A Wild Yearning, page 16
She flung the door open, but when she saw Delia wasn't coming after her she stopped and whipped around. Her doughy face was mottled with anger. "You'll rue this day, my fine hussy. And you, too, Tyler Savitch. The pair of you will come to rue this day."
She slammed the door shut behind her, then flung it open again immediately. "Mr. Kemble!" she bellowed. "Are you coming?"
Obadiah Kemble glanced back once at Delia, a look of pure wonder on his face, then shuffled down the room and out the door.
The place now seemed suddenly quiet. To Delia's surprise, Elizabeth Hooker ran up and flung her arms around her. "Oh, Delia, I'm so proud of you for standing up to that awful woman." She gave Delia a hard hug, then bestowed on both Caleb and Ty a withering glare. "And with no help from the other tongueless wonders in this room."
Caleb smiled sheepishly at his wife, and then suddenly he bent over and began to whoop with laughter. "Criminy, Ty, did you see the look on that old battle-ax's face when Delia threatened to wrap the flintlock around her fat neck?"
Ty's mouth was contorted with the effort not to laugh, but he couldn't keep it in and it burst out of him in a deep, rumbling chuckle. "She was huffing and puffing so hard I thought she was going to bust a gut!" Ty exclaimed, slapping Caleb on the back as if congratulating him on their mighty vanquishing of the formidable Sara Kemble. Only Delia wasn't laughing.
"For years, folk in Merrymeeting have been edging up to the nerve to put old Sara Kemble in her place," Ty said, laughing some more. "Wait until this gets around. The old bitch won't be able to poke her head out her front door without—"
"It isn't funny," Delia said.
They all stopped laughing and looked at her.
"It isn't funny," she said again. She tossed the flintlock at Ty so hard and fast he barely flung up a hand in time to catch it. "She called me a tart and then I just went an' proved her right, didn't I?"
"Aw, Delia-girl..." Ty stepped over and put his arm around her, but she stiffened and pulled away from him.
"A proper lady wouldn't never have done what I did, an' ye know it." She looked at Elizabeth and Caleb. "Ye all know it."
She didn't start crying, although she wanted to. She did turn jerkily around and walk stiff-legged down the long length of the room and out the door. But unlike Sara Kemble, who had gone before her, she didn't look back.
Chapter 10
Delia stood on the very edge of the tiny spit of land and gazed longingly over the broad expanse of water. The bay was lumpy with dozens of islands that resembled a flotilla of ships on parade.
Leaning over, she peered down at the narrow strip of beach filled with tidal pools and kelp-covered rocks. A lone conifer clung to a ledge just at the tideline, and a pair of gulls rode the wind currents below her, cawing noisily at each other. She wondered if they were quarreling lovers.
"Delia! Come away from there!"
She spun around. Tyler Savitch stood among the charred ruins of what must have once been the stockade of an old fort. Even from this distance she could sense his tenseness, as if he feared she would jump. For some reason that made her laugh. The wooden-headed fool. As if she'd come all this way just to throw herself into the sea when she could have done the same in Boston and saved herself a lot of heartache in between, not to mention blisters on her arse from riding that damn horse.
She abandoned her perch on the ledge and walked back toward him, stopping when they stood face to face, close enough to touch. He had his hands hooked on his waist, legs spread, hips tilted slightly forward. The pose was intimidatingly manly; it made her smile.
The wind snatched a piece of her hair and plastered it across her mouth. He pulled it away, smoothing it behind her ear, and a rush of blood pulsed through her body at the gentle touch of his fingers.
"Are ye in love with Susannah Marsten?"
He looked startled at her question, then color spread across his cheekbones. He forced out a laugh. "Jesus, Delia. One of these days you're going to trip over that tongue of yours."
"Are ye?"
Their eyes clashed, then his mouth crooked into a mocking smile. "Now don't go getting your dander up again, Delia-girl. Susannah and I are just good friends."
Ye're more than that t' her, Delia thought, but she didn't say it. What she did say was, "She's pretty though."
