*What's up, ya'll? It's been a while! I'm sorry for the long hiatus. I was on a grand adventure, with no computer and spotty cell service and a whole lot of sand. There were ups (I made some new friends!) and downs (traveler's diarrhea is a real and present danger, man), and now it's over and I'm back home with my dog and my computer and my fidgety muse finally showing up to play.
I'll be honest with you guys. I f***ing hate writing sex scenes. I'm not a prude, but erotic fiction is decidedly not my cup o' tea. But it was time. Amelia and Josh (and I) have been putting it off long enough. So I hope you're ready to buckle down and gird your loins for a few thousand words of (vague, metaphorical, awkwardly-worded) smut! Cuz that's what you're about to get!!!!
<3 Liz*
Amelia
She dreamt of walking city streets in the summer. The air smelled of human sweat, animal manure, and cooking meat. She wasn't alone. A man walked beside her, but when she turned to look at him the sun hit her square in the eyes and made her squint. He laughed and she couldn't quite hear it. She only felt it, deep in her chest.
A woman walked toward them, pushing a tram. The child inside was rowdy, tossing about, kicking free of its blankets. A pudgy fist punched out, then a little foot. The woman stopped, bent over the tram, and cooed at the child. Amelia stopped as well, pulling her escort to a halt with her. She bent over and admired the child. It was a little boy, all dressed in his finest. Probably on the way to church.
"Aren't you beautiful?" she admired, grasping his tiny foot and shaking it until he giggled. Then his giggle turned to an outright, gleeful cackle, and she startled. Found herself tangled in the sheets, a warm breeze carrying moonlight across her bare skin.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, she peered across the room to where the hulking shape of a man stood before the changing table she'd placed beside the window. Shadows played across the naked flesh of his back, all muscle and sinew, moving like a concert orchestra in perfect harmony. His voice wasn't quite such a song, all whispered growls and hushed curses.
"Hold still dammit," he hissed, his frustration accompanied by a raucous giggle as fists punched at the air and feet kicked. "You're going to wake your mama."
Rebecca didn't seem to care. Her laughs faded to coos and gentle babbling, but when he lifted her into his arms she let out a happy screech that split the air, and Josh visibly flinched. Amelia closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"I said hush, Reb," he murmured, bouncing her in his arms and turning a slow circle beside the bed. "And maybe go back to sleep? Please? Your pa's tired. He doesn't get to sleep all day like you."
Rebecca squirmed in his arms, reaching up and smacking at his jaw with a tiny hand. He sighed and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers as he turned to the window, presenting Amelia once more with his back. Although he bounced and swayed and rocked and hummed a soothing, steady rhythm that had Amelia's eyelids drifting shut, Rebecca continued to babble and squirm, and eventually he relented.
"Fine," he sighed, setting her back on the table and fetching a blanket. "Only for a little while, though. Unless you're going to help me at work tomorrow?"
Rebecca had fallen quiet, and Amelia smiled at the thought that someday the back-and-forth wouldn't be coincidence. She'd pester him mercilessly, about everything under the sun. Pretty rocks she'd found, animals she'd seen, trees she'd climbed... on and on she'd ramble until he'd tell her if she insisted on bothering him at work she'd have to at least help him. She'd help him and she'd love it. She'd give Amelia palpitations, riding the horses her father brought home, galloping across the plains in pursuit of some errant herd of cattle.
Josh left the room quietly, tiptoeing on bare feet, her swaddled daughter in his arms. Amelia waited a few long minutes before crawling out of bed, donning a light robe, and following after him. She kept to the edges of the hallway and stairs, avoiding the spots in the wood that creaked beneath her weight. The house rested beneath the heavy, warm fog of midnight-- its occupants imprisoned by slumber, the air still thick with the warmth of yesterday's sun and just beginning to shift with tomorrow's breeze. Amelia crept through the parlor to the entryway, coming to a halt in the open door, resting a shoulder against the frame.
