The Prospector's Only Prospect, page 17
“Virgil,” she gasped.
“Stop?”
“No. Keep going…” She twined her arms around his neck so she could lift herself against him, wanting to feel him pressed all over her front, but their clothes were in the way. It was frustrating.
“I want to be inside you. I want that so bad,” he groaned into her neck while his fingertips clenched into her hips. He sucked her earlobe, making her shake with need. He was shaking, too. “But we can’t.”
“I know,” she moaned. Her hands wouldn’t be still. He was like a muscled beast. A massive wolf that she was allowed to pet and rub and make groan with pleasure. As her hands slid from his back to his chest down to his hips, she hesitantly slid one to the front of his trousers.
When she squeezed his shape through the heavy denim, he drooped his head against her shoulder and hissed, “God, Marigold.” His teeth caught her earlobe again, and he breathed heavily as she rubbed and explored.
Ben hadn’t been one for a lot of kissing and fondling, but Virgil sure was. Even though he seemed to be helpless under her curious touch, his own hands started to move again, massaging and running his splayed fingers up her sides, thumbs catching beneath her breasts to lift them. Slowly, slowly, his thumbs climbed to press into her nipples.
“Oh,” she breathed, startled by the way he seemed to pinch her into a vise of pleasure with that simple pressure on the tips of her breasts.
“Get into my drawers if you want to,” he whispered, rolling his thumbs in a way that made words lose meaning.
When he dropped his hand between them and opened his fly buttons, she slid her touch into the warm, loosened layers of denim and cotton and found him thick and hard and heavy in her palm.
He sucked on her lips in a blatant way that made her sex feel aching and hot. Swollen. She was conscious of dampness gathering in her sex. Her body was involuntarily clenching, sending small notes of pleasure through her whole body. She writhed, pushing her tongue into his mouth with a flagrant lack of inhibition.
“That feels really good, but do it harder.” He wrapped his hand over hers in a crush, demonstrating how tightly she could grip him.
“That doesn’t hurt?” she said in a laugh of wonder.
“It feels so fucking good, Marigold.” He guided her into stroking up and down and brought her fingers to the slippery eye. “Rub your thumb here.” His voice was low, almost drunken as he taught her how to make him groan.
“What about…” She trailed her hands down to explore his testicles. They were fuzzed with hair and drawn tight. “Does that feel good, too?”
His reply was an unintelligible moan. His hands cupped her face while he kissed her deeply, tongue stroking against hers, lips wide.
She was so lost in their kiss and the feel of him pushing into her hand, she didn’t realize he had burrowed under her apron to release the buttons down the front of her dress. His tickling touch crept in, gentle and hot as he cupped her breast through her chemise.
She gasped, startled by how sensitive she was to such a light caress, how it made prickling tingles race across her shoulders and into her spine.
“Can we get some of this out of the way?” He picked up the neck ruffle of her apron. “I want to suck your nipples.”
She drew back slightly. “Why?”
He froze. “He didn’t even give you that?”
She was beginning to realize Ben had been a terrible lover. Frankly, that other woman was welcome to him if it meant she could have Virgil. Marigold dipped her head as he tugged her apron over it.
He brushed away the muslin of her underthings, sending swirls of cool air across her chest.
“I wish I could see you,” he whispered, whiskers teasing her collarbone so her nipples stung more than ever. He bent his knees and angled so she could continue to fondle him as he nuzzled his lips down the swell of her breast. When his mouth found her nipple, his tongue swept out to lick, sharpening the sensation of cool night air. Then he closed his mouth over the tip and a tugging heat speared into her sex. Such a needy ache arrived there, she moaned.
Marigold set her free arm across his shoulders, trying to balance while stroking him with her fist. His hips thrust into her touch, and he sucked harder on her, making her clench on emptiness and wish fervently for this thickness to invade her yearning flesh.
Suddenly, his arm locked around her waist and he buried a strangled moan against her breast. His erection pulsed and throbbed while heat poured into her palm and scorched her wrist. He seemed to shake uncontrollably before he exhaled and relaxed.
He stood and gathered her in, holding her close while pressing her into the logs as though he was drunk and needed help standing.
“Did you—?” It was so dark, she could only guess what had just happened, but she had a very good idea. Ridiculously, she was disappointed at not being able to see. She’d always wondered what happened during a man’s moment of crisis.
Virgil’s heart was pounding hard enough she could feel it against her breast. His skin was damp, his breaths still uneven.
“Yeah. Took me by surprise. Damn, that felt good, Marigold.” He drew back and guided her hand into his own. He had what she presumed was the tail of his shirt over his splayed fingers. He dried her hand and wrist, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a lazy kiss that amplified all the twinges and tickles and yearnings in her.
She was happy she’d given him that, she was. If this was Ben, she would have thought this was how she was supposed to feel, all sensitive and needing to cling. Thankfully, the dark hid how her hot cheeks must be flushed with desire and embarrassment at how hungry she was for more kissing and fondling and, yes, fucking.
