching of her fingers on his scalp. As though her joy were echoed in his soul, every note of pleasure that he gave her returned to thrill and tremble in his heart. God, this girl. His girl, his rose...

"Tell me you love me." Another whisper, close above his ear. More of imploring now than of command, the words shaking on her tongue, rich and husky with sensation. The gleeful pride at having given her such feelings now mixing with a chill of sudden disappointment as she pulled away, as her dainty nipple vanished from between his lips - he could not resist to give one final, loving squeeze upon her other breast before he released her, before he looked up again into her muddy, glowing eyes and let her words push past the haze of lust that whirled in his mind.

A moment there, staring at each other. Fervent feeling etched in her expression. Determination in the firmness of her jaw, in her slightly narrowed gaze, the flame he still saw softly burning in her eyes. Her bosom glistening from his attentions, heaving with her rapid, shallow breaths. Beautiful. So impossibly beautiful...there was no question what he would answer. "I love you, little rose." Quiet, despite the great trembling of feeling that underlaid the words, the affection and desire, concern and adoration. His hand clasped to her middle thigh, stroking mildly upon it through her jeans. Comforting, perhaps, as thought was reawakened, stirred feeble in this unexpected calm. The eye of the storm. "Don't figure I loved anyone before the way I feel for you." Confession. Honesty. "Ain't ever wanted any woman half as much. If this was only about me..."

Silence for a time, his tongue struggling with the shape of what he had to say. As his battered conscience now just pleaded with the rest of him to try for what was right, and found a greater fortune in humility - he was almost surprised himself to push upward once more to his feet. Alice unresisting for the moment, silent, carried up beside. She stood now just a foot away, staring up into his eyes, waiting. Listening, as he stumbled through his all-too-clumsy words. "Alice, if this was just for me, I wouldn't hesitate a second. I wouldn't. Figure even if it got me sent to hell, it'd be worth it just to spend one night with you. That notion that you had, about tryin' for what I had before, about us livin' like you was my wife, bein' together..."

His voice failed him for a moment, looking down upon her face. Choked off into a thick and mournful stutter, imagining what couldn't be. Deeper, rougher, when he spoke again. "You don't know what I'd give for that to be. For it to be possible, for me to be worth it. But the fact is, I ain't nowhere near the man that you deserve. Even if I weren't your pa, if we was only strangers...hell, Alice, I'm more'n twice your age. Don't have no prospects out there for me, or any wealth to speak of. Ain't even got a place to hang my hat." His moustache bristled up a trace with a wan and empty smile. Grasping at her unresisting hand as she looked back up at him, silent, and he briefly wondered if she at last was truly listening. "You deserve a man that can buy you the moon. That'll still be there for you when you're gettin' on in years yourself. Man who's done somthin' better in his life than just kill and cheat and steal." His thumb stroked softly on her palm. His voice a whisper. "'ts why we can't. Ain't cause I don't want you. Ain't even cause it's wrong, maybe, the thing itself. Just cause you got to find yourself a better man than me."

Finality. The seconds flowing slowly past as he gazed into her features, a conflicted, queasy sickness clutching at his stomach. Despite all he had said, he didn't want to give her up, didn't want any other man to have her. Part of him didn't. His selfish heart, the lusts that throbbed yet in his marrow...but he still forbade himself to look upon her nakedness, the bosom he had so recently caressed, lavished with his tongue. Looked instead into her eyes as she slightly cocked her head at him, as a little smile quirked crooked and unreadable across her lovely lips. As she brought his hand up to her face, held it soft against her cheek. His fingers gently curled on her skin, cradling her beauty in his palm as though it were a priceless jewel, a work of art...he could feel her muscles twitch there just before her lips were parted, before at last she answered.

"Pa, that ain't for you to say." Tender now, kinder than before, but still with a flicker of her fire burning there beneath. "I don't mean to settle down with anyone except the man I love. And that's you." Satisfaction just to say it. To speak the words, bright and bold and certain - it didn't matter, none of what he said. Not before the feeling flowing warm inside her, looking up into his eyes as she felt the roughness of his calloused hand upon her cheek. The belonging, the possessive adoration. He was hers, no one else's. Her pa...the sensation of his fingers, of his transcendent tongue upon her breasts still spinning dizzy in her mind as she stepped closer, as she kissed him once again. Softer this time, not half so angry as she had been before, but still carried by a fervent need to taste his stern and weathered lips, his whiskers scraping on her skin. His hand released from where she held it, slipping down across her jaw, tracing at her neck...hesitating at its base. A flush upon her cheeks as she felt his thumb stretch out across her slender throat, give it the slightest, careful squeeze. Just enough for her to feel the blood flowing in her veins beneath his fingers, to spark her body's blind, instinctive panic, waking like a shiver down her spine - she only craned her neck up higher, offered it to him. Exposed. Vulnerable. The feeling of it aching brightly in her heart; she wanted just to strip off all her armor, to give herself to him, naked, raw. Have him take her, teach her, make her a woman. His woman. Pa...

