The Flood Stranded Me With Three Ranch Men, So I Kept All Three novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Dry Wool
On a mattress by the woodstove Emmett takes her slowly, and Dutch stands in the doorway with a lantern.
Emmett kissed me back hard, with three years of nothing behind it.
His hand closed in my wet hair, and he turned my head and took my mouth open.
He tasted of coffee and woodsmoke.
I made a sound against his tongue that I had not planned.
"Jess," he said, when he let me breathe.
"Don't stop to ask me again," I said.
"I'm not asking. I'm telling you I'll be slow."
"I don't want slow."
"You're half frozen," he said.
"You'll get slow."
He stood with me in his arms, wool and all, and set me down on the rag rug in front of the stove.
He pulled the mattress off the sofa bed behind it and laid it down at my feet, and pulled the quilts over it.
His hands were steady while he did it.
His breathing was not.
Over the stove there was a shelf with a clock, a jar of matches and a framed photograph.
It showed a gray man in a canvas coat, squinting, with one hand on a horse's neck.
I looked at his face for longer than a stranger would.
Then I let the blankets drop.
Emmett's eyes went down my body and came back up, slowly.
"God Almighty," he said.
"Come here."
I knelt on the quilts and pulled him down by the belt.
He undid it himself, then his boots, then the jeans, and got out of them in the red light.
He was hard, thick and heavy against his belly, and he did not hide it.
He lay down beside me, and I lay back, and he put his big rough hand flat on my stomach.
"Cold," he said.
"Warm me up."
He did.
His mouth went to my throat first, then my collarbone, then my breast.
He closed his lips around my nipple and sucked, slowly, and my back came off the quilt.
"There," I said.
"Like that."
"Tell me what you like."
"That," I said.
"And lower."
He went lower.
He kissed my ribs and the soft part of my belly, and I felt his stubble rasp the inside of my hip.
He spread my knees with both hands, looked at me and said nothing at all for a moment.
"Beautiful," he said.
His voice cracked on it.
"You're beautiful, Jess."
Then he put his mouth on my pussy.
I had thought he would be careful.
He was not careful.
He licked me flat and wide from the bottom to the top, groaned low in his chest, and did it again.
I grabbed the quilt in both fists.
He found my clit with the tip of his tongue and circled it, slowly, again and again, until my thighs began to shake against his ears.
"Emmett."
"Mm," he said, and did not lift his head.
"Don't stop."
"I won't," he said into me.
He slid two thick fingers inside me, curled them, and stroked something that made me cry out.
The stove ticked.
Wind pushed at the window, and the creek roared somewhere below the house.
I heard my own voice, high and breaking, saying his name over and over.
My hips rose to meet his mouth.
He held them down with one forearm and kept going, and the pleasure climbed my spine in hard bright steps.
I came with my head thrown back and my hand over my mouth, clenching around his fingers.
He drew it out of me, slow and long, until I was limp and shivering for a different reason.
He lifted his head.
His mouth and beard were wet.
"That's what warm looks like," he said, roughly.
I laughed, and it turned into a gasp when he climbed up over me.
"Now you," I said.
"I want you inside me."
He reached for his jeans, and I caught his wrist.
"No," I said.
"Not that. Not tonight. Just you."
He went still.
"I'm clean," I said.
"I got tested in March, and I've been with nobody since. You can believe me or not."
"I believe you," he said.
"I've got a clean bill from the doctor in Big Timber from a year ago, and there's been nobody to give it to."
"Then give it to me."
He lowered himself between my legs, and I felt the heavy head of his cock press against me, wet and blunt.
I lifted my knees and put my arms around his shoulders.
He pushed in.
It was slow, because he was thick, and I was tight, and he gave me all of it an inch at a time while I breathed through my teeth.
"Look at me," he said.
I looked at him.
His gray eyes were wild and tender.
He went in to the root, and we both stopped, shaking.
"Oh, fuck," I said.
"Yes."
"You feel," he said, and he could not finish.
He pulled out halfway and pushed back in.
I wrapped my legs around his waist.
He rocked into me with a long steady stroke that I felt in my throat, and the mattress shifted on the floor with each one.
"Harder," I said.
"You'll be sore."
"I want to be."
He put his forehead against mine and gave me what I asked for.
The slap of his hips grew loud.
His big hands found my wrists and pinned them above my head, and I loved it, the weight of him and the heat and the smell of his skin.
"You like that," he said.
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I like you fucking me," I said.
"I like how big you are. I like that you're shaking."
He groaned and drove deep.
I felt the pressure start again, tighter, lower, from the place he was hitting with every thrust.
"Emmett, I'm going to."
"Do it," he said.
"Come on me. Let me feel it."
I came again with a cry that rang off the log walls.
My pussy gripped him, hard, in long pulses.
He swore, and his rhythm broke.
He thrust three more times, deep and ragged, and pulled out of me with a shout.
He came across my stomach in thick hot ropes, his whole body jerking, his face turned into my neck.
We lay there.
The stove glowed.
My heart pounded against his.
"I'm sorry," he said after a while, thickly.
"I didn't want to finish inside. You didn't say."
"I didn't say yet," I said.
I did not tell him what I was thinking, which was that I had wanted him to.
I had not known that about myself until I felt him pull away.
He got a cloth from the kitchen and washed my stomach, gently, and tucked the quilts around me.
Then he lay down behind me and wrapped himself around my back.
I was warm all the way through at last.
I fell asleep with his breath in my hair.
Something woke me later.
The lamp had burned low.
The fire was red coals.
Emmett was breathing slowly behind me, deep asleep.
I lifted my head.
The kitchen door stood open a hand's width, and in the gap there was a lantern and a tall shape holding it.
Dutch stood quite still, with his hat in his other hand.
He had seen everything.
He did not look away.
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