Summary:  This R-rated story is an expansion on a short scene described in my story ‘Glory,’ a WHN for ‘My Brother’s Keeper.’

WARNING: This story contains very strong sexual content and language which might be offensive to some readers, as it was written in response to the ‘Dirty Words’ Literary Challenge in the R-forum for the 2016 Bonanza Brand 10th Anniversary.

Rating:  R  (2,965 words)

Glory Series:

Glory
Howl of the Wolf

 

The meadow was full of lanky grass growing high as a man’s waist. Here and there, yellow balsam root and white and blue lupines showed up in bright flecks of color.

The grass lashed across Joe’s thighs as he ran. Several yards ahead, Marcie Wilburne looked over her shoulder at him and squealed in mock terror. She hitched her skirts higher and scurried further into the grassy, waving sea.

Catching up with her would be no challenge. Any second now, a few quick strides and he could have her. But that would end the game far too soon. For Joe Cartwright, half the thrill of courting women was in the chase. So he held back, staying just close enough to keep her running hard and breathless and laughing. Soon enough her steps slowed; she stopped and whirled to face him.

“You stop right there, Little Joe! Don’t come one step closer!”

He stopped, smiled, and took several slow, purposeful steps in her direction.

“I mean it, Joe.”

They never meant it.

He took another step forward. She reciprocated by backing up. She glanced around, a hint of apprehension darkening her amber-colored eyes.

“Someone will see us. Papa would—”

He slid a quick arm around her waist and gently pulled her close. “This is our conversation. Yours and mine. Your papa doesn’t enter into it,” he said, his voice gone husky. Truth be told, her papa wasn’t the sort of man Joe wanted to anger, but certain prizes were worth a bit of danger.

She smiled and put her hands against his chest, but her tiny effort to push him away was so half-hearted he had to laugh. He leaned down and kissed her, a gentle caress on her soft lips. A soft sigh escaped her, and he deepened the kiss, exploring the inside of her mouth with his tongue.

She broke the kiss, and he stifled a protest.

“But—but–the others are just at the edge of the lake. They’ll see us.” There was a small note of panic in her voice, but it was heavily layered with something else. Desire. Her eyes went soft as she gazed through her lashes at him.

Then he knew: he had her. Whatever he wanted from her, she would give. She just didn’t know it yet.

He glanced down the gentle slope at the group of young people cavorting on the lake’s edge. Some sat on blankets, pulling fruit and cheese from baskets they had brought along. Some waded into the shallow water, chasing and splashing one another. The slight breeze carried their voices up to the meadow, but they were too far away to make out the words.

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of her neck.

“Joe, please. Really, I can’t.”

“No? Why not?” He let his lips feather along her neck, across her collarbone, and down into the velvety shadow between her breasts. She gasped and jerked away.

“Why not?” he asked again.

“They’ll see us!” she repeated. “Here together. Doing—this.”

He grinned. “If that’s all that has you worried—” He dropped to his knees before her, now hidden from the others by the tall, waving grass.

She stared down at him, mouth open, as he slid a hand under her skirts and stroked a smooth calf. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she squeaked, but she didn’t move away. “They can still see me standing here. And that’s worse. They’ll wonder where you got to.”

“Then come down here and join me,” he said, and tugged at her hand to pull her down, but she resisted, so he let go. In a hunt, there was always give and take involved. A tug here, a release there. He didn’t mind.

He went back to concentrating on what was under all those layers of skirts, petticoats, and crinoline—darn crinolines, such a bother—letting both hands find their way up silken calves. He frowned when the lacy bottom edge of cotton drawers stopped his progress just below her knees. Darned ladies fashion. Often a deterrent, but not unnavigable. His palms slid slowly up the outside of her cotton-clad thighs. He looked up at her face. Her breathing had quickened, but she did not move. Her eyes remained fastened onto the group down at the shore.

Underneath the skirts, the left cheek of her sweetly curved ass filled his right hand; he grasped her snugly to hold her in place while he let his left hand travel around to the inside of her leg and then right on up to the juncture of her thighs. He pressed his fingers against her there, enjoying the way she trembled. He watched her face while his fingers found the slit in the crotch of her cotton drawers; he slipped one finger inside the slit, past the edge decorated with tiny satin ribbon, and toyed with the soft curls standing guard at her entrance. She jerked and squeezed her eyes shut—but she didn’t move away and she didn’t tell him to stop. He cupped her with his palm, reveling in the heat of her.

She began to whimper.

It was then that he heard the feminine voice shouting from below.

“Marcie, whatever are you doing up there all alone? Where is Joe?”

Marcie’s eyes flew open. “Oh! I don’t—I mean—I think—“

“Tell them I’m off in the woods taking care of business.”

