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"Shut up," she said again. There was something erotic about hearing her using that kind of language.
"I'll shut up when I please," he growled. His fingers dipped lower and promptly thrust inside.
She didn't respond with heavy breathing or soft mewls, this time. She let out a full-throated groan of pleasure. His fingers explored the inside o
f her, her walls gripping him, pulling him in with the vain hope that he'll be inside long enough to complete some evolutionary need.
She let out a soft whimper when he withdrew his hands from her skirt. She needed something more, something that she hadn't gotten yet. Chris knew exactly what that thing was, even if she didn't. And he had every intention of giving it to her.
He worked his belt loose and opened the fly on his jeans. He settled into the place between her thighs, enjoying the way that they gripped around his hips, and lined himself up with her entrance.
Marie's breath came hard and heavy, her eyes halfway-closed with arousal. Then he started to press in, and they shot open. He pushed the rest of the way in and held himself there for a long moment, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her body so close to his.
"Are you alright?"
She didn't answer right away. She was caught somewhere, he could hear, between wanting to take shallow breaths and taking them too fast, too deep.
"I'm alright," she said. He smiled.
"Ready?"
She nodded. Chris didn't need her to say it twice. His hips moved back and slammed forward again, thrusting himself as deep into her as their cramped position would allow. Her arms reached around his neck and pulled tight, but he didn't stop himself.
His movements were quick and powerful. Whatever concern for her well-being he might have had was gone, now, taking whatever he could get in order to sate his animal lust. Her voice in his ear drove him harder, faster, sending him onto the edge of madness as they fucked...
One
Marie Bainbridge leaned up against a post and tried to remind herself that she should have been pleased that Applewood Junction was finally getting back to business as usual. The last change away from the ordinary had been almost six months ago, and she'd been it.
That wasn't entirely true, of course. The previous schoolteacher, one Mrs. Whittle, had passed on in her sleep. The people of Applewood Junction wrote the territorial governor, and he, in turn, had ended up getting in touch with Marie through her father.
She'd taken the first stage out. She probably should have known well in advance, but that had cemented her place as the talk of the town for twelve weeks that followed.
It was almost flattering, at first. Everyone smiling at her, greeting her with a soft, "Howdy, Miss Bainbridge," and nodding as they passed. Watching her, going out of their way to talk to her specifically when she had to go out. Like she was a local celebrity.
That lost its color after a couple weeks, and mostly what she wanted was to be no different form everybody else, which she was quickly coming to realize was simply not going to happen.
But now, she would learn, they were getting back to their usual favorite pastime. The first thing that Ruby Gardiner said when Marie walked into Mr. Gardiner's shop—he'd been drinking, no doubt, which left his daughter in charge—was that there was something going on over at the saloon.
She was leaning up against the open window, watching, so Marie took a spot beside her and watched from the post.
A big man, well over six feet with shoulders as wide as anyone's Marie had ever seen, groaned as he took the slack out of a barrel, the iron banding gleaming in the sun. From the sweat that stuck his shirt to his chest, it wasn't the first such barrel.
Marie was a schoolteacher, and she was supposed to be a good example for her wards. More than that, she had learned plenty in school back east—not least the wickedness of alcohol.
There wasn't anyone likely to listen to an unmarried woman talk on the subject, so she kept herself to herself. But watching Christopher Broadmoor unload those barrels, knowing full well what they were full of, she couldn't help frowning.
If they'd diverted for a few months from their usual routine to gossip about her, then their usual routine, Marie had already learned, was gossiping about Chris. He'd apparently been the last surprise arrival. Nobody talked about it, not openly, but Marie gathered he hadn't come in on the coach.
He stands up, his face shining bright, between the hot sun falling on all of them and the heavy lifting he's been doing. Marie wonders idly how much that must weigh. Two hundred pounds? More?
He steps up into the wagon. He's a big man, but it barely lowers any further at the added weight. He tips one and she watches him strain under the weight as he tries to slow its fall.
Then he rolls it a little way and sets his weight full against it as he pushes it over the ramp. It doesn't help as much as she might have expected, only managing to slow the rush a little bit. It's a heavy push as he tries to move it up the stairs, and another man rushes over and between the two of them, it gets up and through the wide delivery doors.
Marie glances over at Ruby. She's got a look on her face that isn't immediately recognizable to the young teacher. And then, as the realization dawns on her, her face flushes red.
"You and Christopher Broadmoor?"
