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"And I need you more than want you,
And I want you for all time . . ."
--Glen Campbell, “Wichita Lineman”
The key turned in the lock, and he opened the door to their room. Their room, his and Sandy's. It was for real, after all this time. He turned to look at her, and saw that her dark eyes were shining, and her lovely face was, if possible, more beautiful than ever.
"After you, Mrs. Curry."
She nodded her assent and walked in ahead of him.
"Well," he said, and stopped. All the times he'd been with women, and to say there'd been quite a few was putting it mildly, and yet now he had absolutely no idea what to do. Here he was with the woman he’d loved for years, and now she was his wife. And although he knew more ways of making her happy than he could count, he wasn't quite sure how to begin.
It wasn't like she was a . . . well, she'd been married. But her first husband had turned brutal and had left her wary of men. She'd managed to get a divorce, not easy under the law, but for a long while she'd jumped at shadows. Then, in San Francisco, just when she'd seemed ready to trust him, when their courtship had finally begun, she'd been kidnapped. Kidnapped, and gang raped, and by the time they found her, she’d retreated so far inside herself that she didn't even recognize him. Understanding that his own people would probably just lock her up in a madhouse, and that the healers of her Native father's tribe were her only chance, he'd understood he had to let her go.
It had been nearly two long years before he saw her again, until one day she just showed up on his doorstep, ready to start again where they'd left off. He'd never stopped loving her, even if he’d begun to give up hoping. But then, as they were planning the wedding, the little matter of his being accused of murder had intervened. Today, on the very afternoon of his acquittal, the Reverend Spencer had said the words that made them husband and wife, at last.
Oh, there'd been plenty of kissing since she'd been back, and she'd taken to nestling comfortably at his side on the settee in the front parlor, or when he drove them both in the wagon. She seemed to be reverting to her naturally affectionate self, the way she used to be when he first knew her. He could still remember in the old days how she'd sit with her head resting on Ella's shoulder, her warmth towards her friend so freely expressed, and he'd be consumed with envy. And now, finally, that sweet-natured affection was bestowed on him.
But lovemaking . . . what if it brought back too many bad memories for her? What if it sent her over the edge back into the terrors that she'd lived with for so long?
He decided to let her approach him, thinking perhaps she'd feel safer that way. He stood perfectly still, and called to her. "Sandy. My sweet Alexandra."
She came to him and clasped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a passion he'd never experienced from her before, the kind of fire that he'd been afraid had been quenched forever. The kiss went on and on, until suddenly she broke away.
His heart fell. Until he caught sight of her face, and knew he had nothing to fear.
"I love you, Jed," was all she said, and disappeared behind a dressing screen.
"Need any help?" he asked, hopefully.
"No," she said, and time passed which was minutes on the mantel clock and hours out of his life. Finally, she said, "Stupid Paris dress. I mean, it's beautiful, and I don't want to sound ungrateful for such a pretty thing, but they make them so hard to get on and off."
"Okay, I'm gonna help you."
"No," she called out.
And a few minutes, or possibly hours, later, she'd emerged from behind the screen, clad only in a light silk robe, her wild dark hair swept behind her. His eyes widened. "You're even more beautiful than my wildest dreams." And she was. She let the robe drop, in a manner that was not deliberately seductive, but genuinely unaffected. She kept her eyes fastened on him the whole while. Her breasts were full and perfectly shaped, her waist was tiny, and her hips, buttocks, legs were utterly . . . even his thoughts were speechless.
He fumbled with his own clothes, not wanting to take his eyes off her for a moment, until he was naked, too.
As he saw her expression, he realized that she really did want him as much as he did her. That he had nothing to be afraid of, because she wasn't afraid.
"Jed, you're beautiful."
"No," he said. "Not like you are."
"Yes, you are.” She turned away, suddenly shy. “Ella had a book of mythology. She hid it away, but Caroline found it. It had engravings of those Greek statues, those perfect men, and Caroline and me, we used to look at it, sometimes. But you're better than any of them. And you're mine." She put a hand on his bare chest and stroked it, feeling her way down his torso.
He laughed, and caught her hand in his. “Lookin' at pictures of naked men. Who ever would've guessed it?" What went unsaid was she must have seen her first husband, too. Though maybe not – Curry hadn’t known Ray well, but he was probably the sort who kept his nightshirt on, and did things quickly. Dismissing that image forever, he kissed her, and she responded, and his hand went to her breast, and he caressed it, stroking the nipple gently with his thumb and forefinger.
She made small noises of pleasure, and began to stroke his chest again, running her hand lower, across his taut belly, down along his hip, his thigh, and finally up and to his manhood. She touched it gently, curiously, as though she wanted to know all about those parts of him. He was erect already, but her touch made him more and more . . . well, he wasn't sure he could last. And he wanted their first time to take a good long while.
So, he gently removed her hand, and walked her over to the bed. Laying her down on the sheets, he thought of the words of the marriage ceremony that he'd stumbled over, earlier that day. With my body, I thee worship.
We'll start with the small pleasures, he thought. He leaned down and kissed one of her breasts, running his tongue around the surface of her rosebud nipple. Moving his hand so that he could caress the other breast gently, he concentrated on teasing her with his mouth. Her nipple hardened, and he nipped at it softly, then returned to his kissing and licking.
A faint cry of pleasure escaped her.
Turning his attention to her other breast, he repeated the same movements, kissing and licking and nibbling, to the same result. He felt her fingers running through his curls, and heard her murmuring his name.
Then he pulled away for just a moment, wanting to look at her again. "You're so beautiful," he whispered again, and saw that she was looking back at him, drinking in his body the way he was drinking in hers.
