Before she could speak, he kissed her, his lips sliding on hers and his tongue so very gentle against her own. He eased back gradually.
“Getting warmer, love?”
“I am, thank you. And I don’t think that was impulsive at all. I think you did that on purpose.”
Patrick looked at her with widened eyes. “Did I? Now why would I do a thing like that on purpose?”
Kate saw the truth on his face. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think as much as you want me—I can feel that hard cock of yours pressing against me—you also wanted to save me from myself.”
He didn’t deny her statement. “You’d just taken your first lover, baby. I wanted to give you time to heal, just a little. I thought the cold water would ease your soreness, even if only a little bit.”
“It did help, but I still want you.”
“You’ll have me, love. In a little while.”
He carried her over to where Gerald was starting the fire. The man had been busy. He’d moved the blanket they’d lain on earlier, so that it awaited them, closer to the fire. Patrick set her on it, and took a moment to ensure the one wrapped around her was secure.
Then he sat beside her as if he didn’t have a care in the world—or, more specifically, as if he wasn’t as naked as the day he was born. Gerald, as well, seemed completely at ease in his nudity.
She guessed it would take her a good long while until she was as comfortable as they in her skin. While they’d been making love, she’d hardly noticed. Right now, sitting with them, she was grateful for the covering of the blanket.
The fire snapped and her eyes were drawn to the flames and the man—her first lover—who jumped back in response. “Watch those sparks, now.” Kate managed to say that without laughing.
“Always good advice,” Gerald said. He met her gaze and held it, and she felt warmed from within.
She looked around the area, taking in the scenery. She was pretty sure the fire ring had been there for a while and used before. While Patrick had been giving her a chance to get cleaned, freshened, and refreshed in the stream, unawares, Gerald had been busy. He’d moved this blanket, hung their clothes neatly on a branch, and seen to the horses. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the beautiful animals, seemingly content to be nibbling on some grass, close enough to the water that they could drink.
“You hobbled them.”
Gerald looked up. “They’re well trained and would stay close for a short period of time. But I don’t think we’re only going to be here for a short period of time. Do you, love?”
Daring to be at least as open as they, Kate boldly let the blanket fall so that they could see her body. She decided to tell herself the heat she felt on her face came from the fire.
Gerald’s words touched on the one thing that was on her mind. “Time itself is going to be a problem. Not just for you, but for me as well. My first patients arrive on Monday. I don’t know how much free time I’ll have after that.”
Gerald frowned. “We won’t have a lot of leave, either, but we’ll have some. We’ll come to town when we can. We’ll come to you, love. No one in Lusty will think twice if they happen to see us there, at the Convalescent Home, with you. But we’ll be discreet, regardless. Unfortunately we can’t say the same thing if you come to San Angelo and we’re seen together.”
“That’s one thing we’ll never do—expose you to the kind of censure that exists away from Lusty.” Patrick stroked his hand down her back. Then he reached over and took her hand in his.
Kate’s mind wandered to all that she’d learned in the last two weeks of her new home. “It must have been hard for Sarah and Amanda.” Sarah had given her the journal she’d finished writing about a year after her twins had married Madeline. She thought the woman’s life story to be a remarkable one. “They only had each other, and your town wasn’t really built yet. When they needed to go for supplies, they had to make the journey into Waco by horse cart. They would have had to have been careful, then.”
“It’s no different for any of our folks today, really, when they leave town and go into Waco or Dallas,” Gerald said. “For years, Lusty has been the oasis that Benedicts, Kendalls, and Jessops have clung to. A sanctuary, I guess you could say, where they could let their guard down and just be themselves.”
Patrick placed his hand beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “The outside world isn’t very tolerant when it comes to what they consider ‘moral issues,’ we all know that. I never really gave it a lot of thought, until we went over to England and were away from home for so long.”
Patrick slid his arm around her, and Kate felt protected—not a sensation she’d sought out much in the past but at the moment, it felt wonderful.
Patrick looked over at his brother quickly, then met her gaze again. “Over there, the people have been living with the possibility of death and destruction every day for years. Attitudes have loosened somewhat since the beginning of the war. But we need you to know, that’s not what’s happening here, between us. We’re not being casual with you. This isn’t just a wartime fling.”
Kate understood his reference. Even stateside, some societal mores and attitudes had relaxed since the horrible events of December 7. Many people seemed to be seizing on a “carpe diem” attitude as no one knew what the future truly held for them.
“I never thought you were being casual with me—not even that first night when you came to me with music in the background and mischief on your minds.” Since Patrick and Gerald chuckled, she said, “I just thought that you were both, simply, demented.”
Patrick grinned, and Gerald laughed outright. Then Patrick moved and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back with him on top of her.
“Demented, you say?”
The heat of his body warmed her, and the weight of him pressing her into the blanket thrilled her.
Kate opened her legs so that he settled more fully upon her and his erection rested flush against her slit. He flexed his cock and just that tiny movement, against her feminine folds, was enough to get her wet again.
“Terribly demented.” She stretched up so that she could kiss him. Patrick returned the favor, opening his mouth over hers and sucking her in, his lips and tongue exciting her.
He lifted his lips and met her gaze. Then he moved, subtly, and she felt his cock enter her. He neither blinked nor looked away as he slid all the way inside her.
The sensation of being filled shivered through her. This had to be one of the most delicious things in the whole world. She loved everything about this—the weight of a lover on top of her, pressing her down, and the girth of a lover’s hot, engorged cock inside her pussy.
Connected
. Yes, she felt connected to this man, and that connection seemed to breathe with a life of its own as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes.
“You’ll tell me if it hurts, Katie.”