"She's pretty, yes..." He picked up her hand, pressing his lips to her palm, and his eyes glinted with a teasing challenge. "But so are you."
To Delia's unbounded delight, he kept her hand as they walked together back through the ruins. She seemed such a part of him, walking like this, hand in hand. She could feel his strength as his fingers wrapped around hers, in the flexing sinews of his wrist as he helped her over a fallen timber. His flesh was warm, invigorating, and his strength made her feel protected, cherished. They breathed in harmony and she wondered if their hearts also beat as one. She could do this forever, walk like this with Ty, hand in hand.
"This used to be the site of old Fort Loyal." Ty waved at the remains of a palisaded wall and a crumbling blockhouse. "It was destroyed during the last Indian war and the unit was abandoned, though it never was much use in the first place."
A single cannon had been left behind, its barrel turned orange with rust. The cannon pointed not out to sea as one would expect, but down the slope toward the part of Falmouth Neck where the rows of flakes stood. Flakes were wooden racks used for drying the ocean cod which would later be salted and put into barrels and shipped around the world. Several men and women and a scattering of children walked rapidly among the flakes, turning the fish over. The briny smell of cod filled the air in spite of the wind that whipped off the bay.
Ty stopped and leaned against the cannon, pulling Delia in front of him until their stomachs brushed. He laced his hands behind her back and her hands settled naturally to span his waist. The wind flapped his sleeve against her arm and billowed her skirt around his legs. He pressed his linked hands into her back, pulling her closer. The heat of his body seared her, and she felt the burning fever of desire in the sudden dryness in her throat, the lack of air in her lungs.
To calm her knocking heart, Delia looked toward the bay and the ocean beyond. "I used t' wish I could go t' sea. I used t' dream about sailin' t' somewheres excitin', like the Indies. Or even England." She laughed softly. "And here I am about to set sail on the morrow for some place called the Sagadahoc Territory, which is so foreign I'd never even heard of it afore that night we met, and I'm not excited a-tall. I'm scared." Her eyes sought his face. "What did ye used t' wish for, Ty?"
His chest rose and fell, and for a long moment he didn't answer. Then he said, "I've never wasted my time on wishes." But she had a feeling the words were a lie.
Her eyes were on his lips as he spoke. She remembered the first time she had seen him, how she had wanted to run her finger along that sensual lower lip.
She did so now.
His lip moved beneath her fingertip. "You ran off like that from the trading post, hoping I would follow you."
"Aye," she admitted. "An' ye did."
"Yes. I did." He straightened, cupping her bottom with his widespread hands, jerking her hard against him. "And you damn well know why," he growled.
"Why?" she asked, meaning, Show me why. And he did.
His arms tightened around her, his head dipped down. He smothered her mouth with his.
There was a desperation to his kiss, almost a savagery. He forced her lips open, invaded her mouth with his tongue. She didn't stop him this time; she prayed he wouldn't stop himself.
She plunged her hand into his hair, damp with sea spray, twisting her fingers in it, pulling his head back to press her mouth into the hollow of his throat. She felt the erratic beat of his pulse, and his low moan was a vibration against her lips. His splayed hands cupped her buttocks harder, fingers digging in, and he ground his hips against her. He was hard for her and he wanted her to know it.
They kissed again, long, tongue-filled kisses that seemed to go on for eternity. Delia's heart thundered in her ears. It seemed as if the crash of the surf below had entered her blood. Their choppy, gasping breathing rivaled the soughing of the wind through the trees. The sun beat down upon her head and the earth tipped and swayed, undulating in waves beneath her feet.
She flung her head back, rubbing her breasts against his chest, and she opened her eyes to the wide blue sky spinning crazily above her. He laid his open mouth against her neck.
"D' ye love me, Ty?"
"Oh, my God, Delia..." she heard, felt him say.
Her knees were trembling so violently they couldn't support her, and she started to sink to the ground. "No, not here," he said, pulling her back to her feet. "It's too rocky." His fingers fastened around her wrist, and he dragged her off into the forest. It was darker beneath the thick canopy of trees. The air was still, the quiet dense and pervasive.
