"I want you, Mrs. Rhy," he growled. "I want you here and now."
Together they dropped to their knees on the worn space of hardwood floor between the counter and the shelves.
With his passion overwhelming his gentlemanly discretion, Cleav pushed the offending expanse of gray serge up to Esme's waist. She hadn't lied. The slim, seductive limbs that had enticed and vexed his dreams for weeks were naked and within his grasp. His fascination flowed like hot molasses from the ankle, still clad in the worn men's work boot, up the shapely calf to the delicate curve of her knee and the whiteness of her bare thigh, encircled by the dainty pink and white garters that had changed both their lives.
Casting his better judgment to the wind, he laid a large masculine hand on the whiteness of her calf.
"So soft," he whispered as he struggled to go slowly and not frighten her.
Esme would have none of it. Fairly flying into his arms, she kissed him eagerly.
Her enthusiasm was intoxicating. It no longer mattered where they were or what social rules prevailed. All Cleav wanted was to press himself inside this woman, whose lips and tongue toyed with his own.
But there were distractions. The lips that were just learning a new fulfilling purpose required tutoring. The questing and inquisitive feminine hands nearly unmanned him with innocent curiosity. The pert little breasts that rubbed against him so longingly needed disrobing. And the secrets, so bewitchingly secluded in a thatch of brownish curls, deserved to be explored.
"Let's get this off of you," he breathed hotly into her neck as he worried the buttons on her bodice.
Once the faded garment was slipped over her head, he found himself entranced by the sight of her rosy pink nipples, hardened and straining against the diaphanous covering of her thin cotton camisole.
His mouth immediately sought contact, and as he laved and nipped at the distended nubs, he lay her back to the floor and covered her with his body. He planted his knee firmly at the crux of her thighs and felt as well as heard the appreciative sigh of relief as she squirmed ardently against him.
"Oh, it's wonderful," she whispered. Spreading her thighs more widely before him, she begged, "Push harder, it feels so good."
Cleav nearly exploded at her words. Gritting his teeth, he raised himself slightly and looked down at his new wife. Her dark blond hair was spread wantonly across the floor. Her cheeks were flushed with desire. And her heaving breasts were clearly visible within the now damp cotton of her camisole.
"Cleavis! You in here?"
The disrupting shout came from somewhere near the front door. Cleav's eyes widened in shock, and Esme struggled to rise. He stayed her easily and placed a quieting finger to his lips.
"Cleavis?" the customer called again.
Hurriedly Cleav got to his knees, straightening his clothes and smoothing back his hair. He gave Esme a silent gesture to stay put as he rose to his feet.
"Afternoon, Mr. Denny," he answered. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Didn't expect to come in," the old man replied. "Figured you'd be holed up with that new wife of yourn." Denny gave a lusty chuckle before continuing. "When I saw the door open, thought I'd best check things out."
"I'm just doing some inventory," Cleav told him nervously. "In fact, I was just getting ready to close up. Was there something that you needed?"
Esme had scooted as close to the counter as she could get. Drawing up her knees, which she hastily covered with the serge skirt, she tried to make herself as small as possible so that she could hide better among the corn plasters and Tincture of Arnica bottles.
Her heart continued to pound like a tom-tom and she valiantly tried to quiet her breathing, which sounded to her own ears like a violent roar. Still trembling with desire, the hot, sweet place between her legs was swelled and aching.
She glanced down at her disarray with consternation.
Beside her, Cleav stood, still fully clothed, speaking as calmly and controlled as if nothing had happened. As if he'd already forgotten her. . . Glancing longingly at the strong trouser-covered leg at her side, she decided to make him remember.
Tentatively she reached out and touched his leg.
"Think we've had our share of rain this spring?" Denny asked.
"No!" Cleav answered, a bit more emphatically than necessary. "I mean," he continued more softly, "I think we might see more rain again before the end of the week."
"Maybe so," Denny allowed, but then glanced curiously at Cleavis. "You getting a fever, boy? You're a-looking downright flushed."
"No, I'm fine, um, fine," the younger man assured him.
Esme was very pleased by what she was discovering about her new husband. Not only were his legs strong and sturdy and his thighs powerful and well formed, but his buttocks were extremely shapely. She'd never paid much attention to men's backsides. Now she wondered why. Cleav's behind, so lucklessly obscured by the baggy seat of his trousers, was a work of art. Exploring the strength of the firm muscular curves with her hand, Esme discovered that her new husband seemed exceptionally sensitive to her touch. When she leaned forward to take a flirty little bite, she thought that he might vault over the counter. Her only regret was that she couldn't feel his bare flesh.
