Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (16 page)

Ben remained silent, knowing full well to whom Lydia referred –
Saint Jim
– the great love of her life, James McCabe.

Yeah, I had to go and bring up his nam
e, didn’t I? You’d think at my age, I’d know when to keep my damn mouth shut.

Primly, like a young school girl, his w
ife folded her hands in her lap before saying, “He died the same night that our daughter was born. Did you know that?” Not waiting for a reply, Lydia kept on speaking, a mournful lilt to her voice. “Spencer found the three of them – James, his father, and his brother Franklin – all seated at the dining room table, murdered, a bullet in each of their brains. Being southern born, they’d been targeted by a gang of abolitionist jayhawkers.”

A shocked breath left Ben’s body. “Christ! I knew they’d been
killed, I just didn’t. . . .”
Didn’t know that it’d been so heinous
.

And so brutally senseless
.

“Their deaths affected all of us in ways that . . . that are difficult to articulate. My mother-in-law died soon thereafter, the doctor claiming that she’d suffered from a blood disorder
. But we all knew that she really died of a broken heart,” Lydia said quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Dewey and Ginny were just young children then, unable to fully grasp that their father and brothers were never coming home again. And Spencer . . . he nearly lost his soul trying to avenge their murders.”

“And what
happened to you, Lydia?”

“I went into mourning.
” A sad smile hovered upon his wife’s lips. “It’s taken eight years for me to finally realize that my black dress became a symbol of, not only my own grief, but the painful anguish of our entire family.”

“Which was right and proper,”
Ben conceded, unable to fault Lydia for having loved her first husband.

“Yes
, but . . . I remained in mourning far too long,” she acknowledged in a subdued voice, her gaze studiously affixed on her tightly clenched hands. “As each year passed, I became completely habituated to my grief, unable to let go of it. Unable to conceive of living my life in any other way.”

Ben
inhaled a sharp breath, her confession striking a deep chord in his own heart.

“Curiously enough, being with you puts me in mind of James.”

The hell you say!

Poleaxed, Ben stared at his wife, her unexpected admission causing his gut to twist into knots. The last thing he wanted was to be a substitute for a dead man.

“Of course, it’s not in the way that you think,” Lydia quickly amended.

Oh, yeah? How wou
ld you know what I’m thinking?

About to set her straight, Ben kept silent . . .
she knew
.

“It has to do with the emotions
that I feel whenever I’m with you,” Lydia continued, her cheeks visibly stained with color.

“Your emotions?” Ben parroted, afraid that
Lydia was about confess to her pent-up yearnings for her long-lost husband.

“
Yes. My emotions. Being with you causes me to have wants and desires that I haven’t experienced in a very long time. And it’s those . . . desires that are so troubling to me.”

“Yeah?
Why are they so troubling?” Ben prompted, uncertain where exactly his wife’s unexpected confession was headed.

Lydia stared
unblinkingly at him. “It is troubling because each day that we spend together, I become more acutely aware of the fact that yet another day has passed, a day in which my thoughts were for you . . . and not for James.”

Sweet Jesus.
If her aim is to unman me, she just came near the goal.

Acting on pure impulse,
Ben moved to take Lydia in his arms. Only to have her press a palm squarely against his chest, preventing him from doing so.

“
I want you to know that you have no cause for jealousy,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly, a look of steely-eye determination in her moss-green eyes.

“Listen, Lydia, I
—”

“No,
you
listen,” she said over top of him, refusing to let him finish. “Nowadays, when I think of my husband, it’s you, Ben Strong,
you
that
I am thinking of.”

Ben’s jaw slackened
. In that instant, wants, needs, desires, all jumbled together, coursing through him, fast and furious. If Lydia just said what he thought she did –
and oh, God, let it be true
– then he was about to become one helluva lucky man.

