His Beautiful Wench (2 page)

His laughter stopped and, composed once more, he wiped tears from his eyes. “My dear Amelia. You do make me happy. Of
course
you can help me. Why, you always do…”

What?

“Did you forget I was due back around this day?” He tilted his head, teasing her senses into overdrive. “I can’t believe that for one minute.”

“Who are you?” Her mind grew fuzzy, her thought processes dull and slow.

“Ah!” He placed his hands on broad hips and winked. “We’re playing a game, are we? May I come in and join the fun?”

She shook her head to clear it, to think straight, but images flew through her mind. Images of herself and this man in an embrace, hot tears on her face as they clutched one another at the dockside, the stink of salty water and his scent all around her. Her heart rate picked up and she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. Surely her mind had conjured that scene—after all, she wore an old dress, and he…he wore old clothing.

She found herself nodding.

He beamed his winning smile up at her and said, “Maybe the slap of my hand upon your rump will bring back the memory of who I am, my beautiful wench.”

He disappeared around the side of her cottage and Amelia gasped, stood as though rooted, unable to process recent events quickly enough. Her heart hammered and she shut the window, her hand on the latch, her mind trying to figure out what to do next.

The doors are locked. I locked them, didn’t I?

Her back door slammed and she shrieked. Turning from the window, she glanced about the room in search of a weapon and saw nothing but the wooden chest. Amelia dashed toward it and looked into its depths, praying it contained more than the dress.
Nothing.

Footsteps pounded, their thud too far away to be the attic stairs.

“Oh God.” Confused, she remembered her carpet, wondered why those footsteps sounded so hollow, as if his boots thumped on bare wood. She closed her eyes to steel herself for his appearance, listened to the footsteps coming closer, the creak of the first step leading to the attic…

More images crowded her mind. Amelia seated at the window, sharp blade in hand, carving those lines in the sill. Another day with him gone. Her staring out at that sea, squinting for sight of his ship on the horizon. Sorrow and desolation when he failed to arrive, exaltation and delirium when his ship broke the line of ocean and sky, the tiny speck of it heralding his imminent arrival. Longing. Desire. Her body aching for his touch, for his whispered words in her ear.

The footsteps stilled. Taking in a huge breath, Amelia opened her eyes.

He stood at the top of the stairs, arms held out for her. A sob caught in her throat and tears pricked her eyes. His sun-weathered face… God, how she itched to touch it, to run her fingertips over his full lips, to weave her hands in his thick, wavy hair.

“Emmett,” she whispered, his name foreign yet so right on her tongue.

He rewarded her with a wide grin. “Ah, you couldn’t keep the game going, I see. Come here.”

She ran toward him, all fear gone, her past—or was it her future?—obliterated, replaced with the need to feel his chest against hers, his kiss on her lips. He pulled her into an embrace, one hand on her ass, the other roaming her back. She nestled her face in the crook of his neck and a strangled cry built in her chest and left her mouth. She touched her lips to his collarbone, the heat from his skin searing. His hand left her back to weave through her hair, fingertips massaging her scalp.

“By God, I’ve missed you, wench.”

His voice sent shivers of desire through her, his use of “wench” an almost illicit, daring term that prodded her need for him higher. She hugged him to her, the planes of his back hard and familiar beneath her hands. He smelled of sunshine, salt and that indefinable scent that was undeniably Emmett Dray. The smell she conjured on the nights she lay in bed after working at the saloon, hoping the memory of it would bring him into her dreams. The nights she tried unsuccessfully to sleep in her attic room, the moans and sighs from the men and women in the whorehouse below making her wish she and Emmett were creating those noises. Tears spilled and she thanked God Emmett had returned to her safe—and prayed he would remain here for longer than his usual week between voyages. Those days sped by so fast she barely had time to become accustomed to his arrival before they once again held one another close beside the dock and prepared to say goodbye.

Don’t think of him leaving when he has only just arrived.

