Bedding the Beast Read online

  "Have a good night," Bill said, closing the door behind him.

  John almost snorted. His idea of a good night would be stripping his wife ‑‑ his almost-wife ‑‑ bare naked and finding out just how experienced she was. He'd wasted the whole day in town, mulling things over, and he was no closer to knowing what to do. He could ask her outright ‑‑ How many men? What favors did you give them? But could he believe her answers? She'd probably lie to keep him from throwing her out.

  She stood and folded the dress she'd been sewing on, then laid it on the chest of Francesca's clothes. Her gaze skipped over him as she came into the kitchen, got a bowl, and spooned out some of that savory-smelling food.

  She sat and started to eat. After a few minutes, she got up and sliced some bread for herself, as if he wasn't standing right there glowering down at her. She sat back down without a word.

  Ah ... So now she was ignoring him. Fine with him. If they didn't talk, he didn't have to worry about what the hell to say to her.

  The food smelled good, and he was hungry. He stirred the soupy concoction in the pot. Looked like beans, cabbage, and a ham hock, with some barley mixed in for thickening. He got a bowlful and sat across from her.

  He took a cautious bite. Not bad. Not bad at all. At least she was a decent cook. But she shouldn't have done it today. Hell, she was probably still weak from the fever she'd had on the boat. "I told you to rest today. You won't be able to do a lick of work around here if you wear yourself down."

  Her chin went up in that stubborn tilt of hers, already so familiar. An argument was brewing. "I say to you this morning, my arms are better. And cooking is easy chore."

  "Not easy enough. You couldn't even hang the laundry last night."

  Last night. He shouldn't have mentioned last night. Her bath, her naked body against his, her tongue fluttering in his mouth. Her cunt dripping on his fingers. Her hand wrapped around his cock. Just last night.

  "Is this why you're angry?" she asked.

  What? Oh, she wanted to know if he was angry because of the laundry. Her tone told him she'd pick a fight with him if he said yes. "I'm not angry."

  She finished her supper in silence, eating her way through two bowls of stew and three slices of bread. With an appetite like that, how could she be so skinny?

  When she finished, she sat there waiting, still as stone, for him to finish his. He got another bowlful, then another, scraping the last out of the pot. He even took two slices of bread, just to make her wait a little longer. He knew the look of a woman spoiling for an argument.

  And he was hungry besides. He'd had lunch in the saloon, and the food was terrible there. He ate the last of his stew and pushed the bowl away.

  No sense in putting it off any longer. He looked straight at her across the table. And caught her looking at him with an odd, sad expression on her face. Wishing he was another man?

  She dropped her gaze, stood up, and carried the bowls to the sink. He heard her pump fresh water, scrub the dishes and pot, and rinse them. He sat there through it all, with nothing to say.

  "John."

  She spoke from behind him. He didn't turn around.

  "Why are you angry at me?" she asked, calmly.

  "I'm not angry."

  He heard her sigh softly. "If we are to be married, we must be ... honest."

  That was the problem ‑‑ he wasn't at all sure he wanted honesty from her. He wanted to think he was the only man who'd ever touched her. Even though he knew it wasn't the truth.

  But he couldn't go on brooding like this. It'd be easier to say it with her behind him, where she couldn't see his face. "I'm angry because you let another man touch you."

  "What?"

  Did she not understand his English? "You let another man touch your pussy. Make you come."

  She gasped. "I do not!"

  He jumped up and turned to face her. "Don't lie to me, Mariana. You're the one going on about honesty."

  She blushed, bright spots of color in her pale cheeks. Her gaze went to the left, the right, the floor. Anywhere but him. "No one but you has ... done that."

  "Don't lie to me!" He wanted to grab her arms, but he might shake her if he did. He raked a hand through his hair instead. "You told me, last night, that it felt different when I touched you. Different than what? Different than whose God damned hand?"

  A horse whinnied in the barn. Mother of God, he'd nearly shouted the roof down.