Reaching for Lydia’s hand,
Ben gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I know that I’ve caused you more harm than good these last few weeks,” he said haltingly, the admission difficult for a soldier more accustomed to action than introspection. “But you have my solemn promise that I’ll endeavor to be the best husband that I can possibly be.”

Lydia’s lips
curved in a shy smile, her features animated with a womanly glow. “I hope this means that you intend to . . . to finally consummate our marriage.”

Ben brought
his wife’s hand to his lips and tenderly placed a kiss on each knuckle. “I have no intention of ‘consummating’ our marriage,” he informed her.

Clearly shocked,
Lydia’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t?”

“
Uh-uh. But I do intend to lay you down on this bed and make love to you. Right here. Right now.”

“And trust me, Lydia. Making love feels a whole lot better than ‘consummation.’”

No sooner was that pronouncement made than Ben’s fingers began to loosen the top button on Lydia’s bodice.

Alarmed,
Lydia raised a hand to protectively shield the row of cloth-covered buttons that lined the front of her dress. “W-what are you doing?”

An amused smile
hovered on Ben’s lips. “Well, it’s kind of hard to make love to a woman who’s clothed from head to toe.”

“Good heavens! I didn’t mean to imply that we should . . . should have intimate relations
right at this very moment,” Lydia sputtered. “We . . . we must wait until nightfall.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s still daylight!” she protested, appalled that anyone would even consider, let alone suggest, so shameless a thing.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean to say that you’ve never climbed between the sheets while the sun was shining?”

“Certainly not!”

“You
do know, Mrs. Strong, that there’s a first for everything.”

“
But it’s not proper,” she insisted, her husband’s ardent gaze putting a heated blush to her cheeks.

Undaunted, Ben brushed his hand along the side of her face, lightly grazing his fingers over her trembling lips. “Don’t make me wait until the sun goes down,” he cajoled, a smoky edge to his voice. “Can’t you see that I’m in desperate need? Being in this condition, I might not make it until sunset.”

Somewhat timidly Lydia’s gaze dropped to her husband’s lap, startled by his blatant show of virility.

Leaning toward her,
Ben nestled his head against her neck. “Well, what’s it gonna be, Lydia? Are you gonna let me make love to you?” he crooned as his tongue darted along the sensitive ridge of her ear.

Her voice having deserted her
, Lydia wordlessly nodded, having never imagined that Ben would want to have congress with her so soon. While her first husband had been enthusiastic in his affections, he’d always respected her wishes and conducted himself with a measure of propriety.

Not so Ben Strong.

Apprehensive, Lydia sat perfectly still while Ben plied his fingers to her bodice, her husband quickly moving from button to button. Shameless though it was to have marital relations in the middle of the day, she had willingly acquiesced to Ben’s overtures. There could be no turning back.

“
Would you mind standing up?”

Glancing
down at her chest, Lydia saw that her bodice gaped open. “Why?” she warbled, resisting the urge to pull the two pieces of fabric together.

“So I can properly undress you, that’s why.”
At seeing her hesitation, Ben brushed a few errant strands of hair away from her face. “You’re bound to be nervous, this being our first time and all. Don’t you worry, Lydia. I’m gonna take it real slow and easy, all right?”

Still seated on the bed, Ben opened his knees. Placing a hand on her waist, he coaxed her to stand between his booted legs.
He then eased her dress off of her shoulders before pulling it down the length of her body.

Shy about touching him,
Lydia timorously ran her fingers through Ben’s hair, intrigued by the silky texture. As she did so, she wondered what her husband looked like before he went gray. Admittedly, she could not fashion an earlier image in her mind’s eye. As though it was a part of his life that was closed to her.

Lydia was so l
ost in thought that when she suddenly felt a hand touch her bosom, she gasped. Ben peered up at her, asking silent permission to continue.

“I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t think that you
intended to . . . to completely disrobe me,” she stammered, her legs nervously quivering beneath her petticoat.

