Chapter Fourteen

Forrest's POV

I'd always been a morning person, I'd never been one to grouch or grumble as I rolled out of bed to the first hints of sunlight peeking up over the horizon, but there were definitely ways that I preferred to awaken, if I was given a say in the matter. The smell of coffee percolating was a surefire way to put a smile on my face, especially if it was accompanied by the scent of bacon frying in the pan. The tweeting of birds as they went through their morning routine was another way that I liked to greet the morning, but I was quickly coming to the conclusion that none of these things could even come close to the way that I was waking up at that moment.

At first I thought that I'd made a mistake, that I was going to get chewed out good and proper for having the nerve to fill my palm with Emma's naked breast while I slept beside her, and I was all set to make my way out of the bed, and the room, as fast as I could…and then I remembered that we'd been married the day before, which meant that I had every right to be cradling her breast in my hand, which was a good thing, because that meant that I also had every right to be getting all hot and bothered while I concentrated on the feel of her skin, so warm and so silky, and on her nipple as well, which was slowly, but surely, growing hard against the caress of my palm.

I could tell by her breathing that she was still asleep, but my touch was awakening her arousal, and she responded by arching her back and wriggling against me…which meant that her backside, in all of its bare lushness, brushed against the part of me that had been working overtime lately. It had been bad enough, the buildup to last night, but now that I knew what it was like to be with her, now that I knew how it sounded and how it felt, I knew that I'd be hard-pressed to keep my hands off of her…though, I suppose, there was no reason why I had to keep them to myself at the moment, which was good, because one of them was occupied in the most pleasant way possible, and I was reluctant to turn loose of her before I'd had my fill.

I used the hand that wasn't more pleasantly engaged to move her hair off of her neck, smoothing it to the side, to expose that part that was always hidden from the world, and pressed my lips there, kissing and nuzzling her skin, while my fingertips went to work on the rosy crest of her breast, teasing and wooing the flesh, until it was as hard as I could make it, and then I kept it that way by brushing my thumb over it, back and forth, again and again, until she was moving her bottom against me, in a dance that mimicked the caress of my thumb to a tee.

"Mmm," she said quietly, barely a whisper, one that grew to a whimper when I opened my mouth and ran the tip of my tongue over her nape, then turned to a moan as I nipped her skin, very gently, with my teeth. "Ohh…Forrest."

She still wasn't completely awake, but she was coming 'round more and more, and was moving her backside in a fashion that was making me forget any and all intentions that I might have had to be a gentleman in a hurry. There was a part of me that told me that I had to wait until she was fully awake to take things as far as I intended, but I was beginning to think that she might not wake up anytime soon, and that made me feel a mite bit anxious. Of course, there was probably a whole school of thought that said that a man ought not take his new wife so soon, before she'd had time to mend, and another that said that making love in the presence of the sun was sinful, so what should I do? Was I a bad man for wanting her this way, or was I exactly what I ought to be….?

"What happened?" she asked suddenly, in a sleepy tone of voice that was colored by something that might have been desire, though it was possible that I was only hearing that, because it was what I wanted to hear. "Your hand and your mouth were doing such sweet things to me, but now they've stopped. Did you change your mind, honey?"

Lord have mercy…how could she think for even a minute that I'd changed my mind? Couldn't she feel me pressed against her? Didn't she know that the state of my body was one that was due to the wanting and the needing that was coursing through it? Maybe she needed me to prove to her what I was feeling at that moment, but would it make me a bad person if I did?

"I haven't changed my mind, darlin'," I murmured, gently pinching her nipple between my fingertips. "I just wasn't sure that I was doing what I ought to be doing the night after our marriage. Maybe I ought to be cooking you some breakfast, or maybe you'd like to have a bath instead…hmm, what should I do, Emma?"

The reality was that I wouldn't make it to do anything beyond this moment if she didn't stop rubbing her backside against me the way that she was, but I wasn't about to tell her to stop. It would be embarrassing if I was to lose control of myself like an untried, green boy, but assuring that wouldn't happen sounded like an awful idea, when I looked at the big picture, that is, and I imagined that I could redeem myself pretty quickly, if I was to find myself driven over the edge.

"I don't know if it's right for me to be doing this so soon after the last time, either," I said, wishing that I wasn't so unsure of the particulars of what was right and what was wrong. "And I've heard tell that you aren't supposed to do this sort of thing in the daytime. There are people who say that a man is only supposed to join himself with his wife when it's dark outside….."

My words died in an instant when I heard her giggle, and I started to feel offended, but she made me forget all about my hurt feelings when she moved in a way that put the tip of me against her soft, swollen warmth.

"I think it's just fine for you to be doing exactly what you're doing right now, and more, if it's what you want, and what I want too," she said. "And who's to say that there's a right time of day, and a wrong time of day? I don't think that there's any set hour that a wife can make love to her husband, and even if there was, I have a pretty good idea that I would ignore it completely."