That was when he kissed her back. His rigid, stony stillness abruptly giving way to flame and ardor, to the kind of kiss he'd briefly given her that night out on the trail. His lips so hot and fierce, crushing urgently to hers as his arm tightened round her back and trapped her close against him. A delighted, wordless whimper rising from her throat, muffled almost into silence by his mouth on hers. A bloom of heated hunger flooding slickly there between her thighs as he almost growled in answer, a raspy sound from deep inside his chest that seemed to resonate along her nerves, all her body set to tingle with the sense of what it meant, of his desire. Her fingers sliding frantic on his chest, across the scratchy crimson fabric of his suit, seeking out the simple wooden buttons that held it shut, that kept them from each other. Worked free, one by one; her hand slipped beneath to touch directly on his skin, to tangle in the forest of his greying hairs. To clutch it in her grasp as he roughly thumbed again upon her rigid, aching nipples, as she felt his tongue explore beyond her lips to brush against its opposite, and trembled with triumphant joy at the nearness of her dreams.

It was just the work of moments for her eager fingers to release her belt, drop her jeans down to the floor. Joined shortly after by her father's trousers, and by her boots, kicked careless from her feet. Standing there before him now in just her drawers and woolen socks - and yet her skin, her body felt the flush and heat of being bundled up before the desert sun. Tingling in every place he touched her, his large hand stroking down along her spine, or caressing on her arm, or squeezing still so perfectly possessive at her breasts. A liquid warmth now so familiar set to flow amidst her thighs, her hips, to trickle slow and sweet and urgent there between. A deep and dusky fire that crackled with the memory of his finger thick inside of her the night before, and the feelings so unbearably divine that it had given her. Impatience now to taste the rest, the reality, the deed that loomed so huge and vague and all-important in her swiftly-beating heart. Exultation blending with a quiet buzz of nerves - she would be his at last, completely, the way that she was meant to be. Taken. Claimed. Made into a woman. Her pa returned again to teach her, to consummate the hidden dreams of a thousand lonely nights.

She couldn't bear a moment's more delay. Pushed blindly forward 'til the two of them collapsed again upon the bed, a tangled heap of limbs and naked flesh. One more kiss to strain against his lips, urgent and devoted, before she had to pull away to finish working at his buttons, her fingers trembling with tension and excitement as they descended on his stomach, as he watched her from above, silent now but breathing heavy. Growing nearer to the hardness she had felt pressed against her thigh the night before, into her belly just moments prior. That portion of the male body that any girl who grew up on a ranch would know was something vital, seen on bulls and stallions out to stud but always hidden from the eye on men. A secret now almost revealed, her fingers working out the last few buttons concealing his groin. Tracing out a shape beneath the fabric that she could not quite believe, that must be a mistake...

But no. Her insides fluttered almost with dismay as the last few buttons were released, as she gazed at last upon his manhood, a stiff and throbbing spear of flesh descending down into a thatch of tangled hair, so dark that it was almost black. A wrinkled satchel dangling beneath, bulging with its contents. Her eyes shocked wide and disbelieving - this wasn't like the drooping digits that she'd half-spied from time to time, furtive glances from a distance at the other cowboys when they stepped off the trail to relieve themselves. Not like his finger, which itself had felt so huge inside of her the night before, which she'd thought would be almost the same as what she contemplated now. This...it was thrice as thick, at least, and long enough that her stomach clenched with fearful instinct at the thought of its assault. That this would go inside her...they suddenly made sense, the whispered rumors a girl couldn't help but hear, of what a woman could expect from her wedding night. Of blood and pain and injury - surely it would tear her body open, if this thing were forced into her narrow passage. Would rend her flesh apart in splitting agony, and stain the mattress with her blood.

He must have seen the stricken look upon her face, the worried paling of her features. A whisper of a smile curved faintly on his lips, struggling for comfort beneath the hunger of his gaze. "It ain't gonna bite you, Alice." Hoarse words, quiet, tension gnawing at his tongue. Sitting pushed up to his elbows, hands clutched loosely at the blankets there beneath him. "Nothin' to be scared of."

She shook her head a trace, trying to deny the stinging implication...but she could not do so honestly. Could not speak, eyes fixed upon his organ as it gently bobbled in the air, shifting with his slight, unconscious motions, jostled with his every heartbeat. Flush with nervous, queasy fascination, taking in the shape of it, the lightly arching shaft that ended in a bulbous head, a crown of smooth and scarlet flesh emerging from the paler hood of skin around it. Long and jagged veins protruding from the side, wide and mighty as the Mississippi, throbbing with his pulse. A musky scent that filled her nostrils as she knelt up close, thick and heavy, faintly foul but somehow still compelling. Masculine...her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. He'd created her with this, all those years ago. Brought her into being, planted in her mother's womb. Her father's staff, strong and solid here before her, prepared to do its duty. If she was prepared, herself.