Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) (13 page)

Pecola was quiet.

“You okay, Pecola?”  Avery asked.

“I will be,” she said, ready to change the subject.  More than anything, she was happy her husband had left the tent.  He was starting to get under her skin in the best way. There wasn’t much time left before it was time to get cleaned up for dinner and dancing.  She was ready for something a little different.

She wasn’t ready, however, for being so close in her husband’s arms nor the feelings he evoked in her in a crowded barn full of people.  The dab of cologne he put on when he came back to the tent to get dress reignited the whole situation. That, along with watching him wash his man parts real slow with the cool rag, did something to her inside parts.  For some odd reason, she found the whole thing to be wildly erotic.

The new jeans she’d bought him fit that physically fit body like a snug sweater and the light blue shirt against his tan skin made his shiny jet black hair stand out.  Those Soft gray eyes looked at her with pride as she dressed in a baby blue sundress and  flat baby doll shoes.

“You look lovely,” he told her.

“Thank you, you look mighty handsome as well,” she said.

It was true; they made a stunning couple when they entered the barn, arm in arm.  Applause sounded aloud as Molly made her way over, flinging herself at Pecola.  “You saved my baby girl.  I am so thankful you were watching!  If there is every anything you need, let me know!” Molly said to her.

Jeb was on the other side of Billy Joe, pumping his hand like it was a well handle, saying thank you.  Pecola felt something on her leg and looked down to see that same red-headed kid from earlier with his face stuck under her dress.

“Mama!  She is that same color all over!”  he said out loud.

Pecola grabbed the hem of her skirt, pulling it down.  “Whose child is this?”  she asked, louder this time.  The barn filled with laughter as his parents made their way forward to thank her for saving the boy’s life. As obnoxious as the child was, a fleeting thought of finding that mountain lion and throwing the boy to it crossed her mind.

“Let’s dance,” Billy Joe said as he pulled her away from the crowd.

“I’m not a good dancer,” she told him. “Contrary to popular belief, not all black people can bust a move.”

“Can you count?”

“That I can do,” she replied.

“Lean into me, take two steps on your right foot, then one on your left.  We continue that way all around the dance floor. Got it?” he asked.

“Got it.”

He pulled her close, moving to the music.  She closed her eyes, inhaling the seductive scent of his cologne, while counting in her head, 1-2 and 1.  One, two, and one.  One, two, and one.  The song ended and she was still holding him tight.

“You keep holding me like that, Honey, and you and I will have to head back to the tent,” he said with a wry smile.  Those wonderful gray eyes looking down at her.  Her hands moving to the thick black hair.

“I would like that,” she told him.

It took a minute for it to register, but he didn’t want to seem too anxious.  “We will get there in due time. First, though, I want to dance with you some more,” he said more calmly than he felt.  In truth, it was going to take him a minute for his pants to come back down to a normal size.  He walked behind her, using her body as a shield for his state.  They reached the food table to make a plate for their supper.

“I totally love your cheesecake and pasta salad, Pecola,” some woman said.

“You took look marvelous out there on the dance floor,” some man in a big Stetson said to them.

Chad appeared at her side. “Since I didn’t get to dance with the bride on your wedding day, maybe you will do me the honor now?”

He asked her, but his eyes were on his brother. Billy Joe nodded his head in approval.  Pecola wasn’t too fond of the idea, but she headed out to the makeshift dance floor with her brother-in-law.

“I must warn you, I have to count in order to do this dance,” she told him.

“That’s fine by me,” he told her.

In his arms, she felt stiff, on guard and not trusting of him.  It was evident he felt it, too.  “Relax a bit there,” he told her.

“I can’t.  I am convinced that at any minute, you are going to sink your fangs into my neck, poisoning me with your venom, then you are going to watch me die,” she said flatly.  She even gave him a faint smile.

“Good Lord, woman!  What the hell sort of morbid stories do you write again?”

“I write romances,” she said as he started to move.

“Shit, you need to write some darker stuff with an imagination like that,” he said as he maneuvered her around the floor. 