Kate decided to give him her complete honesty. “Probably not. I’ve discovered a new favorite thing and that’s having my pussy filled with Benedict cock.”
Gerald stretched out beside her, and used two fingers to stroke her arm. When she turned to him, he said, “Then we’ll have to be especially vigilant and careful with you, sweetheart. You’re ours and we mean to protect you, even from yourself.”
Patrick withdrew then slid into her again. She couldn’t help the shiver, the closing of her eyes, or the way her hips moved, surging up to meet his thrust.
“I’m very glad you enjoy having our cocks inside you, baby, because they’re the only cocks you’re ever going to have.”
Kate opened her mouth on a gasp, the arrogant claim a surprise from the man on her and in her. Before she could utter even a word, he brought his mouth down on hers again, and his tongue moved in sync with his cock.
Patrick fucked her, and as Eros took over, Kate’s thoughts shattered and her rapture returned.
“I invited Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton to dine with us next Saturday.” Neil Brown sat back from his dinner plate. His wife, Mary Ellen, had spent a great deal of time and money pursuing a career as a social maven. She often said that she only had
his
best interests at heart. She had a point—up to a point. There had been times in the past when he’d needed the entrée that the well-timed and flawlessly planned cocktail or dinner party could provide.
He knew his wife relished the occasions when they would hold a gathering at the club. Being able to afford such a perk was, he suspected, one of the few things that kept his wife civil.
From time to time in the past, they’d hosted gatherings here, customers and suppliers and some of the local civic leaders. Mary Ellen handled all the details for those occasions with aplomb, if a little reluctantly. Often, she would staff such functions with their housekeeper and some of that woman’s relatives, people who would be grateful for a night’s work.
Colonel Hamilton and his wife, however, were different from the usual guests they entertained. The main difference was that they were Northerners. He hailed from Maine, and while this wasn’t the man’s first tour in Texas, it was his wife’s first experience in a Southern state.
“Did you want me to expand the guest list to include anyone else? I know the mayor is likely available and more than happy to rub shoulders with the military brass from the airfield. And, if I’m not mistaken, Congressman Bennett and his wife are in town, as well.”
“No. This dinner will be just the Hamiltons and us. And, I think, just the four of us for the evening. I would prefer that you serve us yourself.”
“I see.” Mary Ellen’s tone stopped just short of frosty.
He knew his wife took great pride in being the consummate hostess. She had gotten into the habit of clipping tidbits from the newspaper whenever her name would appear. She’d been extremely upset when, at the start of the war, he’d curtailed her entertaining.
His might be a small refinery, but the business world in which he moved was a judgmental one, and much smaller than many would believe. Much depended on the image he presented, which was why he had fostered the stories of his working late hours. At the moment, patriotism sold. Patriotism called for everyone to tighten their belts, spend less lavishly. Rationing took its toll as well. When they had entertained, he’d been sure to stress that his wife’s excellent management of their household resources was the reason they were able to do so. Brown even knew the tack he’d take once the Hamiltons were sipping on his very excellent homemade wine. It was the same one he’d used to impress the mayor this past summer during their Fourth of July celebrations.
He’d taken pride in showing off their own little victory garden, and the small henhouse they had at the very back of their property. He’d bragged on the way they and some of their neighbors had pooled their resources, trading veggies, eggs, milk—and Mary Ellen had even tried her hand at making cheese.
Next Saturday, he wanted to present this particular image to Colonel Hamilton—the man who was in charge of the flight line at Goodfellow Field. In subtle ways he’d been portraying himself as a quiet-living, hardworking patriot, a man who could be trusted, who took great pride in his contribution to the war effort. The more solid the relationship he built with the man, Brown believed, the less likely Hamilton would look at him if some of the planes began to have problems.
Receiving the general and his wife in their home, no servants in evidence, would underline the image he had been conveying to the man.
Brown could see his wife was fuming. She didn’t understand, of course. She might say she did all she could for his benefit, but he knew the person she cared about the most was herself. He sighed. “Mrs. Hamilton is from up North, my dear. Her husband says that she is very modern in her social attitudes.” And, he knew, likely to be less than warm if she suspected that the Browns had
servants
.
Normally he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other what Mrs. Hamilton thought or felt. But her husband seemed to be pussy whipped, which meant if he wanted to continue to build that strong personal relationship with the man, he, Brown, had to be sensitive to Cecile Hamilton’s social mores.
“I do wish Yankees would stop coming down here to God’s country and sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.” Mary Ellen gave a not-so-delicate shiver. “Everything works so much better when they all just stay home.”
Brown didn’t necessarily disagree with his wife’s sentiments. Personally, he felt the same way. “It’s for the business.” Then he met her gaze and came as close to the truth as he dared. “Much depends on Colonel Hamilton’s good will, Mary Ellen. The business I’m doing with the airfield is crucial to the war effort, and, quite frankly, to our own personal prosperity. Not that I put business ahead of patriotism, of course. But the truth is, this war has been very good for us, financially speaking.”
Mary Ellen tilted her head to the side and gave him a look that reminded him so much of her mother—a woman he’d never felt friendly toward.
“Of course, I’ll do all that I can to make your guests feel welcome.”
There it was.
Your
guests, not
our
guests. Every once in a while Neil would feel a tiny wave of guilt, because, when the war was over and the business sold, he fully intended to rid himself of Mary Ellen. He would divorce her, marry his mistress, Bonnie, and begin life anew—in much better circumstances, and with a hell of a lot more affection and respect coming his way. That was the plan, had been the plan for a year now. But then guilt would creep in and he’d start having second thoughts.