  Her face turned crimson. She brought her hands up, covering her eyes, her blushing face. "Different ... different than my hand," she muttered from behind her fingers.

  Ah, she'd fondled herself. No man but him had felt that tender pussy. No man but him would ever fuck her. "Good," he said fiercely.

  She took her hands down from her face, wringing them in front of her waist. "You no think I'm bad?"

  He shook his head and tried to smile at her. But the thought of her touching herself with those long, slim fingers had his cock lifting in his pants.

  She gave him a small smile in return. "John, you are ... are you ..." She darted around him, found her books on a narrow shelf, and looked up a word. "Are you jealous?"

  Lucky for her she was across the room. "No. I was angry. It's natural for a man to want an innocent wife."

  She frowned. "I am no innocent now. After last night."

  Oh, no. She couldn't expect him to sleep on the floor. Not after having her in his bed. He'd go insane. "You're going to be my wife. Whatever we do together, so close to our wedding, is all right."

  She blew out a gust of air, as if she'd been holding her breath. "Then you still wish to ... marry?"

  After she'd spent last night alone with him, and the McNeils and everyone in town knew it, he had no choice. "Yes."

  "Not angry? You're not anymore angry?"

  She looked worried. Didn't she know he'd only been angry about another man touching her? "No."

  She gave him a little half-smile. "When I make you angry ... say me why."

  "Tell me why," he corrected. No sense in answering her. What she asked would never happen. When he got mad, nothing of sense came out of his mouth. Silence was better.

  She took a step toward him, her hand out as if to touch him, and he retreated, turning his back on her. He couldn't touch her with the lamp lit. And he didn't want to blow it out just yet. He wanted ... he wanted to see her, see her body, without her being able to look at him. Like he had last night when she'd bathed.

  "Show me," he said. "Show me how you touch yourself."

  Chapter Six

  "What?" She sounded shocked, not confused. She'd understood him.

  He reached for the lamp and turned it down, just enough so that she wouldn't be able to see him clearly. Then he turned to face her. The problem with dimming the lamp, of course, was that now he couldn't see her clearly either. "Show me. I want to see you touch yourself."

  He might not be able to see her clearly, but he could hear her, breathing hard. "I will be ... I will feel ..." She stepped to the table and reached for her dictionary.

  She'd have to turn up the damned lamp to read it. "Just say it in Italian."

  "I'll be too embarrassed."

  She looked embarrassed already, her gaze somewhere around his stomach, avoiding his eyes.

  "Pretend I'm not here."

  "Pretend you're not here?" She shook her head. "That will be difficult." She said the second half in English, showing how much she'd learned already.

  If she wouldn't do this for him, he couldn't blame her. It was such a personal thing. But he wanted to see it. Wanted desperately to see it. "Pretend you're alone, in your bed, with privacy, and nothing but time. Time to pleasure yourself."

  In the dim light, he could barely see her bite her lip. "It would please you?"

  If she knew how hard his cock was already, she wouldn't bother to ask. "Yes."

  She sat down at the table, bent over, and unbuttoned her shoes. Slowly. She left them lying under the table, stood up, and went to the bed. With her back to him, she stripped off her dress and shift, folding them neatly and setting them on top of the chest that held her sister's clothes.

  Turn. Turn. She didn't. Would she lie on the bed like this, in just her drawers? Reach into the slit between her legs to get to her pussy? He wanted her naked. But she slipped that huge, ugly gray nightgown over her head, and took her drawers down underneath the bulky flannel, not even giving him a glimpse of her ankles when she pulled off her stockings.

  She should have a nightgown that fit her. A soft little virginal white nightgown made of fine cotton, with a long row of buttons down the front ... buttons that he could undo to get at her bosom. Something pretty for him to strip off of her on their wedding night. Not this horrid flannel bag that Francesca had worn.

  She didn't look at him before she lay down, facing away from him.

  He walked silently to the other side of the bed so he could see. Her eyes were closed, her hands stroking her breasts through her nightdress. Her mouth opened as her breathing quickened. What was she thinking of? The things they'd done in the night?