She said nothing more as they moved, step after step, across the wood.  When she finally couldn’t take it anymore, she exhaled loudly. “If you are going to make it to dinner tomorrow night, can you please bring a few decent bottles of wine?”

“Did Billy Joe try to crack open that ole dusty bottle of Beaujolais that has been in the dining room since the day he was born?”

“How did you know?  It smelled like sour vinegar and a physical chapter from the
Grapes of Wrath
,” she said.

This caused Chad to laugh out loud, a gut-busting guffaw that made him throw his head so far back, his cowboy hat fell off.  He couldn’t help but like her.

“Our Ma read to us all winter long.  It was her thing to use literary references to describe any situation.  I see you have that talent.  No wonder he loves you,” Chad said.

“That is unsettling in a very
Oedipus
way,” she mumbled into his chest.

That statement only made him laugh harder. “You are a rare gem indeed, Pecola Johnson,” he said as the music ended.  “A quick wit around these parts with an extensive vocabulary is going to be welcomed.  I look forward to dinner tomorrow night,” he told her as he guided her off the floor.  She never made it back to the food table because Pap grabbed her up next.

She didn’t hear a word the man said as her eyes caught sight of Joanna and her big boobies making a beeline for her husband, who was leaned against the wall watching her dance with Pap.

Joanna’s breasts reached him first, “Hey there, Billy Joe.”

“Joanna,” he replied, his eyes still fixed on his wife.  He was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than her words to him about heading to their tent.  He wanted to be in the tent, but he also needed her to eat something more.  Another concern coming his way was nighttime on the plains.  Every little sound could be heard.  If they were going to get to some special connecting tonight, it would have to be some really quite jostling.
I wonder if I put a sock in my mouth if that would help me keep quiet?

The woman was still standing next to him yammering about something. Billy Joe tuned back into what she was saying. “I mean, seriously, if I had known you enjoyed role playing, I would have called you some sexy name, too,” Joanna cooed at him.

“What?”

“I am saying that if you wanted me to call you Bob, or Roberto for that matter, I would have used a sexy name, too,” she told him.

He crinkled his brow. “Joanna, I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said honestly. 

“William!  She likes to call you William during your sexy time,” Joanna whispered.

“She calls me William because that is my name, Joanna.  My name is William Joseph Johnson; Billy Joe is short for William Joseph,” he told her.

The dumbfounded look on her face was the moment his wife had wanted to see. Suddenly, the image of a confused Charlie T. Taimpton standing at the circulation desk questioning the librarian about $125 in late fees came to mind;
I’m sorry. Is your first name Chocolate
?

I got it. I get her.

He started to laugh.

Joanna didn’t see the humor, but he did.  His wife had gotten even, put both Charlie and Joanna in their places without really hurting either person.  She had done the same thing to Chad, who was coming to dinner for the first time in nearly five years. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to be inside that tent with his wife took over every thought in his head.

“Excuse me, Joanna,” he said as he stepped away from the woman.  He had a plate full of food that he had every intention of hand feeding the little lady to make sure her belly was nice and full.  It didn’t matter to him if it was full before or after he jostled her up.

He wasn’t prepared for his wife’s plans, and jostling wasn’t quite what she had in mind. Pecola was about to teach her husband that making love to a woman was an art form and she was an artist.  His body was going to be her pallet as she covered it with minutes of tenderness and passion.

T
he walk back to the tent was quiet as the couple strolled hand in hand. In his left hand, he held a flashlight that he aimed at the ground to light the walkway back to the safety of the tent.  In her right hand, she held a plate of food that her husband promised he was going to feed to her a fingerful at a time.

Pecola was nervous.  The one thing she did not want was a replay of the afternoon wedding consummation.  Her husband was going to have to be taught the meaning of intimacy and ways of connecting with a woman on a deeper level.  How, she was uncertain, because every little sound could be heard in the clearness of the night.

Inside the tent, she knew the cots would not work.  Instead of telling him so, she decided to rearrange the space to suit their needs for the night.  It dawned on her at the same time that making love to her would also be something that she needed to demonstrate to him as well.  Without a word, she folded the cots, flattening each against the side of the tent walls.  On top of the rug centered on the pallet, she laid the bag that had held the tent, followed by the sleeping bags and the picnic blanket she had not used.