Ben pulled the tie on her camisole. “I intend for both of us to take all of our clothes off.”

Letting her camisole limply hang off her shoulders, Ben plucked the bow that fastened her petticoat. Within seconds, the undergarment was consigned to the pile of clothes bunched at her ankles. Next he unlaced her boots, removing first one, then the other. Her stockings soon followed suit.

When his hands moved to the waistband of her drawers, Lydia balked, fearfully grabbing at
Ben’s wrist. “Please, don’t,” she beseeched, overcome with red-faced embarrassment. Unable to look him in the eye, she shamefully hung her head. Had she been able to put her feelings into words, she would have told her husband that
this
is the reason why men and women were not supposed to have conjugal relations in broad daylight.

Ben placed a hand on each of her hips.
Silent moments slipped past as Lydia’s heart pounded in her ears.

“Look at me, Lydia
.”

When she refused
to do so, Ben gently, but insistently, shook her by the hips, forcing her to meet his gaze. The tender expression on his face confounded her even more.

“I’m your husband,” he asserted
quietly, albeit firmly. “Now, I know that you’re nervous. And I know you’re embarrassed. But you’ve got no cause to feel either of those two things.” As he spoke, Ben’s hands moved to the drawstring at her waist, one finger winding around the cotton tie as he pulled it loose. “God gave us these bodies so we can pleasure each other. Beginning right now.”

Like a curtain dramatically falling at the end of a
tableau vivant
, Lydia’s drawers fell to her ankles. A moment later, Ben slid her camisole off her shoulders.

Without thinking, Lydia awkwardly tried to cover herself, one arm pulled across her breasts
while she feebly attempted to shield a more private place with her hand.

Undeterred, Ben grasped
her by the wrists, gently drawing her arms away from her body as he unabashedly appraised her naked figure. Beginning at her lips, his eyes traveled a slow path, coming to a complete stop when they reached the triangle of curls that covered her woman’s mound.

“You mustn’t look there,” Lydia
chastised.

Ben released her wrists and wrapped his arms around her hips, pulling her towards him. “There’s no room for ladylike airs in this bed,” he husked.

Admittedly nervous about touching her husband, Lydia timidly placed her hands on Ben’s shoulders. Somewhat awkwardly, she then smoothed her palms over his upper back.

“That feels nice,”
Ben murmured as he pressed his face against the rounded curve of her belly.

Gasping softly, Lydia
experienced a tight pressure between her legs. An exquisite, achy throb.

A few seconds later, Ben
circled one of her nipples with the tip of his finger, the pink flesh puckering beneath his touch. Then, before she could register what was happening, he swirled his tongue across that same pouting nipple.

Unexpectedly s
eized with an almost primal yearning, Lydia grabbed hold of Ben’s shoulders. Unable to suppress an impassioned moan, her entire body quivered from the wicked pleasure he wrought. Transfixed, she watched as Ben’s tongue jabbed at the hardened nubbin of flesh. Arching her back, she brazenly pushed herself against his mouth. In that instant, it was as though another woman inhabited her body. A woman of wants, and passions, and brazen desires. And yet, even as the thought crossed her mind, Lydia knew that it wasn’t another woman whimpering, pleading with her husband to suck harder; it was her true self, that secret facet of her being that she’d purposefully locked away.

To her
heart’s joy, Ben found the key.

Inundated
with eight years of repressed need, Lydia clawed her fingers down Ben’s back, her hands frantically pulling at his shirt. “Please, Ben . . . . I need
you
,” she rasped, mindless of the place or the time. The relentless throb between her legs had become almost unbearable.

His passions running fast and furious,
Ben rose to his feet. Cupping Lydia’s bare buttocks, he ground himself against her. He figured that hard shaft of flesh could say it better than he could – he needed her, too
. Needed her badly
.

Pivoting, Ben deposited Lydia on the mattress before
he stepped back to remove his clothes. It was all he could do not to smile when she sat upright, demurely tucking her legs under her body.