Her husband sat at the top of the porch steps, Rebecca cradled in the crook of his elbow. He spoke of everything and nothing, pointing out the stars, complaining about the men who slept in the bunkhouse at the bottom of the hill. A pang of regret hit her heart when Amelia realized her daughter probably knew more of his life than she did. He spoke to her so freely.
"... reckon I'll let him go at the end of the season," he was saying regretfully, bouncing Rebecca in his arm and tickling the bottom of her foot, which had poked free from her clumsy swaddling. "I don't like it, you know. Firing a man's never easy, even if he's a lousy worker. They all have stories. Widowed mothers they're sending money to, girls they want to win over, homesteads they want to purchase. But at the end of the day, little one, running a ranch isn't about benevolence and charity. Be easier if it was, I s'pose."
Rebecca made a little sound that had the ring of an agreement, and Amelia bit back a laugh. Josh chuckled as well, taking the baby's foot in his hand and giving it a gentle shake.
"It's good you understand. Someday it'll be your problem to deal with, if I'm lucky. Unless you get it in your head you wanna wander. Though I s'pose it's in your blood so I couldn't hardly blame you if you did." He sounded suddenly and terribly sad, and Amelia clung to the doorframe to keep herself from going to him. Wrapping her arms around his body and promising that Brent's wanderlust wouldn't steal away the child they were raising together.
But what did she know? She hadn't been able to stop Brent, and she hadn't loved him near so much as she loved her daughter. What would she say if Rebecca came to her one day and said the wide world called to her? She certainly couldn't say no.
"I reckon your ma would like it if you took to travel," Josh said, interrupting her spiral of worry and self pity. "There's places she wants to go that I can't possibly take her. If you grow up real strong and brave, maybe you can take her instead, that way everybody's happy. Don't get me wrong, I'd miss you both something awful, but it'd be a good adventure for you two to have together. And it's not like you wouldn't come home and visit, right? I'd get to see my girls plenty, even if it wasn't plenty enough."
He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and Rebecca uttered a sleepy, contented little sound. She was finally falling back into slumber, and Amelia had never felt more awake. More alive. It seemed that her shattering heart had released some sharp and wild toxin into her blood as it broke. She wanted to yell into the star-pocked sky. She wanted to grab her idiot husband by his hair and shake him until he fell properly and fully into her life where he belonged instead of lingering in the periphery. What did he think-- that she'd go off and tour the world and leave him waiting on the stoop? To hell with that. He'd come with her, or she wouldn't go at all.
Sighing, Amelia slunk back into the house, treading the same path she'd followed on her way out, her footsteps silent. Reaching the top of the stairs, she paused, took a breath, and considered going back to bed. There was nothing at all wrong with the status quo. It was comfortable and pleasant. Predictable. Easy. She could go back to sleep and wake up and nothing at all about her perfect, whimsical little life would have changed.
Oh, to hell with whimsical. To hell with Josh's silly self-effacing vision of the future. To hell with comfort.
Firming herself, Amelia descended the stairs-- this time loudly, stepping on every creaky board, dropping her full weight into every step. In a dramatic show, she arrived in the open doorway, stretching her arms above her head and yawning as if she had only just awoken.
"How long has she been up?" she asked as Josh twisted around to face her.
"Not long," he lied, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to their daughter. Rebecca had clearly fallen back to sleep, nestled securely in the crook of his arm.
"You should've woken me," she admonished, although in truth nothing in her current life brought her greater joy than waking in the night to see her husband caring for Rebecca of his own volition, without expectation of notice or reward, looking after the child purely because he was drawn to do so.
"She wasn't hungry. Just needed a change and a little fresh air."
"She looks content, now. Come back to bed?"
"In a bit," he said. "You go on. If I get up too soon she'll think there's an adventure coming and find her second wind."