I would have liked to have offered her some sort of answer that made at least a little bit of sense, but it was hard for me to find the right words, or the ability to voice them aloud, given that she'd moved in a way that made it to where her flesh wasn't just brushing against me anymore, but was instead starting to take me inside, little by little, hugging me close within her silken depths.

"I have a wonderful idea, Forrest," she gasped, her breath catching, then finding its way out in a cry of pleasure as my fingertip found, and stroked, the tiny bit of flesh that hid itself at the top of her femininity. "We could always do exactly as we are right now, and then we can have that bath, together, and then we could cook breakfast together as well, couldn't we?"

I groaned, then growled as she took me, enveloping me in soft warmth that felt better than I could have ever imagined it would. I was worried, to begin with, that I might have hurt her again, and I listened carefully, searching for a sign that I might have needed to stop, but her breathing wasn't the sort of someone in pain. She sounded like she was enjoying the feel of me, as a matter of fact, she sounded like someone who was on the verge of whimpering with pleasure, and I damn near lost control of myself then and there when I felt the slightest embrace of her flesh upon mine, holding me close, then releasing me.

"Hmm…that sounds good to me, darlin'…" I said, knowing, without a doubt, that she could have suggested damned near anything at that moment and I would have agreed. I'd never heard tell of a man and a woman trying to wrestle their bodies into the washtub at the same time, but it could certainly be interesting, and it seemed to me that too many cooks in the kitchen could lead to disaster, until it dawned on me that it could be a lot of fun as well. After all, if I'd learned nothing else, I'd found that there was a first time for everything, and a lot of my firsts were with her, so why shouldn't I add a few more to the list?

Emma's POV

I was supposed to be balancing the ledgers, a task that I had set for myself, in the downtime between the rush at noon, and the one that would take hold of the station at suppertime, but my thoughts, as well as my body, were concentrated on my husband instead, in the memories that were afforded to me after a week of marriage, and of making love every chance we got, and it wasn't long before my body was aching for him.

I couldn't say with any certainty how long this hunger for him would remain so keen, but I was selfish enough to hope that it would never diminish, because it hadn't taken me long to realize that there was little, if anything, else in this world that felt as wonderful as being loved thoroughly by a man, and I never wanted that feeling to leave me, not even when I was old and wrinkled and my hair was silver in hue, instead of dark brown…..

"It ain't my place to notice, and it probably ain't proper for me to say, Mrs. Bondurant, but you got that look again, that one that I reckon means that you're pining for your mister, am I right, ma'am?"

I'd tried again and again to convince Annie that she ought to call me by my Christian name, and she did, from time to time, but for the most part she insisted on addressing me by my new surname instead, but I wasn't likely to complain anytime soon, because the truth of the matter was that I liked to hear my name, I enjoyed the affirmation of the event that I sometimes wondered if I'd imagined, because it all seemed too good to be true.

"You'll mention something to me that is never meant to be spoken of in mixed company, yet you refuse to allow my name to escape your lips?" I asked her incredulously, straightening in my chair and biting back a moan when the seat rubbed against me in a way that made my need soar ever closer to release. "Do you have any notion of how ridiculous that is, Annie?"

She started to laugh, then smiled instead as she made her way into Forrest's office, revealing that she was carrying a box beneath her arm. " 'Mixed company' is just another way of saying prudish and uppity, ain't it, Emma?" she asked coyly, moving closer to the desk, to lay the box in front of me. "I'm just pointing out something that's fairly common for a woman who's new to being a wife. I wore that same look when I married Ellery. Hell, truth is I probably had that glow right up until the time when I was carrying Cora Lynn, but that was when he took to drinking, and I haven't had that happiness since, though it didn't stop him from getting two more young'uns on me, did it?"

I couldn't even begin to imagine making love to a man that I didn't feel that glow of happiness for, but what did I know about it? I just couldn't work out the notion of being intimate with a man who you only tolerated, at best. How could a woman stand the feel of him against her, and, more than that, how could she stomach him being inside of her? That had to have been hell, plain and simple, but what was a woman like Annie, with six children to feed and clothe, to do, other than to stay right where she was?

"I wish that there was something that I could do to help you, Annie," I said quietly, hesitantly, because I knew that she despised people feeling sorry for her. "It's no way for a woman to live….."

"This package just came for you, Mrs. Bondurant," she interrupted, moving the box closer to me, until it seemed that she meant to push it off of the desk and into my lap. "Someone wrote fragile on it. That means that it breaks easily, don't it? It's kind of a funny word, isn't it…fragile. Why don't they just say to be careful, or to watch your step? Why go and use that word instead? What if the one they're talking to don't understand what they're talking about?"