She watched his hands as he undressed her, lean, brown fingers dispatching with laces and buttons until the short gown parted open. He massaged her breasts through the thin linen of her shift, drawing her nipples into taut, hard points. She stood before him with her hands resting on his shoulders, her head flung back, while he made love to her nipples with his thumbs and to her neck with his lips, and it was ecstasy.
He crooned love words into her ear as he slipped his finger along the waistband of her petticoat until he encountered the laces in back. He found one loose end and tugged, causing it to snarl into a knot.
"Damn," he said, laughing, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek. "Turn around."
He gathered up her hair and draped it over her shoulder so that he could smother her neck with kisses while he picked at the knot. But he became too distracted licking at the line of hair that ran up behind her ear and nibbling at her tender earlobe, and eventually Delia had to work her petticoat around so that the laces were in front where she could untie them herself.
At last the knot came loose and she pushed the skirt down over her hips. Ty was much more adept at dispensing with her shift. He wisked it off over her head. The air felt cool and soft against her bare skin.
He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. His lips brushed the nape of her neck. "I've been wanting to get you naked for a long time, Delia-girl." He rubbed his pelvis against her bottom. "Do you feel that, Delia? Soon... soon you will feel it inside you."
"Soon..." she echoed, and her heart skittered and leaped at his words.
His hands drifted down her back to cup her buttocks, kneading them gently, then moved up the flare of her hips to span her waist. He turned her slowly around. His hands lingered at her waist, and then he stepped back to look at her.
She started to cross her arms over her breasts, but he reached out and stopped her, taking her wrists and pulling her hands down, pressing them flush against her sides.
"No, my sweet Delia. I want to look at you."
Her glance flickered up. She saw the heat of desire burning bright in his eyes and she quickly looked down again. But her eyes were caught by the bulging hard ridge that pressed against his smooth leather breeches. Soon... inside me soon... Her skin felt tight all over, too small for her body; she thought she would burst apart when he touched her again.
He slipped out of his shirt and spread it like a sheet on the ground at their feet. Boldly, she ran her palms across his naked chest—muscles, skin, hair. Man. She felt a heady triumph as his skin shivered uncontrollably, like the wind suddenly causing a ripple on a calm lake. She could feel his heart beating, hard and fast, and knew it beat for her.
His hands fell on her shoulders; his head came down. Slowly, mouths locked, they sunk together to their knees. He pressed her backward, and she landed partly on his shirt and partly on a bed of ferns and needles and dried, decaying leaves that rustled softly.
He stretched out beside her and stared down at her breasts. Her nipples drew up, hardened. "I've dreamed about your breasts," he murmured. "Ah, Christ, but they are beautiful."
She wanted to tell him that she had dreamed of him, but words were impossible.
He rubbed his knuckles against first one nipple then the other, then he began to knead her breasts almost roughly, pulling and lifting them up to his hungry mouth. He took a nipple between his teeth, biting it, slavering it with his tongue. Throwing her head back, she whimpered from pleasure that was almost unbearable, wanting him to stop because the feeling was too exquisitely wonderful, wanting him to go on doing it forever.
He released one nipple and went to the other, and she almost screamed from the delightful shock of him drawing it deep into his mouth, as if he would swallow it. The other nipple, now abandoned and left wet by his mouth and tongue, puckered up tightly as it was bathed by a cool draft of air.
His hands began to stroke the length of her, feeling ribs and belly, hips and thighs. His mouth fastened onto hers, his tongue delving in deeply, tasting of her. He sucked and nibbled on her lips, and his hands... his hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, making her skin burn. Branding her.
He groaned against her mouth, "Ah, Delia... Delia..."
Shifting to make a space between them, he trailed his fingertips across her stomach, moving lower and lower still until they drifted, swirled, became enmeshed in the fine hairs between her thighs, and she shuddered uncontrollably. She felt embarrassed being touched in so intimate a place and she opened her mouth to ask him to stop. But what came out was, "Oh, Ty, please..."