Instead of leaving, Amelia stepped carefully across the porch and settled down beside him on the stairs. Her gaze was torn between the chubby cheeks, rosebud lips, and sleeping serenity of her daughter, and the rugged profile of the man who held her. She'd never have guessed how many forms beauty could take.
"I feel like winter is just around the corner," she mused, rubbing her arms against the slight nip in the morning air. "I could swear it only just ended."
Josh huffed a quiet laugh, re-tucking the blanket around Rebecca. The child's face scrunched up in displeasure until she'd jostled her swaddling loose once more. Then she resettled, snug in her father's hold, one pudgy pink foot pressing against his arm. She didn't like to be contained. "Summers are short around here," he agreed, a melancholy note to the observation. "Should have a few good weeks left, though, before the days get chilly."
"Well thank goodness for that."
They sank into silence, staring out at the blue-tinted, pre-dawn landscape. Amelia watched a few lonely figures begin to move between the buildings below and marveled at the austere, lonely loveliness of it all. Somewhere out in the world, Brent was probably stumbling home beneath bright city streetlights with the buzz of alcohol in his veins. Or perhaps he was so far away the sun had already risen, and he was gazing on vistas she couldn't even imagine. Rolling blue mountains. Barren yellow deserts. Angry green seas.
Who would have thought she'd be so happy in the quiet of the night, living a life of ritual and routine? Who would have thought she would find herself falling so hard, tumbling so haphazardly, so recklessly, so clumsily and completely for someone so... staid?
Shifting closer, she looped her arm through her husband's and rested her head on his shoulder. "I think she's asleep now, Josh," she said lightly. "Let's go back to bed."
He sighed and, with a reluctant reservation in his movements, nodded and pushed to his feet. She rose with him, leading the way back inside the house, up the stairs, into the bedroom. She shut the door and stood in front of it, shoulders pressed to the wood, watching as Josh bent and carefully placed Rebecca inside her cradle.
Shivers raced up her spine when he straightened and turned, brow crinkling in confusion when he saw her standing there, one hand still clinging to the doorknob.
"You okay, Ames?" he asked, taking three short steps toward her. Her heart thundered in her ears, her skin prickling, her palms sweating.
"I'm okay," she lied, releasing the doorknob and crossing her arms over her chest as if to ward off the cold. But she wasn't cold at all. There was fire in her veins, licking up her spine, bringing beads of sweat to the surface of her skin. She swallowed, struggling to conjure moisture to her tongue as she released her death grip on her arms and brought trembling fingers to the knot that held her robe in place.
"Amelia, I'm serious," Josh said, oblivious of the burning, terrifying storm inside her. "Are you alright?" He hurriedly closed the distance between them, taking her shoulders in his hands. He loomed over her. He dwarfed her. He terrified her. He loved her. It was there, in the lines on his forehead. There, in the strength of his fingers as they gripped her. There in the gruff anxiety of his tone.
"I'm fine, Josh," she said, shaking off his grip and pulling loose the knot of her robe. She shrugged out of it and let the material fall to the floor. Her fingers were numb, but she forced them to the buttons that ran up the front of her nightgown. She wanted him to do this. Next time, she would ask him to. This time, she knew it had to be her.
"Ames, what the hell are you doing? Rebecca is slee--"
"You're a good father," she said in answer, holding his gaze as she blindly worked the buttons. Two popped loose and cool air tickled her skin.
"That doesn't--"
"You're a wonderful husband," she cut him off. A third button, and she knew the curve of her breast was exposed by the way his eyes flared and his jaw tightened.
"You're--"
"You love me," she said sternly, scowling at him, abandoning her nightgown and reaching out. She grabbed his wrist, brought his hand up, and pressed it against her exposed chest. Her heart flailed desperately as his roughened palm came to rest on delicate skin. She held it there, watching his expression ride the range, from confusion to shock to awe to... shame? His gaze dropped and he tugged at his hand, but she held it in place. "Tell me you don't," she challenged. "Tell me you don't love me."