She sniffed and lifted her head, taking in the sight of him. More lines had appeared beside his eyes—him squinting due to the harsh sun, she’d wager—and he’d tanned darker than any other time she could remember. Where had he voyaged, this man of hers, to be so brown?

He rubbed his nose against hers and tilted his head, eyes closing as his lips touched hers. A thrill rushed through her and she tightened her hold on him, crushed him closer. She opened her mouth to invite his tongue in and it met hers. A groan cut short in her throat and she loved him with her mouth, pressing her pelvis into his. Hard cock greeted her and she moaned again, needing him inside her.

He broke the kiss, cupped her face and stared into her eyes.

Do they remind him of the ocean? Are they the same bright blue?

“It’s been difficult for you this time, Amelia?” He touched his brow to hers.

“It’s always difficult. Always.” She sighed and fingered his shoulder blades, ran her nails down his spine. “I’ll never get used to it. When will you—”

“Hush. There’s time later to discuss my next voyage.”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to a double bed, its head and footboards fashioned from iron poles. A multicolored patchwork quilt covered the mattress, a corner folded over, a sheet beneath. With one foot on the bed, he balanced her upon his knee, her back cradled in his arm, and used his free hand to fling the quilt aside. He lowered her onto the bed and looked down at her, the rigidity of his cock evident underneath his shirtfront. She held her breath at the sheer beauty of him, at the reality that he was truly here. He raised his arm and slid his hand beneath her neckline, lifting the material to peek beneath. He smiled, caressed her swells with his thumb and she released her breath. His splayed palm warmed her chest and he moved it toward her neck, one finger tracing the dip at the base of her throat.

“I love you, my beautiful wench.”

Emmett took his hand away and the loss of contact pained Amelia. She reached out to grasp his wrist. He leaned to one side and took off his boots, her grip steadying him.

“Come to me,” she said, the ache in her bud all-consuming.

God she needed him. She pulled up her skirt and widened her legs. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between them, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Amelia stared at him, wanting to read his expressions and remember them, shelve them for the lonely times to come. He smiled and raised one eyebrow. A pink blush colored his cheeks and she eyed the smattering of chest hair peeking from the open neck of his shirt. She itched to touch it, to feel it against her skin, and squirmed beneath him. Warm hands smoothed along her calves, over her knees and up her thighs. Her breath hitched at his touch, her pulse picking up speed. Thumb tips brushed her mound, the softness of his movement making her cunt throb. He cocked his head and shifted her skirt higher. His eyes widened.

“By God! Did you allow those women downstairs to fashion your undergarments?”

Amelia frowned and looked down, her head supported by pillows. A scanty piece of black material covered her thatch, familiar yet not.
Did
the whorehouse women or Madam create her underwear? A moment of confusion lingered before dissipating completely.

“It’s nothing more than a strip of fabric!” His rich laugh filled her attic room and he gazed down at her, blue eyes bright. “My, you’re an amazing woman. So bold yet so innocent in allowing those females of the night to influence you.”

He grazed her lower belly, his fingertips featherlight, teasing. She tensed, waiting for him to ravish her, needing him to handle her with gentle roughness, yet his hands played over her skin with no urgency. She raised her hips, conveying to him her desire that he move faster, but his grin told her he had taken charge.

Frustrated, she whispered, “Hurry. I want you so much. Need you.”

Emmett gave her a lazy smile and bent his head, his breath hot on her inner thighs, day-old beard growth rasping her skin. She sucked in a breath, eager for him to lick her folds, to bring her the joy she craved. Shock waves buzzed to her slit and her hips jolted upward. If only he would taste her now, stop teasing and just sup her juices. She fisted the sheet beneath her.

Take me. I need you to take me…

He breathed in, a long intake of air.

Does he do what I do? Remember my scent when in his bunk at night? Does his throat thicken when he recalls it, tears close?