He traced the outer edge of the triangular nest, following the folds of her skin where her legs joined. Instinctively, her legs fell apart, inviting him to explore further.
He did so suddenly, thrusting his fingers into her inner wetness, and her hips rose off the ground from the shock of pleasure that stabbed her. He slid his fingers in and out of her, again and again, until she thought she would go mad from the sizzling jolts of hot feeling. Her whole world became one hard, throbbing point that he rubbed and teased with his thumb. Incredible sensations lashed through her, causing her to push upward against his hand and draw her legs tightly together as pleasure shuddered through her, pulling a hoarse cry from somewhere deep within her.
Rolling over on top of her, he pressed down, grinding the hard bulge in his breeches against her pelvis. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, bringing his face close to hers. "Do you want me now, Delia?"
"Oh, God..."
"Say you want me now."
"Now... I want you..."
He straddled her, his knees pressing into the earth on either side of her hips. He straightened and she looked up—and the magnificent sight of him robbed her lungs of breath and caused her heart to wrench in her breast.
His buckskin breeches were pulled tautly against the lean muscles of his thighs, outlining their contours and making his confined manhood so very, very evident. His stomach was flat and smooth, though pumping a little from his harsh, panting breaths. Copper nipples stood out in the light mat of dark brown hair that covered his chest. She reached up, running her fingers through it, curling them around his totem bag, rubbing her thumbs against his nipples. She felt him groan against her palms. Sunlight, filtering down through the trees, sharpened the bones of his face. His eyes glowed at her like twin indigo moons.
Delia stared fascinated as he unlaced his breeches and peeled them down over his buttocks. His sex seemed to spring out at her, rising up so thick and long from the dark nest of hair below his belly. The enormity of what was about to happen now frightened her. If she had been capable of speech she would have told him to stop.
"Touch me," he said.
She didn't move. She didn't even breathe.
He took her hand and wrapped it around his hard length. She was surprised by the heat of it and the slick softness of the skin around the huge, thick rigidity. It filled her hand and he moved her palm up and down on it. Instinctively, her fingers tightened their grip, squeezing him, and he made a low groaning sound, like an animal in pain.
His hands, dark on the white of her thighs, spread her wide. He moved between her legs and pressed the round, smooth tip of his erect manhood against her moist, inner folds. His eyes fastened onto hers as he drove into her.
Delia cried out, arching her back against the pain and driving him deeper inside her. He tensed as he felt the barrier and his eyes, which had started to flutter closed, opened wide. But it was too late to stop. He had already torn through her virginity. And so after a moment he gave another harder thrust, embedding himself deep inside her, and this time he smothered her cry with his mouth.
He moved his lips gently across her cheek. "Sssh, Delia-girl. It's all right. It'll be all right."
He lay quiet a long moment, thick and hard within her, and then he began to move. His stroking was slow, yet sure, and all that had gone before, all that had seemed so wonderful was nothing to the sensation of this—of him filling her, man in woman, two bodies joined so intimately that he had become a part of her and she had enveloped him.
His stroking grew in speed and intensity, and it began to hurt again so that she tensed. But then he cupped his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to absorb the shock of his thrusts and to lance her deeper. He arched his back, taking his weight off her chest, and as he stroked the inner core of her with his thick length, he slid one hand between their joined bodies until he found again that knob of pleasure. He rolled his thumb across it, almost sending her shooting out of her skin. Rolling, stroking, thrusting, on and on, until the whole world was reduced to the place deep within her belly that he speared and the throbbing point beneath his thumb. Shudders racked her body, driving her mindless with the feeling, the feeling, the exquisite, unbearable feeling...
She opened her bemused, glazed eyes onto his face. Ty's head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched, and his mouth contorted as if in pain. Suddenly he gave one last mighty heaving thrust and his whole body shuddered, tearing a groan from between his pressed lips. He pumped into her, filling her.