“He’s—he’s seeing to a call of nature,” Marcie called weakly. She shook as he stroked her. “Off in th-the trees over there. I’m—I’m waiting for him.”

The woman said something else Joe didn’t catch, and then was quiet.

“She’s gone back to the others,” Marcie whispered.

“Good. Is anybody looking this direction?”

“N-no, I don’t think so.”

He stopped his exploration of her, enjoyable though it was, so that he could put both hands at her waist. With one quick movement, he had her off her feet and on her back beside him in the cool grass.

“Now we’re both out of sight,” he said. “If they notice, they’ll just think we’ve walked into the trees.”

She laughed. “You are incorrigible. Now please, behave like a gentleman, won’t you?” She squeezed his hand. “Really, Joe. I mean it. I’m not that sort of girl. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t ever have let you touch me in such a way.”

Silently, he cursed the interruption, but the sudden serious look on her face was enough to make him acquiesce. “All right,” he agreed amicably. “I’ll try my very best to be gentlemanly.” He didn’t want her to do anything she’d be sorry for later, not that he expected her resistance to last overly long, judging by the flush on her cheeks. It was a game, one he’d played before with other women. Give and take. Push and pull. Catch and release. But it was time for him to let her decide whether she wanted to be caught or not.

He lay on the soft earth with her close beside him, holding her hand, watching the clouds drift overhead. Shadow and sunshine touched his face in alternating currents. Somewhere a whippoorwill quavered its song; a lone honey bee droned lazily about in the sky-colored petals of nearby lupines. It all made him quite drowsy, which was a good thing because it helped him to keep his hands off her.

Despite the frustrated tensions in his nether regions, a sense of contentment he hadn’t had in some time rolled over him. The past four months hadn’t been easy ones. Ever since Montpelier—

He shoved the though aside. It had been a constant battle lately, keeping thoughts of what had happened up in Montpelier Gorge out of his head. He himself had healed almost completely; Adam had not, and that was the problem.

The whippoorwill’s call changed into something else entirely. A wolf’s howl. The buzzing of the solitary bee became the snarling, snapping sound of jaws piercing his flesh. Then he was lying there on his back, watching the clouds scud across the sky, feeling the dirt beneath him grow damp with his blood while Adam tried to get the wolf off him, shooting over and over and over again . . .

He gasped and snapped into a sitting position.

“Joe! Joe, it’s all right. I’m here. Joe?”

Marcie’s voice chased the last vestiges of the nightmare away. He shuddered.

“We—we must have fallen asleep. You were having a nightmare.” Her voice was gentle, but he couldn’t look at her, not while he still trembled all over. Instead, he fell back against the cushion of earth and grass and tried to slow his breathing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He sighed. “No.” She hadn’t been the first one to ask.

She didn’t argue. Instead, she reached over and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. One by one they came undone, and when she had gotten them all, she rolled up on her side and kissed him full on the mouth. She felt like salvation, and he kissed her back with need that bordered on starvation, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, trying to capture her sweetness and light and draw it into himself.

She pushed his shirt back off his shoulders. He dutifully raise his arms to allow her to tug the shirt off, and then he let her push him back.

“It’s not very gentlemanly for me to be half-clothed in your presence,” he murmured.

“Hush,” she said, and tapped his cheek with a mock slap. He laughed into her mouth when she kissed him again. His laughter died away as she grazed her lips down his neck and across his chest—all the way over to the small, puckered scar that still loomed so large in his life. Because it loomed large in Adam’s.

She laid her cheek, soft and warm, against his chest. “Does it still hurt much?” she asked softly.

Depends on what kind of hurt you’re talking about.

Had it been any other injury, he would’ve gladly milked it for any sympathy he could get out of a pretty girl. But this was different.

“It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Somehow she seemed to realize he wouldn’t say more than that no matter how many times she asked. For a moment he thought she might admonish him for lying, but she didn’t. Instead, she just smiled and pressed a kiss against the scar. The gentle, velvety caress of it made him catch his breath. She raised her head and stared at him, eyes full of tender wonder.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

That caught him off guard. Not ‘handsome’ or ‘attractive,’ but ‘beautiful,’ for Pete’s sake? Not knowing how to respond, he resorted to joking.

“Miss Wilburne, are you trying to seduce me?”

She didn’t answer, but the smile she gave him was one he’d never seen her use before. Oh, yes. Marcie Wilburne had definitely made up her mind about whether or not she was ready to be caught.

She sat up. Slowly, she began to undo the tiny buttons of her bodice. He watched with rapt attention as she pulled white, slender arms free of the sleeves and tugged the dress down, down, down until she wriggled out of it. Stays and petticoats quickly joined the dress in a pile on the ground. The sheer fabric of her chemise and drawers did little to hide the contours of her body, but sheer as it was, it was still too much. The wolf still lurked at the edges of his consciousness. Could just a little more of Marcie Wilburne obliterate it? Maybe.