"Of course I do," he growled impatiently, giving his hand another tug. His voice was hard, and her galloping heart stumbled when she saw the embarrassment paint his face. "That's not how this works, though, Amelia. This isn't... it's not..." his fingers curled into a fist over her heart, depriving them both of the contact. He tugged once more and this time she let go, frustration and heartache mingling in her chest as he took a step back, fingers clenching and releasing as if to rid himself of the feel of her.
"Let me give you this," she pleaded, following him. "You deser--"
"Don't you dare tell me I deserve it," he snapped, an ugly look twisting his features. "I don't want to be repaid, Amelia. I don't want you to do this. I don't want this."
His body disagreed with his words, but she wasn't going to point that out. Instead, she stepped close and felt his love in the rigid, angry way he stood within her embrace. No, he didn't want to be repaid. He loved her too much to let her sell her body for any price. Loved her too much to take what he clearly, desperately wanted.
"I don't want to repay you," she murmured into his chest, letting her fingers trail up his back. His heart hammered against her ear, his truth pressed hard against her stomach, and she wanted to laugh at the beauty of how well they fit together, even like this. Even with the shutters drawn hard over his eyes, the spark inside him found a way to set her ablaze.
"I don't want to repay you," she repeated, raising her head enough to look up into his face. He glared down at her, and she smiled, pushing up to her tiptoes and kissing the hard, angry curve of his frown. "I want to love you back," she finally said, the honestly of the words leaving her a little weak in the knees, and she leaned against him, resting her face against his chest once more. "I do love you back."
And all of a sudden she wanted to cry, because she could feel his reaction to her declaration. The sudden, inhuman tension of his muscles as his body coiled around his reflex disbelief. The rapid stutter of his heart as he considered whether to trust her. The stages in which he relaxed as he chose to take her at her word. First his arms, slipping around her and returning her embrace. Then his back, curving over her as he pulled her to him. Finally his hands, one plastering to her spine, the other curving around the back of her neck.
And then they were kissing, and she didn't even feel it happen. Every time before, she had been at least passingly aware of the mechanics of their actions. Where were his hands, and where ought she put hers? Which angle was he tilting his head? Should she open her mouth or keep it shut? Raise up on her tiptoes or pull him down to her? Passion with Josh was like a carefully constructed fire. First tinder, then kindling, then fuel, all carefully placed and positioned so the whole thing wouldn't collapse and stifle itself the second it caught flame.
This wasn't a campfire. It was a barrel of black powder. Incendiary. Explosive. Blinding. One second she was buried in the vulnerability of her declaration, her senses drowned by doubts and emotion. The next she was nothing but sensation. The taste of him, the warmth of him, the remarkable contrast of smooth skin and taut muscle beneath her hands.
Amelia didn't make choices, and nor, it seemed, did he. Surely her quiet, well-mannered husband would never have chosen to take the front of her nightgown in his hands and pull until the buttons popped. The Josh she'd married would have hesitated and asked permission before kneading a tender breast, pinching pebbled flesh just hard enough to make her gasp, arching into him. He'd have led her gently to the bed instead of hoisting her into his arms and carrying her there.
She had always known this was coming. She had married him after all, and she was no more a nun than he was a priest. This carnal, animal connection was an inevitability, but as many times as she had pictured it, both in fear and in anticipation, she had never pictured it like this. In the beginning, she'd imagined cruelty and detachment. Rutting, grunting, pain, humiliation. Then, once she came to know him, she'd imagined reverence. Patience. Hesitation. Perhaps he would bring her pleasure, but if there was passion between them, she thought she'd be the one to bring it.
God above, but she was wrong.
He was not worshipful as he laid her down on the mattress and peeled the nightgown from her sweat-damp skin; he was hungry. He didn't sigh at the sight of her naked body; he growled, low and deep and almost angry. She remembered the fire that had burned in Brent's eyes the first time he had taken her. Hot. She remembered that heat.
