Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 7

A/N: Here it is, the latest. Hope you enjoy it, as well as the accompanying photo and music. I get a real kick out of the song; try listening to its lyrics. It pretty well suits Edward's mood throughout this section. As always, vote, follow and comment to let me know how you liked it.

She didn’t fight like an alley cat; Edward discovered that immediately. Her body swayed into his like a pendulum on its last rotation, landing against him on a gentle “Ooof!” Hanging by her side mere seconds ago, Miss O’Toole’s hands drifted up to his chest for balance as her neck bowed to return his embrace whole-heartedly. Breasts that hadn’t even been noticeable before flattened against his chest, their luscious softness making him harder than he thought possible given their lack of substance. He grunted, releasing her forearms to slide hot palms around to her back to press her body more tightly into his, till he could feel all of her along all of him. And still she melted deeper into him, arms awkwardly looping around his neck, sweet little sighs and moans escaping those lips he meticulous assaulted with cunning expertise.

Edward realized that she’d never been kissed. Or, not very often, at least, for Miss O’Toole puckered her lips like a girl kissing her grandma good-bye. This might have been rather funny if he wasn’t so damned aroused by that very same innocence, growling into her mouth approvingly as he felt her fingers gather his shirt into her grasp, holding him as close as he wanted to be held.

The last functioning part of his brain mused that what she lacked in experience she certainly made up for in eagerness, for she began returning his kiss with little, closed-mouthed pecks, while he attempted to slow her onslaught by nibbling at those same zealous lips with his own, scraping slightly with sharp teeth to assuage his desire to plunder her ruthlessly. His hands began restlessly roving over her thin back, putting to action what he felt: the demand to dominate her, even though he knew she was just a babe at lovemaking.

Her naiveté drove him crazy; crazy enough that when she suddenly left him, ripped out of his arms on a strangled cry, he reached for her blindly, needing her back, not understanding why she’d left him; left him hard and wanting. Until he opened his eyes and gazed into her cloudy, stormy ones. Even then, with arms outstretched and his body straining for her, he didn’t wake up to the fact she was furious until that mouth he’d been devouring mere seconds earlier began spewing indignant outrage. And even then he could only stare back stupidly.

“Why did you do that? What gave you the idea I’d want you to take liberties with me? We’ve only just met! I’m not some common hussy!”

Edward blinked, at last remembering where they were, what they’d been doing in broad daylight, in front of God and country. In front of the townspeople he dealt with on a daily basis. The people who expected him to act professional at all times. And now he’d been carnally kissing his mail order bride in the middle of the main street for all to see. What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been. Thinking, that is. He’d seen Miss O’Toole kiss Cookie, and he’d reacted blindly; wanted to feel her lips on his, not watch her kiss someone else. Someone old enough to have fathered her…

“Speak to me! Do you think I’m loose because I came out here by myself to be your bride? Did you think to try me out before the ceremony? Make sure you were getting your money’s worth? Talk to me, dammit!”

Edward finally paid attention to more than just how juicy her lips looked, all swollen and shining from his kisses, or to how her chest rose and fell rapidly, wreaking havoc with his libido with its heaving. Now he noticed how unshed tears shimmered in the depths of her eyes, and how that sweet, little blue hat now sat cockeyed on her head, its bow canted drunkenly beneath one earlobe. Red corkscrews dribbled out from under the brim and back of the hat, escaping their captivity and curling wildly around her face. The face that stared back at him in affronted accusation, with two embarrassed, red blotches scarring each pale cheekbone.