He caressed the side of her face, then ran his hand down her neck, to her shoulder, her breast, down to her belly, hip, thigh. Her skin was so soft, her body such a lovely combination of feminine fullness and taut strength. For the moment, she lay there, just letting him touch her.
His hand slid between her thighs, caressing her womanhood, reaching into the warm velvet to find . . . there it was. Her special, secret place.
He wondered if Ray -- he didn't even like to think of her first husband by name -- had even known that women could experience pleasure in lovemaking. Some folks didn’t; he'd even met some whores who hadn't known it. Ella had once muttered the mysterious phrase, "Close your eyes and think of England.” When he pressed her, she'd blushed and explained that the Queen of England was rumored to have told her daughter this was the way one got through one's marital duties. Taking a deep breath and looking determinedly at the floor, she'd continued. "A lot of men, and Raymond apparently among them, believe that proper ladies don't feel any, um, joy in the act. Sandy knew something wasn't right but . . . Oh, Kid, I couldn't tell her. She didn't know I wasn't a maiden lady. She didn’t know about Heyes and me, not about us being," a pause and a deeper blush, "you know. Not back then. So how could I tell her what I knew?"
So even if he couldn't be Sandy's first lover, he could be the first who gave her the full experience of pleasure. No, he corrected himself, he wasn't her first husband. But he was going to be her first real lover. He smiled, looking at the surprised, rapt expression that suffused her features, and he kept stroking, gently but firmly. She began to move slightly with him, instinctively trying to deepen the sensations.
Nothing was going to rush this, he promised himself, no matter how much he wanted to be inside her. But gradually her sighs began to turn into gasps and he could feel her muscles tightening, and she exclaimed in silence. Then she shuddered and went still.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, softly.
For a moment she didn't answer, still breathless. And then she whispered, "I didn't know I could feel that way." Her dark eyes were filled with wonder. She kissed him gently on the lips. "I love you."
He laughed. "I hope not just 'cause of that."
She shook her head. "No, of course not, silly. I knew it would be different with you. I just didn't know how much different."
He pulled her head onto his chest, and lay there for a moment, stroking her hair and feeling the urgency of his own erection. She needed a chance to catch her breath, he thought.
But soon she had slid around to kiss him, and feeling her body rub against his was more than he could handle. He needed her now.
Sliding around so that he was on top of her, he rubbed her with his erect penis. As he stroked the outside of her woman parts, he heard her catch her breath, again. Apparently the way he was rubbing her stimulated her in all the right places. He'd been hoping for that.
He slid inside her and she was tight but wet and smooth as silk. Mmmm. He thrust gently, taking it slow and easy at first. God, she was lovely. Her skin, so soft. Her breasts, so full and perfect. Think about something else, Kid, or you'll never last.
Slow, easy, in, out. He was impelled to thrust a little harder, a little faster.
Her breathing was getting short and ragged again. "Is it good? Does it feel good?"
"Uh-huh."
He thrust harder, deeper, and he felt her responding, instinctively thrusting back against him. Slow down, he thought, and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. He felt her arms come around his back, and pull him towards her. She held him tightly.
Harder again. She moaned softly, clearly encouraging him, so he thrust himself into her in long steady strokes, speeding up gradually until the bedsprings shook beneath them and the whole hotel must have heard. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Then he exploded inside her, with a loud cry.
Her arms tightened around him, and she held him to her. "Jed, I love you so much," she whispered.
"I love you, too."
He rolled off her, sliding around to face her. For what seemed like forever, they just stared into each other’s eyes, blue eyes meeting dark ones. Then he slid onto his back, and pulled her alongside him. Sated, they lay there together, her head on his chest, and his arms protectively around her body.
"So," she said with wonder in her voice. "We can do this again tomorrow night? And the night after?"
"And the night after that, and the night after that, and every night for the rest of our lives." He paused, and the mischievous light came to his eyes that was usually only there when he was teasing Heyes. "If you don't wear me out, that is."
She hesitated for a moment. "Jed, we never talked about this but . . . you do want children, don’t you?"
"Do you?" He knew repeated pregnancies were hard on a woman, and he wasn't going to insist on anything she didn't want. There were ways they could be careful, even if it was a little too late for that tonight. But she'd been so loving, so wonderful with little Rachel that he'd just assumed she wanted children, their children, as badly as he did.
"Yes," she said. "Lots. Four, five, maybe six. If that's okay with you."
"That is absolutely perfect," he said, and hugged her tightly. And then, after a moment: "So, you think they're still having our wedding party downstairs? Heyes sure seemed like he was in the mood to keep the celebration going."
They heard the sound of someone stumbling slightly outside in the hall. A familiar voice cursed, and they both burst into laughter.
"That'd be Heyes now," said the Kid. "Sounds like he's alone."
"Ella probably came upstairs when we were busy." Sandy blushed, just a little. "I could tell at dinner that she was exhausted."
"So Heyes had another drink, lit up a cigar, but then he started thinkin' about her. Pretty soon, he couldn't stand bein’ away from her for another minute. Of course, he'd been celebrating quite a bit before we even came up, and she ain't too happy about it when he drinks too much. But tonight she'll forgive him, 'cause he's celebratin' our wedding and saving my life." A thought struck him. "Think they talk about us like this? Speculating on what we’re up to?"
"Tonight? Of course they will."
"Knowin' them, they probably talk, well, during."
"Jed!"
"Sorry.” And a moment later, “I love you."
"I love you, too."
He felt something stirring. And soon, there was nothing on their minds but each other.