Love for him bloomed, her chest tight. God, how she’d missed him, and upon his return she realized she’d missed him even more than she’d thought. Cool air bathed her cunt as he pushed her underwear aside and parted her with finger and thumb. Her bud ached with the need to be touched and she lifted her ass in an attempt to make him lick her. He waited and Amelia grasped the back of his neck, pushing his head down a little. God help her for appearing greedy, but she would go insane if he didn’t sup from her soon. A puff of hot breath heated her a second before his tongue swept up her slit, circling the sensitive nub at the top. She cried out, his languid torment sweet yet maddening. She wound her fingers in his hair, the tresses coarse from sea salt, the feel of them heaven. He laved up and down, every so often dipping his tongue tip inside her.

She keened, staring down at him, watching as he lapped her wetness. The sight brought a rush of desire and she gripped his hair tighter, biting her lower lip as pleasure spread through her folds. She thrashed her head from side to side, canting her hips even higher, and let out a ragged sigh. Her nipples ached, taut and pressed against her bodice, and she wished his mouth in two places at once. Again she looked down at his bobbing head, at her hands in his hair. Amelia gasped as pleasure built and her abdomen spasmed, his tongue strokes harder each time her ass lifted from the bed. Juices seeped out of her and Emmett lapped them up. He circled her nub then slid his tongue inside her, repeating the motions until pressure swelled her throbbing bud and she whimpered.

Her orgasm came on swiftly, a raging burn that spread up her channel to the pit of her stomach. She keened again and clutched his head, willing his tongue faster, harder, but he continued with soft strokes, drawing out her pleasure. The torturous abrasion nudged the intensity up a notch and she cried out as it spread through her lower body. Her nipples grew harder, the peaks achingly taut, and she let go of his hair to massage her breasts through her dress. Her orgasm nearing its peak, she lifted her hips higher and Emmett applied a little more tongue pressure, pushing two fingers inside her. She bucked, loosed a ragged moan and more of her juices spilled. The sensations in her cunt grew as he licked and fucked her with his fingers. The pressure of his strokes set off a fiercer throb and her hips undulated. She handled her breasts harder, squeezing their softness until the passion receded and she stilled her hands, resting them flat on her chest.

Emmett raised his head and she gazed down at him, panting, her eyes half-closed, her heart rate fast. Her cream glistened on his lips and he dashed out his tongue, slowly licking her wetness away. Aftershocks stabbed her throbbing nub and she wanted him again, wanted his cock inside her. He shifted up, his body covering hers, his hardness pushing against her slick mound. She raised her abdomen to gain more pressure, so ready for more of what he had to give. He stared at her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other in her hair. He lowered his mouth to claim hers. His kiss tasted of her juices and she took what he offered, arms about his back. They explored one another’s tongues and she kissed him hard, low moans dying in her throat. She moved her hands down to cup his backside and kneaded, loving the feel of him, loving the way he fit against her. He rose, hands flat on the mattress beside her, and she mourned the loss of his mouth on hers. Licking her lips, she brought her hands up between them, staring into his eyes. She began to undo his shirt. The stubborn buttons refused to be freed easily and she fought the urge to rip open the fabric so she could touch him. Quickly, she finished her task and laid her palms to his chest, the feel of his skin hot on hers.

“I want to be inside you. I need you so much, wench.”

His flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes showed his desire and she snagged her fingers in the curls on his chest then swept her hands over his skin to rest on his shoulders.

He swooped down for another quick kiss, rose again and leaned on one hand while the other freed her breast. Rough with calluses from his ship’s rigging, he brushed his hand over her nipple. The scuff of his coarse skin sent shudders of delight through her and she arched her back, pressing her breast into his palm.

“You’re a beauty,” Emmett whispered, his gaze meeting hers. “I dreamed of you every night and sometimes during the day. I had many a time when my mind wandered to thoughts of you.” He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. “And sometimes my cock got so hard it ached.”