“You want me to make you come, too?” he asked in a murmured voice that was indulgent and accompanied by a fondle of her breast.
“Yes, please.”
She felt his smile against her throat. “So polite. You can tell me what you like, you know. What you want me to do.”
She wanted him to make love to her, but she couldn’t ask him to do that. They couldn’t. He had said they should talk, not that he wanted to marry her.
“Do you want to touch me the way you did before?” she asked into the space between them, voice thin with pained shyness.
She seemed to have an unseemly appetite for relations. She wished me to submit to her desires.
“I can definitely do that.” Virgil was gathering up the short skirt of her gown, sliding his hand along the drawstring of her bloomers, searching out the slit. “Or I can do what I wanted to the other day. Will you let me?”
“W-what?” She remembered exactly what he’d said. It sounded positively sinful.
“I want to lick your pussy.” His fingertips invaded past the overlapped cotton and muslin, finding the fine hairs that she knew were wet because she could feel how she’d dampened the edges of the fabric.
He groaned as his fingers pressed into her swollen folds. He worked his fingers all over, spreading the juices, making her weak with wanton desire.
“Rub your nipples while I do it,” he suggested, lowering his head to suck at one while he pushed a thick finger inside her. “Move any way you like that feels good.”
The dual points of erotic sensation had her releasing a shuddering moan, unable to form proper words.
He made a satisfied noise, adding drily, “Try not to wake the children.”
Then he was on his knees, head going under the drape of her skirt. Her clothing was pushed aside while his face burrowed in. His whiskers played against her inner thighs, increasing the plumped sensation in her folds.
Her inner muscles clenched to keep the finger he removed. Two came back, plunging satisfyingly deep. She was full. Stretched in the most delicious way. His other hand spread her lips, increasing the tension right before a tickling caress swept across the exposed tissues.
“Virgil,” she gasped. Her hand went to the back of his head of its own volition, pressing to encourage him. It took all her strength to stifle her moan.
His tongue was hot and thorough, exploring and laying claim, tasting where his fingers were moving with luxurious care in and out of her, then licking up to toy there. The spot that made her navel pull in and her legs weaken.
She didn’t realize she was lifting her hips into his mouth until she faltered in the rhythm she’d set, and he kept going. In the next moment, they were in perfect harmony again, her thrusting into his face as his fingers plunged deep while all of her sang with tense, glorious need.
She wanted to tell him it was going to happen. She was nearly there, but suddenly it was happening. She was losing all her substance as she tipped her head back against the wall of logs and shivered in exquisite clenches of pleasure before riding the sweet tail of release.
Her whole body wanted to melt, but Virgil did something. Sucked and kept sliding his fingers in and out of her. Her body clamped down, and she was suddenly thrust back into the tension of near crisis.
She closed her hand against her skirt where it draped over his head and pushed her hips into his mouth more roughly. He kept moving his fingers inside her. She had to push the back of her free hand against her mouth to keep from crying out at how good it felt to balance between intense pleasure and wanting the release.
Some distant part of her was thinking, Look at yourself, Marigold, but she didn’t care. Her body felt like one live nerve. Nothing was more important than the filthy thing he was doing to her. When her climax struck, it was ten times as powerful as the first. The rolling waves were hard contractions in her middle that hurt, they were so intense, but they were so sweet and satisfying, she could have cried.
She was making sobbing noises, unable to stifle them. Her muscles had become twitching, useless things that could barely hold her upright.
Now he was tenderly sweeping his tongue over her quivering folds one last time, gently extricating his fingers, emerging to let her skirt fall and rising to draw her shaking body into his strong embrace. He held her up when she was utterly weak with gratification.
“We have to stop before they hear you clear across the valley,” he teased. “But that’s gotta be the best meal you’ve served me. Bear included.”
She choked on a laugh of outrage and gave him a light shove. They wound up kissing, and that, too, was a little bit filthy, given her scent and flavor was all over his lips and beard. It didn’t seem to bother either of them.
When they drew back, both sighing, he smoothed his hand over her hair and said, “You need to get to bed or I’ll keep you here all night.”
Yes, please.
She nodded, though, and slipped away, fixing her clothes as best she could. She paused at the bucket to splash her hands and face clean before drying them with her apron. Then she stumbled into the cabin for the deepest sleep of her entire life.
Chapter Sixteen
Virgil’s head was still up Marigold’s skirt as he went about his morning. It was bad, so bad what they’d done. But so fucking good. If that was a taste—pun intended—of the sex they could have once they were married, he was definitely marrying her at his first opportunity. Should they make a special trip to town? Or wait until the referendum in Septem—
“Fuck.” He stumbled as he walked across the stream bed. He tried to catch himself on the sluice box and wound up knocking it over. It cracked and spilled the gravel the men had been shoveling into it. This section had been paying out really well, too. “Shit!”
The men grumbled under their breath while Owen teased, “You drinking already, Virge?”
A fair question when the stream was reduced to a trickle by the lateness of the season and the dry weather. The rocks weren’t even wet and slippery. His own distraction had caused him to be so clumsy.