  She rolled onto her stomach, tucked her hands underneath her hips, and pulled the nightgown up to her thighs. Her rear lifted, making room for her hands.

  He walked to the foot of the bed, watching her ass move in a quick rhythm. Her long, lean legs were bared up to the thigh, but the hem of the damned nightgown was caught at the bottom of her rear. He couldn't see her pussy, couldn't see her wriggling fingers.

  His gaze locked on that swaying ass. He pictured himself under her, fucking her, with her ass moving on top of him in this same rhythm. No ‑‑ he pictured himself behind her, kneeling between those thin legs, lifting that concealing flannel, and running his hand over the soft skin of her bottom. He pictured himself kissing her ass, spreading her cheeks wide, licking and pressing his tongue to her bottom hole. His cock tingled at the perverse thought.

  He was on the bed before he knew it, kneeling between her legs and grabbing the hem of her gown. She jerked with a surprised start, but didn't protest.

  "Don't stop," he said.

  He pulled up her nightdress, uncovering her beautiful ass. Her skin glowed creamy and pink in the dim light from the lamp. He could barely see the tips of her fingers, flashing between her legs, rubbing quickly, much more quickly than he'd rubbed her last night.

  Her rocking bottom seemed the most tempting thing he'd ever seen. He'd wanted her ass from the moment she'd first turned her back to him. So close to him now ... Nothing could have stopped him. He pressed his mouth to the side of her ass in an open-mouthed kiss. She gasped, but kept rubbing her little clit. God, her skin was softer than anything he'd ever felt against his lips.

  His hand ran over her hips, down to her thighs, feeling every little jerk as she pleasured herself. He licked again, licked and nipped and kissed, finding his way to her crease. She didn't falter, didn't slow down. So he slid his tongue along that tempting cleft, licking down to her pussy and back again. Delicious. Better than he'd imagined.

  Temptation was mere inches from his mouth. It would take a saint to resist, and God knew he was no saint. He pressed the tip of his tongue to her puckered knot, thrusting against the tight muscles, squirming to get inside.

  She squealed, pushing back against his face, and her whole body rocked and shook as she came. He rode the waves with her, reaming her sweet ass with his tongue through every convulsion as she cried out and jerked beneath his mouth.

  When she grew still he held her for a long, long moment, his cock achingly hard, his mouth pressed to one round cheek of her ass. Did she know what he'd done was wicked? She'd liked it, that much was clear. No one must have told her the act was dirty or sinful. Thank God.

  When she started to turn, he got up and blew out the light. Much as he'd enjoy seeing her blush, he didn't want her to see his face. The moon wasn't bright tonight, but he'd make sure he stayed behind her anyway.

  "John? What do you do?"

  "What are you doing," he corrected automatically, stripping off his shirt. "I'm getting undressed."

  "Oh."

  He'd love to hold her naked body against his as he came. "Why don't you get undressed, too?"

  She didn't answer. Perhaps she was still too nervous with him. He stripped off his clothes, including his long johns. At least he could feel her nightgown-clad body against his bare skin.

  When he got back to the bed, he found the covers turned down. Reaching out a hand, he felt her bare shoulder. Ah, God bless her. He slid under the covers and pulled her against him, her back to his front.

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  He loosened his arm. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I like this ... skin on skin."

  So did he. She felt cool against him, but he'd warm her soon enough. He kissed the back of her head. Her hair was still down, loose and long. Maybe she never put it up before bed.

  "Do you like ... watch me?" she asked.

  Couldn't she tell? His cock was throbbing and hard against her bare ass. He nudged her with it a little. "Yes."

  His raging cock settled into the crease of her ass. The ass he'd licked. At the memory, he thrust gently against her. She was still wet with his saliva. His cock slid easily along her slippery skin.

  He reached up and cupped her breast, stroked her nipple. Such big nipples for such little breasts. Big and already peaked. From desire, or from cold? He gently pinched one of those big nipples, and she gave a soft little moan. Ah. Hard from desire.

