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"You sure are skittish for a tavern gal." His movements were loose, his speech slower. He pressed the jug into her hands, but she set it aside unsteadily.
"I thin' we've both had enough, Mr. Washburn."
When she turned back, his lips were inches from her own, and she smelled the tang of wine on his breath.
"Rand," he whispered.
"Call me Rand. After all, the squar' says we're married, so maybe it's time you called me by my name, 'specially seein' as how this is our weddin' night and all." His hand was on her back, and when she tried to wiggle off his lap, he sucked in his breath, and moved his leg over hers, trapping her there.
"I didn' know you was so eager, darlin'," he said thickly, and brought his head down close to hers. For a moment she thought he'd kiss her, but he hesitated a fraction above her mouth, and instead placed his lips below her ear, on the sensitive spot just beneath her jaw. Her protest came out as a breathy gasp, not the strong words she wanted to say.
In fact, her entire mind seemed to have come disengaged from the rest of her body as Washburn's mouth slid across her neck, nibbling and licking his way 'round to her other ear. He also had more than two hands, she was sure of it, because they seemed to be everywhere, roaming over her back, her arms, and now on her bodice, plucking at the laces. When she feebly moved her own hand down to stop him, he held it and rolled them both down and over, cradling her head with one of those extra appendages until she was on her back on the quilts.
Julia looked up at the thatched roof, the wine she'd consumed spinning the room around her. How had thishappened? One moment she was sitting shivering, and the next moment a silver-tongued devil was using that tongue to rob her of her ability to think. That same devil sighed in satisfaction as he pushed apart the opening of her bodice, his own liquor consumption not impairing him as he plucked open the ties of her chemise and stared at her breasts. He touched the ring on its ribbon, and it bounced against her skin.
"Oh yeah," he murmured. "These beauties looked wonderful down by the creek when you was bathin', darlin', but they're even better up close. Bet the drovers down at the Cup pay a pretty penny for this sight. And tonight they're all mine."
Julia opened her mouth to explain that no one at the Cup had ever seen her breasts, but lost her ability to speak, because Washburn's long-fingered hands were on those breasts and they felt wonderful. No boy or man who'd ever shared a kiss with her had ever presumed to try such a thing. A smooth-talking smuggler dared, and instead of throwing him off her body, she gave in to the instinct that arched her back, each gentle squeeze and touch of his fingers across her swollen mounds stoking the fire building deep inside her body.
"Does that feel good, darlin'?"
"It feels wonderful!" she gasped, the honest admission torn from her.
He chuckled. "Well then, maybe you'll like this, too."