“Take off your boots and pants,” she whispered.

He turned the lamplight down low and whispered back, “Don’t undress until the light is out.  It becomes like a puppet show to passersby’s when they can see your silhouette.”

Billy Joe stripped down to his new undies and kept his shirt on.  Pecola had removed her shoes and taken a seat on the rug. With the plate of food in between them, she sat lotus style waiting for him to join her.  Being as inflexible as he was, lotus sitting wasn’t in his bag of tricks so he sat flat, feet pointing upwards, still watching her.

“You stare at me like Aladdin watching the magic lamp.  Are you imagining that rubbing me will give you three wishes?”

The kind gray eyes held a spark. “No, I am only imagining rubbing you.”

“I plan to rub you back,” she said with a wink.

This made him shift his position.  In the new boxers she bought him, nothing was constrained, everything hung loosely.  Now, it was poking out from underneath the leg of the underpants.  She looked at him and licked her lips. Billy Joe swallowed hard, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his chin.

“Honey,” he said real low. “We have to be real quiet.  At night, every little sound carries out here.”

As if the universe had heard him, someone let a loud one rip, followed by the sound of his children beating feet out of the family tent.  Billy Joe pointed in the direction of the sound. “That’s Fred Wilmire,” he said. “Two tents to the right.”

A sneeze came next.  Billy Joe pointed behind them.  “Judy Perkins, she has an allergy issue.”

A loud groan was heard as he pointed towards her but Pecola grabbed his finger, popped it in her mouth and sucked on it real hard.

“Shit!” he said a bit too loud.

Someone yelled at him, “Billy Joe Johnson, you watch that mouth of
yourns
!  Children are present.”

As much as it was panging him, he said the words. “Tonight is not a good night for us to make love,” he whispered. His eyes were fixed on her sucking his finger.

“There is more than one way to do anything, William,” she said to him as she leaned forward. His finger fell out her mouth but she still held his hand.  Her lips met his as she guided his damp finger under her dress.  He didn’t even know she had removed her underpants.  Once his finger made contact, there was no choice in what was going to happen next.  Unlike the dry approach the other night, tonight, his wife wanted him.

Her body was ready and so was he.  He leaned onto his back, raised his hips to discard the underwear.  He balled the cotton material up and shoved it in his mouth.  His gray eyes were wide as he urgently waved her to come to him by patting on the blanket for her to lie down.

Pecola shook her head, mouthing the word no.  Instead, she lifted her dress and climbed over him.  “Bend your legs a little,” she whispered in his ear.  Seated in his lap, she scooted forward just enough.  “Connect us real slow, William,” she told him.

Billy Joe’s hands were on her hips as he lifted her, aimed, and pulled her body towards him.  Pecola’s mouth found his, kissing him deeply, moving incrementally as her legs wrapped around his waist. Subtle movements ignited his passion; he tried to be more aggressive.  In his ear, she whispered, “This is a controlled burn, nice and easy.  Smooth and slow,” she told him.

Making love wasn’t something he did often.  Normally he was hot, the woman was hot, and they went at it until the friction burst into a puff of smoke.  This was something different. Extremely different, but he could feel her. Each movement of her pelvic muscles, each contraction of her vaginal muscles, the beating of her heart as she held him tight, connected him to his wife.  Never in his life had he felt so close to a woman as he did now.  The entire experience was beautiful as she barely moved but took him to new heights of passion that were causing his vision to blur.

“Pecola,” he whispered.  He was close.  He wanted the ending.  He needed the ending.  He was about to burst open.

“Stay with me, William...not yet,” she whispered.  Her hands went into the thick black hair, holding tightly as she leaned back, opening the flower petals and rocking her hips one at a time against the pollinating stamen.

Billy Joe tried hard not to scream because it just felt so good.  His right eye began to twitch, his right toe flexed, and her legs unfolded, sticking outward behind him.  That did it for him, he bit his bottom lip and let go.  It felt like a fountain erupting as he released a new found reality of understanding the act of making love into her body.