Sweet Jesus
, but she had a curvaceous body.
With skin so white, so translucent, he could see the faint meander of blue veins that criss-crossed the surface of those lush breasts.

Ben
didn’t know how Lydia had acted in her first husband’s bed; and, frankly, he didn’t care to know. But he knew how he wanted her to behave in
his
bed. All she needed was a little encouragement, a few ardent nudges in the right direction. He suspected that beneath that ladylike veneer, she burned hotter than a pepper sprout.

Tugging his shirt over his head,
he carelessly tossed it onto the floor, anxious to find out just how hot his wife could burn.

“Undo your hair for me,” he
said hoarsely.

When, a few moments later, Lydia raised her arms, her fingers deftly
plucking at the bone pins, his erection fairly strained against his britches.

Trying not to appear too eager,
Ben went about the business of removing his boots, the second one hitting the floor with a thud just as Lydia pulled the last pin from her hair.

“
Shake your hair loose,” he next instructed as he unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them off his flanks. “Good. Now pull a few locks of hair over your breasts.”

Oh, Christ! Just look at her.

Without a doubt, Lydia was every lonely soldier’s dream, her pouting nipples protruding between her fiery locks of cascading hair. Except this was no pornographic
carte de
visite
. This was a dream come true. And about to get better.

Sinfully better.

Rubbing a hand over his testicles, Ben grimaced, hoping that he had the stamina to properly pleasure his wife this first time. Randy as he was, it was going to take all the will power that he could muster not to explode after the first deep thrust.

As he knelt on the mattress,
Ben took a stabilizing breath before he eased Lydia onto her back. Needing to prove to himself that he was
actually
going to make love to his wife, that this wasn’t another tormenting dream, he cuffed a hand around each of her snowy white thighs and pried her legs wide open.

“
Ben, what are you doing?” Lydia shrilly demanded to know.

“Can’t I look?”

“But it’s . . . it’s indecent.”

Ben eyed the moist pink folds. “Maybe so
. But it has to be one of the most awe-inspiring sights I’ve ever seen.” When she frantically tried to cover herself with her hands, he shook his head. “Move your hands away, Lydia. A husband is supposed to take delight in his wife’s body.”

Gently shoving
Lydia’s hands aside, Ben inserted a finger into her, groaning at the tightness of the fit. As he slowly pulled his finger back, Lydia gasped aloud, her hips bucking off of the mattress. Pleased with her response, he parted the silky folds with his other hand, seeking and finding her tender bud, smoothing his thumb over it as he slid yet another finger into her.

Whimpering, Lydia rolled her head back
-and-forth across the pillow.

The sight of her
was more than Ben could handle, his rod twitching against his belly, engorged to the point of pain.

“I’ve been hurting real bad these last few weeks,” he rasped as he slid his hands
over Lydia’s thighs. “You ready to ease my pain?”

Wide-eyed, Lydia
wordlessly nodded.

Ben needed no further encouragement. Leaning forward, he mounted her, one hand gripped around his shaft as he sought what he knew
to be a small, narrow aperture.

At the first push
of his hips, they both moaned.

Battling the urge to simply ram into her with one blunt thrust,
Ben tempered his passion, easing himself into Lydia one excruciating inch at a time.

After what seemed an eternity of grunting and pushing, Ben was
finally
fully imbedded.

Raising himself on his forearms, he stared deeply into Lydia’s eyes
. There was only the barest hint of green rimming her dark pupils. With her extravagant coloring, he’d always thought her a handsome woman; but now, her body glowing with passion’s sheen, she seemed particularly beautiful.

Pulling his hips back,
Ben almost completely withdrew from Lydia’s body; then, his jaw clenched tight, he thrust forward, going as far and as deep as he could. Not certain how long he could keep at it, he set a measured pace, his control seriously challenged each and every time that Lydia raised her hips.