Since Owen had walked his horse over to stand next to him, Virgil braced his hand on Owen’s saddle horn as he rocked his foot up and down, back and forth. Not sprained. He was lucky in that respect.
Absently, he pushed his hand into his pocket, fingers searching out his good luck charm, but the nugget wasn’t there.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered again. He always changed into his clean clothes before he went to bed. Last night, he’d been so drunk on pussy, he’d forgotten to move his nugget from the pocket of the dirty ones into the clean ones. That’s why he was knocking over sluice boxes and jeopardizing their fortunes. He didn’t have his lucky nugget.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shit. Now all he could think was that Marigold would take his clothes down to the stream and lose it. “I have to run back to the cabin. Lemme take the horse.”
“I’ll go. What do you need?”
“You want me to sign a requisition form? Give me the damned horse. I’ll be back in a quarter hour.”
Owen dismounted with a sour look on his face, and Virgil urged the horse to pick his way out of the stream, then cantered up the path toward the cabin.
The laundry wasn’t on the line, but it was still early. He’d left Marigold sleeping serene as an angel. He’d had a smug swagger in his step when he walked to work, knowing why she’d slept so soundly.
Levi was already gone to release the livestock. Nettie and Harley were dressed and sitting outside next to the fire, each with a bowl of oatmeal in their laps. Marigold wore the prettiest smile of pleased surprise when he dismounted.
“We don’t usually see you back here midday. Is anything wrong?”
“I forgot something.”
“Oh?” She slid her gaze to the little ones, then trailed him toward the cabin door.
He would love a stolen kiss, but, “Owen’s expecting me right back. Are you doing laundry today?”
“Yes— No, Harley. Don’t eat that.” She hurried back to the fire.
Virgil walked into the cabin to see she’d already gathered his clothes into the net she’d made of twine to carry laundry down to the stream and back. He pulled it apart, withdrew his heavy denim trousers, and checked all the pockets including the seat pockets where he never kept the nugget.
It wasn’t here. Huh.
He stood and looked around on the floor, leaning to open the door more fully, letting in as much light as possible. He pulled his dirty shirt out of the bundle and checked the chest pockets and shook out all the clothes, watching and listening for the drop of a solid gold nugget.
“What are you doing?” She arrived in the open door again. She frowned at the way he’d strewn the laundry onto the bench and was now shaking out all the bedding.
“I’ve lost my nugget.”
“What nugget?”
“The gold nugget I keep in my pocket.”
“You keep a gold nugget in your pocket?” She started to come in and bent to look, but he waved her off. “Why?”
“It’s my lucky nugget. The first one I found when we got here.” They’d all been disheartened by the journey, wondering what they would do if this venture failed to pay out. Wondering if they were going to die here, tired and hungry.
Virgil had been searching for a sign it was worth staying here and pursuing their plan when he’d spotted the nugget sitting in a couple of inches of water, shiny as a new penny in a wishing well.
“How big is it?”
“Size of a hummingbird egg.” It wasn’t even half an ounce.
“How much is it worth?”
“Ten dollars.” Maybe. He sighed shortly as he got the beds stripped and the mattresses shaken and still found nothing. He threw all the bedding onto the lower bunk and got down to look under it.
“You’ve found bigger ones, haven’t you? Yeller told me you sometimes let the men buy a nugget if they want to keep something they’ve found.”
“That’s not the point, Marigold.” He ran his hand into the dark space, finding nothing but a desiccated berry and a dead spider. He stood, annoyed. “Where is it?”
Marigold snapped her head around from checking on the children. “Are you asking me if I have it? I’ve just told you, I didn’t even know you had a lucky nugget.”
He wasn’t accusing her, but he was hearing her say again, How much is it worth?
And there was the ledger book he’d bought her with her neat little figures shaving down her debt with her haircuts and other services. He didn’t blame her for wanting money and wanting to clear her debt.
“Men know not to take gold out of this valley unless they can prove they earned or paid for it,” he blurted.
“Yes, you shoot the ones who do. Good thing I’m not a man. And that I haven’t touched your precious nugget.” She was glaring at him, but the double-entendre hit both their ears at the same time. She went red, and he felt his own face grow hot with a mix of embarrassment and anger.
Because now there was this poisonous thought creeping in that they’d been intimate last night and this morning one of his most valuable possessions was missing.
“Nettie, have you seen your father’s gold nugget?” Marigold called. “You have?”
Virgil stepped onto the stoop, damned near bowling Marigold over, but she didn’t let him steady her. She brushed off his hands as she stumbled and found her feet by herself.
“Where?” Virgil barked.
Nettie shrank into her hunched shoulders, eyes wide. “When you showed me and Levi that time.”
That had been months ago, when they had first arrived and he was trying to help them understand why he lived here.
Fuck. He pushed his hand into his hair and glanced back into the cabin, now in disarray after he’d searched it. He looked to Marigold and saw resentment. Hurt.
“I have to get back to work,” he muttered. “Let me know when you find it.”