Josh didn't bring heat, and there was no fire in his eyes. There was lightning. Snapping, crackling energy that brought up the hairs on her arms. There was thunder in the way he touched her, so deep and powerful it made her heart stutter and skip. She was paralyzed by it, locked in place by the perfect fit of all he was to all she knew herself to be. His body to hers. His strength to her resilience. His ice to her fire. His devotion, his love, his steadiness. Her gratitude, her adoration, her spontaneity.
His rigid need.
Her aching emptiness.
As quickly and aggressively as he had laid her bare, when he finally filled her it was with agonizing care and caution. First one finger, with his thumb rubbing gentle circles that had her biting her lip and gripping the sheets at her sides. Then two fingers, testing and stretching until she could have screamed if not for the sleeping baby in the corner, on whom her thoughts lingered for barely a flicker of a guilty moment before returning to sensation. Then a pause, gentle kisses trailing over her face, her neck, her chest. A whispered command. "Open your eyes."
Then... there was no pain, and it was nothing like before. It didn't just not hurt. It felt good. It felt right. She loved it like she loved him. She felt no shame at her sigh of bliss, as he continued to care for her pleasure with nimble, skillful fingers. She didn't lose power as he pinned her arms above her head with one urgent hand, she gained it. Gained it, staring up into the fathomless darkness of his eyes and understanding why he needed her to look at him. She had only to blink, only to frown, and all of this would end. She could harness the storm with a word or a shake of her head.
She was a god.
No, she saw God, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming the Lord's name in ecstasy as furious pleasure seized her body and soul. This was no rolling, happy warmth. This was what it must be like to fly, through storm clouds and tornadoes, over mountains, straight into the stars. She didn't realize she was crying out until a hand clamped down over her mouth, stifling the noise.
Always and forever, her mind was wandering to Brent-- her first love, her first pleasure, her first sin. Thinking of him was a bad habit, a nervous tic that, try as she might, she couldn't suppress. When Josh kissed her, she thought of the way Brent tasted. When Josh held her, she thought of Brent's warmth. When Josh chuckled, she thought of Brent's raucous guffaw. When Josh smiled, she thought of Brent's grin. Where Josh was safety, Brent was freedom. Josh's selflessness, Brent's confidence. Devotion and sensuality, comfort and excitement, respect and lust, all muddled up in her head and battling for her heart.
But now... who was Brent? Who had he been to her? His memory was like a dream at dawn, pulling apart and drifting into aether until she could barely remember the feel of his name on her tongue. All that remained was her husband. Josh. She pulled her hands loose from his hold and sank her fingers into the trembling muscle of his shoulders as she fell from pleasure just as he crested it. When he shuddered, stilled, and pushed away, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down, and held him close. She breathed him in and let the last of Brent burn away from her soul, like so much water curling to steam off a hot pan. For the first time, his absence didn't feel like a loss because it left more room for Josh-- her husband, Rebecca's father. Her yesterday, her tomorrow.
Her roaring, crashing pleasure.
Her warm, safe respite.
Amelia turned her head just enough to see the window. Birds were beginning to chirp outside, and the sky was turning purple with the rising sun. Rebecca would be up soon, hungry and demanding. Melissa would need help in the kitchen. The ranch would call on Josh. She and her husband were both sweaty, sticky, and in various states of undress. So much would need attending to, in so short a time.
It could wait.
Just a few minutes, until she regained her breath.
Just a few moments, until Josh regained his senses.
Running her hand over his arm, she turned her face toward his ear. "Tell me how you feel," she demanded, smiling as he breathed out a strained laugh, warm air tickling her collarbone.
"Love you," he murmured into her hair, and she could have wept. It was one thing to know it, but it was something entirely different to hear it. She felt a little bad for him, having to hear it and learn to know it all at one time.
"I love you, too," she whispered back. A person's love was a lot to accept, she knew. She'd just have to make it easy for him to learn.