“Take off the rest,” he rasped.

She did as he asked, smiling all the while like a cat lapping cream. It always amazed him how well-bred young ladies could so quickly transform into wonderful, wanton beings. Within seconds the chemise was gone, leaving creamy breasts tipped with rosebud nipples begging him to touch them. The drawers went last, slipping over her hips and past her small feet. Then she lay naked on her side, watching him. Blood rushed through his veins until he could barely hear himself think.

He reached for her and, in one swift motion, pulled her astride him. Her eyes fluttered shut as he filled each hand with a pert round breast; gently, he rubbed his thumbs rub back and forth across their tips. When her breathing grew ragged, he leaned forward and captured one of those rosy pink nipples in his mouth. His tongue laved around its center until it was gathered into a hard, yearning pearl. He sucked the nipple deeper into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. She shuddered.

His trousers had become uncomfortably tight. He cursed himself for a fool for not having the foresight to have taken them off while she’d been undressing. She shifted her weight, grinding against him, and the tightness intensified. The urge to flip her onto her back and ram himself into her was so strong he had to grit his teeth against it. Instead, he pushed one hand down between them, found her hot core, and slid a finger inside her. She cried out.

“Shh,” he whispered. “They might hear you. You don’t want them interrupting us now, do you?”

She shook her head hard, eyes still shut. “No. No interruptions.”

In and out, he stroked her sleek, searing dampness. He added a second finger, delighting in her sighs and the way she moved against his hand. His cock, however, was beginning to insist that its demands be met. His groin throbbed with almost painful need.

As if she sensed he had almost reached the threshold of his control, she scooted back and with a few deft flicks, undid the buttons fastening the fall of his trousers and tugged the fabric down. His cock sprang free, thick, hot, and eagerly erect.

She immediately took him in hand; no meek hesitancy, no shyness. His eyes narrowed. He suddenly suspected Marcie Wilburne was not the pure-as-the-driven-snow maiden she’d led him to believe she was. Not that it mattered to him. He loved women, all women; loved talking to them, loved touching them, loved bedding them. Whether they were innocents or darkly experienced, they delighted him. So if Marcie had more experience than she had been letting on, that was fine by him.

It was especially fine when she bent and began to blow on the head of his cock. She began to lick it with light flicks of her delicate pink tongue, swirling around in small circles until she finally took him deep into her mouth. He groaned and grasped her dark curls with both hands, holding her head steady while he rocked into her mouth. She sucked harder until finally, gasping, he pushed her away.

“Enough,” he growled, and rolled over with her, putting her on her back and pinning her to the ground. He kissed her hard, then pushed a knee between her quivering thighs. It took no persuasion on his part; her legs fell open at his touch. He pushed into her with one long, slow thrust, his body rock-hard with need. She tightened around him, warm and welcoming, and bucked against him. He wanted to pump himself dry within her, but had been taught long ago that, when it came to sex, women were not overly impressed with quick deliveries. So he moved slowly, the length of his shaft sliding in and out, drawing gasps and muffled squeals from her. Her slender legs wrapped tight around his waist, and his jaw clenched hard with the effort of his restraint.

Then, suddenly, she was pulling him down to her, her nails digging into the muscles of his back.

“I need you, Joe. Please. Now. Now, Joe.”

No, he needed her. Needed her to wipe the pain and confusion and bad memories of the last few months out of his mind. Kissing her hard on the mouth, pushing his tongue deep inside, he gave her everything he had, straining as if mere physical exertion could undo everything that had gone wrong during the last few months. He plunged in deep. Then again, and again and again, harder, faster. She cried out his name once, twice, five times, and her shuddering contractions rippled through him. The wolf was gone; everything was gone. It was just him and her warm, sweet, welcoming body, and he rejoiced in it. One more long, hard thrust, and he came undone, burying his face in her neck as he spun out of control, the shudders of his own body falling into rhythm with hers.

He came back to himself an undetermined amount of time later, Marcie nestled against his side, her arm thrown across his chest.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered again, her amber eyes drowsy and adoring.

Even in a state of fuzzy, floating contentment, the word once again pricked at his masculine pride. He used it all the time to describe women—but was ‘beautiful’ a word women normally used to describe men? He would have to ask Adam. Adam would know—

But no. He couldn’t ask Adam. Because, during these months following the horror at Montpelier, Adam did everything possible to avoid him. Even when they were in the same room, the conversation was stilted and shallow. And it wasn’t getting better.

In an instant, the afterglow of lovemaking drained away, leaving him cold and bereft even with the enchanting warmth of a pretty girl’s naked skin pressed up against him.

Somewhere, far away in the distance, he thought he heard a wolf howl.

 

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, Angst, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright, naked