“But Morgan, you said you were humiliated,” Callie Mae pointed out.
“Maybe I exaggerated, just a little bit,” he admitted running his hand over her hair. “I was mad as hell, and I know a couple of the men outside the sheriff’s office looked at me grinning. I can’t have that, sweetheart. I can’t have our friends and neighbors thinking I’m a great big pussy.”
“That’s the second time tonight you used that word,” Callie said, tilting her head and looking up at him. “What exactly does it mean?”
Morgan laughed and took her hand, pulling her into the house.
“I’ll show you when I get upstairs,” he whispered with a grin. “You go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ll make sure Ma doesn’t need anything.”
“All right. Tell her I said goodnight,” Callie replied. “Don’t be long, Morgan. I think I’m in need of a little comfort.”
“And I’d like nothing more than to give that to you,” he promised. “I’ll be up shortly.”
Callie triedto muffle her sighs of pleasure, pressing a pillow to her face, both to quiet her own moans and to cover her embarrassment as Morgan gripped both of her hot cheeks in his big hands and lifted her bottom. His hungry mouth had settled over her most sensitive bits, licking and sucking until she about lost her mind. Why he enjoyed this sort of thing she couldn’t fathom. In fact, with all the years of overhearing whispered conversation between women, she’d never heard of anything like this.
A young woman expected to be ‘taken’ when they married. Men needed to slack their lust and they had a right to avail themselves of their wives’ bodies. Until Morgan, Callie Mae had never realized there could be pleasure for the woman as well. The night in The Duchess was a complete shock to her, making her question everything she’d ever heard about the things that happened between a man and a woman, and she counted herself lucky to have found a husband who cared about her pleasure. But there were times it was hard to bear, times when she felt she was losing complete control of her body like a puppet on a string, and it frightened her a bit.
Suppose he should suddenly stop? Suppose he found his pleasure and left her weak and needing something she could not really define? Something outside her grasp? Something she was not able to provide for herself. Arching her back, she unconsciously pressed her body closer to his wicked lips. Letting go of the pillow, she reached into his hair and pulled, hard.
“Now, now,” Morgan scolded lifting his head. “None of that. You lie there like a good girl, and I’ll bring you more pleasure than you’ve ever known,” he promised huskily. “Put your hands over your head on the bedrails, sweetheart,” he ordered. “Otherwise, I’ll warm your cute little ass for you.” His hands tightened on her cheeks in warning.
Instantly, Callie obeyed, releasing his hair, and grasping the rails.
“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “I love the taste of you darlin’,” he almost cooed. “I doubt I’ll ever get enough, so you might as well get used to this.”
Without thinking Callie said the first thing that came to her passion clouded mind.
“Can I taste you?” she whispered throatily. “If I put my mouth on you, could I make you mindless with desire?”
Morgan paused, his tongue sliding along her slit slowly before he replied.
“I imagine you could,” he answered softly. “Do you want to?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her head thrown back. “Yes, I do. I want you to feel as helpless as I do.”
His chuckle reverberated against her sensitive nub. Then he gently rubbed his rough cheek against her delicate skin until she cried out.
“Then I will teach you,” he promised, his voice hoarse. “But later, right now I’m pretty busy myself.”
Callie nodded, closed her eyes, and forced her hips to relax into his grasp. Her bottom stung, her thighs fell further apart, and she gave herself over to his care. It was both uncomfortable and thrilling and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about any of it. He was her husband. Legally he could do about anything he wanted to her, and she let a small smile tilt her lips. Thank God, he wanted to do this.
She knew how it would end. She knew he could take as much or as little time as he chose. Her body was dancing on the tip of his tongue, and the tune was his to play, but one day soon, she would once again be the musician she promised herself.
CHAPTER11
PRESENT DAY
The house was quiet. Witt was at the institute and Cara was working in her office. Now and then she came out to get a cup of coffee, speaking to him briefly in a distracted way before disappearing once again.
Mead paced the living room, sensing that something important was about to happen, but not sure what that might be. Maybe it was Cara’s intense, worried expression that set him on edge? Maybe he’d just been here too damn long! He was anxious to get home. Nearly healed, his limp was barely noticeable, and it seemed as though months had passed instead of weeks. Each day the hours dragged on and he waited impatiently for Cara to determine the best time for him to return to his time.
He could hear the machine in her office they called a fax, periodically sending information to Cara. What was she learning? Why wasn’t she sharing any news with him? He’d always had a bit of a sixth sense, although most times he ignored it, but today it had his body alerted that something was very wrong.
Walking to the bar he glanced at the clock before he poured himself a shot of bourbon. Lord, he would miss this, he decided as he tossed the smooth liquid back. It was after four. Witt would be home soon and maybe over dinner Cara would tell them both what she discovered. He wanted to know the plan. As much as the future fascinated him, he felt an urgent need to go back, back to his time, back to the woman who was quickly becoming increasingly important to him. There was a small pang of guilt when he acknowledged that woman was not Lilly Piersal, but he would deal with that as soon as possible once he returned to Kansas.
At five o’clockCara came out of her office looking drained. Her face had very little color and her hair looked as though she’d spent a good part of the afternoon either pulling it or running her fingers through it.
“I’m going to start dinner,” she stated as she passed by Mead, ignoring his expectant glance. “Witt will be home soon,” she continued almost wistfully.
