Ada's Secret (20 page)

“Now take off the best part and let me see your whole magnificence,” I requested.

At first, he was a bit self-conscious, but as we made eye contact, he was reassured that I wanted him as much as he wanted me.

I pulled him to me so he faced me while I sat on the side of the bed, my hands exploring the chest and abdomen of my adoring husband. His manhood throbbed against my breasts as I savored his musky, masculine scent.

I kissed his taut abdominal muscles, moving down, until his dark curly hair brushed my lips. His breathing increased as I kissed the most sensitive areas. He gasped with pleasure as my fingers enclosed his sensitive member and stroked it gently yet firmly.

“I’ve been so long without you,” he whispered. “I can’t hold myself back if you keep doing that ... ” He groaned as I continued stroking and kissing his sensitive organ.

He slowly pulled away from me, then tenderly pressed me back on the soft pillows. His tongue started lightly at my lips, then delved deeply into my mouth as we passionately devoured each other, inflaming our lust. His fingers entwined in my hair as he pulled me close and whispered, “I love you.” His kisses moved down my neck and towards my breasts, where he flicked his tongue against my nipples.

I moaned as he continued his kisses across my stomach, moving lower to the fire between my legs. As he gently explored the sensitive folds of my womanhood with his tongue, my hips involuntarily rose to his gentle probing mouth.

He smiled as I whimpered for more. Gently he introduced one finger, and brought the dew from inside me to the silky lining of my nerve bundle. Then he drew two fingers inside, and opened me until I pulled him and his stunning manhood, deep inside me.

The sensation overwhelmed me, and I felt pure pleasure as his movements fueled my desire. He started gently, slowly, pulling back and gliding forward. His member swelled and hardened. His movements became thrusts, driving deeper as I welcomed him. Our rhythms merged, his thrusts in harmony with my own fervent lunges.

A throbbing tingle arose and increased in intensity, swelling through my excited passageway. Ecstasy traveled up through my abdomen and my breasts, making each nipple stand erect. The fevered sensation consumed me, the elation finally finding release as an audible moan of satisfaction from my lips. I continued matching his thrusts, until I felt his body ripple in orgasm and his hot seed fill me.

We lay united, as only a man and his wife can, our longing for each other quenched. I felt his member withdraw from my delicate passage, and the pulse of our hearts wed as our breathlessness returned to calm breathing. Lying next to Patrick, I knew that I would never be happier. I was filled with contentment and absolute adoration as I looked at my husband.

Quietly, he turned to me. “Well, Mrs. Burgess how do you feel about that?”

“Not bad, Mr. Burgess. I think I’ll make it until morning, but I warn you—I am an early riser and we have lots to catch up on.”

Patrick slept as I listened to a new sound on our ranch, the gentle bleating of sheep. My husband now understood my secret, a secret that only had power over me for as long as I’d kept it. Now that I’d finally shared it and Patrick had opened up his mind and heart, my secret had become my strength.

“O
K, honey. One more push and it will be over.” I listened to the husky voice of the midwife as I took another deep breath and forced it through my laboring body. A strangled scream trailed from my throat, ending in a heavy grunt. The baby slipped from the protective womb that had been its home for the last nine months and into the cold bright world and the waiting hands of the midwife.

Tears flowed from the eyes of the four women in attendance of the birth as they wrapped the squalling boy-child and settled him to suckle contentedly at my breast.

“He’s perfect!” Aunt Lettie announced as she counted his fingers and toes.

“He looks just like his father did when he was born,” smiled Mother Burgess as she touched the thick black hair covering the child’s head.

Ma wiped my forehead and released the tie holding my hair up. Auburn curls flowed freely across my chest. She patted my cheek and said, “You did good, girl.”

“I guess it is time to let the men in. Patrick is going to wear out the front porch if we keep him out much longer,” as Grace laughed and opened the bedroom door.

Patrick stopped pacing and looked up fearfully and expectantly into Grace’s face. “Is it ... Is she ... did everything ... ”

“Yes, yes, yes, Papa. You need to go meet your new son now.”