  He thrust again and again, setting a rhythm as though he was buried inside her. Her flesh dragged at his cock, heady friction. He rubbed his face against her hair, moving it aside, and bit her neck.

  She jerked a little. "Do you want ..." Her words sounded raspy, and she cleared her throat. "Do you want me touch your cock?"

  Hearing dirty words from her innocent mouth almost made him come right then. "No," he gasped. "No, I'll come like this, pretending I'm inside you."

  Although ... He stopped moving, struck by another perverted desire. He knew a way to take her without giving her a child. A way that would leave her maidenhead intact. "There is a way, Mariana. A way I can go inside you but leave you a virgin."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "I don't know. Tell me if it does."

  He held his cock in one hand, seeking along her crack, and nudged her back opening with the tip.

  She gasped. "There?"

  He'd never dared to try this before. But now, with Mariana's firm round ass at his mercy, with his cock nudging against her rear hole, wet from his own mouth ... by the saints, he wanted nothing more. "Yes, here." But he couldn't take her this way if she didn't want it. "All right?"

  "You ... you want?"

  His hand moved to her hip and pulled her back against him, pressing his cock just a fraction of an inch into her heat. "Yes. But only if you wa ‑‑" Hell. There was no way she could want this.

  He'd make her want it. He withdrew a little, rubbing his cockhead against her hole in a slow tease. His cock leaked fluid against her, making her ass even more slippery. And more tempting. "You liked it when I kissed you there. Didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  He teased her earlobe with the tip if his tongue, reminding her. "Maybe you'll like this, too."

  "You promise ... I will still be virgin?"

  "I promise."

  She drew a deep breath. "Very well."

  Bless her. He took his cock in one hand, wrapping his fingers around all but the head, to keep himself from thrusting into her tight hole too deeply. He pressed in, just a little, just putting the head of his cock in her, and felt her tense those sensitive muscles. She clamped down on his cockhead so hard that he winced and felt sweat on his brow. Damn, her ass was tight.

  She wriggled a little, but didn't move away. "Oh, it feels so ... so strange."

  It felt unbelievably good to him. Hot, forbidden, daring. "Bad? Am I hurting you?"

  "No ... no."

  He stroked her hip with his hand, gentling her. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

  She put one hand over his. "Tell me ... how to make you come."

  God. Here he was, half buried in her luscious virgin ass, and all she could think of was pleasing him. "Relax."

  "What does it mean?"

  "Just let go." He whispered the words in Italian so she'd understand. "Trust me."

  Her back eased, relaxing against him, but when he nudged forward she made a tiny noise. Not quite a whimper.

  "Push out."

  She nodded, hair tickling his nose as her head moved. Then she bore down, opening around the head of his cock, and he slid in another inch. Her fingers squeezed his hand, but she made no protest. He took his other hand off his cock and pressed full inside her.

  She gasped. He groaned.

  Ah, God. She was tight, so tight, and fiery hot. He rested against her, not thrusting, letting her get used to him. To having him inside her.

  He tugged his hand away from hers and played with her breasts again, teasing her nipples to hardness. His mouth found her earlobe and licked. When he blew his breath in her ear, she pushed back against him, snuggling her ass against his balls.

  He couldn't wait anymore. He rocked against her with gentle, shallow thrusts, strumming her breast as he eased himself in and out. Her ass gripped his cock like a snug, deep fist. He could have come in a minute, but she deserved some small portion of the pleasure he felt.

  He smoothed his hand over her stomach to touch her clit, but her own fingers were there before him. She snatched her hand away with an embarrassed little cry.

  "Don't stop," he gasped. "Show me what you need."

  She put trembling fingers over his and pressed down, showing him the quick strokes she liked. His hips quickened to match her pace, moved with the same rhythm, forcing his cock deeper into her snug little hole. Feeling her pleasure herself while he fucked her ass was too much for him. Never, not in his wildest dreams, had he imagined a woman would let a man like him do this to her. And enjoy it herself.

  -->