She turned and walked out of the room in a hurry, before I could answer her, but I understood her meaning just the same. She was the fragile one, with a delicate heart, and even more tenuous was her pride, and if I continued on in the way that I was, I was in danger of breaking her heart, of being careless with our friendship, and treading callously upon her pride, and I didn't want to any of those things. I wanted to help her, because she was my friend, but I didn't want to do so at the expense of our friendship, so it was best if I didn't discuss her marriage with her, not unless she made it clear first that she wanted my opinion on the matter.

I turned my attention to the box in front of me. It was an everyday, ordinary corrugated paper box, with no ornament to make it more appealing to the eye, though the names and addresses had been penned in a neat and ornate hand. It was just as much of a thrill to see my new name as the addressee with my own eyes as it had been to hear it with my ears whenever I could convince those around me to refer to me as such. Mrs. Emma S. Bondurant…yes, that looked wonderful, though the name of the sender, one Mrs. Constance V. Cantrell, wasn't nearly as nice.

I was hesitant to open a package that had originated from my ex-mother-in-law, as a matter of fact, I was downright scared to do so, because I would not put it past the old witch to send me a box filled with scorpions, at the very least, or maybe, if she wanted to ensure my death, she might have rounded up a pair of water moccasins instead, though that seemed less likely, given that there were no holes in the box to offer them a breath of air.

I rattled the box back and forth, listening for any telltale scrapes or slithers, but all that I heard was the sound of something heavy hitting one side of the box, then the other. I waited several moments, hoping that Forrest might come in and offer me his opinion, but he was busy at the old home place with Howard and Jack, helping their father to tear out and replace a broken section of floor in the loft of the barn, and it was unlikely that he'd be home before dark, and my curiosity was quickly getting the best of me.

I took a heavy pair of shears out of the desk drawer and cautiously applied them to the lid of the carton, opening it as quickly as I could, then jumping back out of the way before anything could attack me, and damn near killing myself by slipping and falling in the process, though somehow, miraculously, I avoided the sharp blades of the scissors, which was a good thing, because I would have been in for one hell of a chastising from my husband, had I mortally wounded myself. Of course, if I had killed myself it would have meant that he'd have had a difficult time getting on to me, but…..

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what is wrong with you?" I hissed, bending to pick up the shears, which I'd dropped when I fell, returning them to the drawer, and then turning my attention to the contents of the box. There was a card, which smelled heavily of lily of the valley, like the woman who'd sent the package, and beneath that, wrapped in layer after layer of thin paper, was a crystal vase, one that was very familiar to me, in the most terrifying way possible, which, I'm certain, is why she'd chosen to send it to me, the vindictive old hag.

The card was pretty enough, and obviously expensive, but there wasn't one mention of Forrest, aside from the insincere words of congratulations on our marriage. Then there were passages of what would have amounted to polite and mind-numbing chitchat in spoken conversation…and then there was the real reason for her gift.

…..It dawned upon me that you were quite fond of this vase that you received from Walton's good friend, William Oglethorpe, and I realize that it was cruel of me, to take this precious memento from you when my son died. William was a good friend to Walton his entire life, and there were confidences that he shared, concerning our family, secrets which you share as well, and I thought that this vase would remind you of the consequences that are to be born when one does not keep their word. It was so unfortunate, what happened to Mr. Oglethorpe, after Walton had his dreadful accident, wasn't it? I would hate to see the same fate befall you, Emma dear, but these things happen, don't they, when one forgets themselves…..

Walton had insisted that the beautiful vase hold freshly cut flowers whenever they were available, while he lived. I think that it had made him feel closer to Billy, just as I think it had made him sad, and he'd loved the crystal, and cared for it every day, but it had disappeared on the day he died…only to be found later, lying next to William Oglethorpe, a corner of it shattered and coated with his blood.

I could still see the stain of crimson it the splintered corner and I wondered how on earth she'd managed to get her hands on it, so that she could send it to me as a warning. Oh, I read her meaning loud and clear, it was one that struck me dead in the center of my chest and caused the hair to rise up on the back of my neck. It was amazing that I'd managed to live as long as I had, and I wasn't about to do or say anything that would jeopardize me, or, more importantly, those that I loved, and that was why I carefully wrapped the vase back in its paper and threw the card on top before I resealed the box and found a place to hide it, well out of sight, before I went to speak to Annie, and bid her not to mention the delivery to Forrest.

The Cantrell family had ruined many things for me, they'd browbeaten and frightened me, and wore me down and cast me out, but they wouldn't take my husband away from me, or me away from my husband, not so long as I had a breath of life left in my body. I just wondered if the good Lord would judge me too harshly if they drove me to do the worst. Would it be murder if it was done in the defense of my own life or in that of others? I hoped that I never had to find out…though I certainly wouldn't hesitate, if they gave me no other choice.