Discontented, he chose this day not to participate in the relief and rebuilding efforts, as had been his custom since the Night of the Great Fire. Avoiding them all, he wandered alone about the grounds of Geordie Barrett’s lavish retreat. Spared the ravages of Chicago’s inferno, the lawyer’s vast estate on the Western prairie remained intact.
Dusk descended into darkness; only then did he return to the house. Among the fortunate few finding refuge there, he was silent, aloof; discontented still. One whiskey led to another. Midnight approached.
Features hawk-like and striking, he moved with a predator’s grace. He was tall, audacious in aspect; a powerful man who had toiled long to achieve his position in life. Now forty, she was nineteen. He stripped; and sought the bed of his young wife.
“Sable,” he whispered.
Slowly, she awakened. Responding to his touch, she welcomed him, hard and naked, into her arms.
“I want you,” he murmured, covering her body with his body, capturing her lips with his lips. She opened to his tongue’s caress, as his bold calloused fingers encouraged her disrobing.
“Have me,” she whispered seductively.
His hungry kisses reveled in her loveliness; eagerly he suckled her sweet young breasts.
Wed a few months only, she came brand new to his bed. An attentive and experienced lover, Galen awakened desire in her beautiful body and fire in her young heart. He initiated her carefully, with great tenderness, into all sorts of passionate play.
But never had he seemed so – driven – as he was this night! She was excited by his passion! By the strength of his hard cock rutting against her soft thigh.
“Yes,” he hissed, as she grasped his steely sheath. Relaxing on the bed, he encouraged her daring touch.
Her strokes first hesitant, then strong and steady; she was eager to please him. Massaging his heavy testicles, she heard his harsh sigh.
Yet his muscular chest tempted her. His well-defined pectorals shadowed by sparse dark hair. Tonguing his taut nipples, she provoked a growl; her teasing kisses trailing the dusky line which grew from his chest to his groin.
Again, she grasped his iron shaft; retracting the foreskin with soft fingertips. Encouraged by a gentle hand, she accepted his huge cock between her lips. He groaned, as she licked so sensually about his bulbous head and weeping slit. But his sudden deep thrusts were more than she could swallow.
“Enough!” he cried harshly, on the verge of spill.
Holding her close, he tasted his essence upon her sweet lips. Enthralled to passion, he urged the lovely girl to her knees. “Trust me, dearest,” he whispered hoarsely. “There are many paths to Eros we have yet to explore.” The warmth of his hungry kisses lingered still upon her nape and shoulder and thigh. Yet his heart was sore.
Would nothing dispel his sense of loss?
Always before, after sharing their love, she found contentment within her husband’s comforting embrace. But this night, he seemed distracted; even remote.
Deeply, he sighed. His gestures gentle as he caressed her soft cheek.
“Galen, what’s wrong?”
Abruptly, he scowled; and turned from her.
“I want to go home.”
If his charismatic brother was the Sun, Galen Metairie was the Night. For he was possessed by such dark intensity: Competent and caring to his family, his men; yet strangers met only a haughty reserve. A life hard fought had sharpened his mind, strengthened his body; its emotional scars lent his movements a wary, leonine grace.
And to those who threatened, he emanated danger.
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