Patrick rushed toward the bedroom but stopped short. He took off his hat, wiped his hair into place, and glanced at Grace. “Do I just go in like this?”

The insecure look on his face tickled her, and she couldn’t help laughing. She grabbed a broom standing beside the kitchen and threatened to swat him on the backside. “Get in there. She isn’t going to care what
you
look like.
She’s
been doing all the work!”

Patrick entered the room, and the other three women patted his back as they slipped outside.

“What should we name him?” I asked, quietly looking into Patrick’s face.

Looking worried he maintained eye contact in order to ascertain that I really was, in fact, OK. I met his gaze with reassurance, then glanced down at our sleeping son. Patrick’s eyes followed, transfixed by the sight of the child at my breast.

“Holy mother of God!” he whispered. “Holy mother of God! I have never seen anything so beautiful!”

His eyes glistened as he reached out to touch the sleeping child but his hand stopped.

“Go ahead,” I teased. “He’s your son, so he should be pretty tough.”

Patrick tentatively touched the tiny hand, and reflexively the baby grabbed his finger and held it tightly.

Patrick held his breath as he studied the perfection of the tiny hand holding him captive. I passed the sleeping bundle to his father. Hesitantly, he held the child as if he were a basket of fresh eggs.

“Don’t worry. He won’t break,” I asserted.

Patrick moved the blanket away from the baby’s face. “It’s a miracle,” he breathed. “Nothing short of a miracle.”

“Well, what should we call him?” I asked again.

“I’ve been thinking,” Patrick started slowly.

“My father wasn’t someone that I want to remember every day. Even though I have forgiven him, I still don’t want that ghost haunting me every time I call my son to dinner. How would you feel about naming him after your father?”

“I don’t know my father’s name,” I reminded him. “I don’t even know who my father was.” I looked into his dark eyes.

“What about Jeremiah? You told me that Jeremiah was the only father you ever knew. I would be proud to have my son carry his name, if that is OK with you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “I think that would be a wonderful name. Welcome to the world, Jeremiah,” I cooed as Patrick held our child lovingly in his arms.

Ma, Aunt Lettie, Grace and Mother Burgess couldn’t wait any longer. They all rushed in and began passing Jeremiah around, kissing his rosy cheeks, and trying to figure out whom he most looked like.

Frank poked his head in, and Patrick took his opportunity to escape the women. Kissing me on my forehead, he smiled and whispered, “Ada, you never cease to amaze me.”

***

T
he sun set over the craggy peaks and spread its orange, crimson, and gold across the valleys. The robins twittered their evening song. Swallows chased mosquitos over the meadows, and Duke called to his flock as evening prepared the ranch for rest. Sitting on the porch, Patrick watched the sky go through its colorful changes until the rugged mountains disappeared completely into the night. As he closed his eyes, he contemplated the miracle of his son’s birth and the joy of having his family together.

“Patrick, it’s getting dark. Come to bed,” he heard Ada call in a pleasant voice. Opening his eyes and rising from the chair, he took one final breath of sweet night air and went inside. “Today was a very good day,” he said to himself as he shut the door and blew out the lamp on the mantle.

T
his story is loosely fabricated around events in Colorado history.  The character of Lettie Styles was created from stories of the wild and raucous Mattie Silks. Mattie was a madam and brothel keeper in Denver during the mid 1880s. She ran some of the most exclusive brothels in Denver. The building where she did business is still located close to the State Capitol Building and a restaurant now graces the parlor. Mattie owned a ranch outside of Denver, which was purchased for her lover’s daughter after the death of his first wife. She bought the ranch and bred racehorses on it so the girl would not be raised in a bordello.

This is not an accurate depiction of events in Colorado history. These characters are fictional and though loosely based on real people and places they are only figments of my imagination and are meant solely for your enjoyment. I hope you liked your fantasy visit to my rendition of history where strong women and hot men, blaze new trails through the old west. 

Please like me on Facebook and visit my website. May your best days always end with a Colorado sunset.

Best Wishes,

Nonnie Frasier

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Soiled Dove Plea