Infidelity: Manor (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  I lit a candle and stood at my door. The desire was overwhelming. A red-hot desire to be had. I couldn’t deny it. I opened the door of my bedroom. I moved down the hall, sliding my feel to avoid making a sound. I let my hair down as I did and then shook my head, feeling it fall down my back.

  I reached his door. I stood there, breathing softly, but feeling my heart pound hard in my chest. My skin was tingling and burning. I wanted to be touched so badly.

  I saw my hand move up and knock softly against the door. It happened…I didn’t will it to be so. I heard Owen moving inside and then the door opened.

  “Sarah?” He was a shadow in the darkness.

  “Owen, I…” And then his arms were around me. His lips smashed against mine. I almost dropped the candle. His whiskers burned my face. His tongue pushed into my mouth. I surrendered to him. I put my free hand behind his neck and pulled him to me. Pulled his mouth against mine. His strong arms pulled me tight, almost pushing my breath out of me, but I didn’t care. I was giving myself to him. For the first and last time in my life, I voluntarily gave my body to a man.

  I wanted to be desired. I needed to be desired. I needed to be consumed in the fires of his burning-hot passion.

  He pulled me into his room. I pushed him away for just a moment. I put the candle on the nightstand of his bed. With my back to him, I pulled my nightgown over my head. I turned to him. With the flickering of the candle in those burning blue eyes of his, I could see a furious passion inside him. He was burning inside for what he was about to receive. I smiled at this. It felt so good to have a beautiful man find me attractive.

  “Oh my God, you’re so beautiful, Sarah,” he said. I stepped forward and began unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers were trembling; my face was flushed and burning. I’d opened two buttons when his fingers flew to his shirt and he finished the rest in a hurry. I then pushed open his shirt. I could see his broad chest and smell his body. I stepped forward and kissed his burning skin. His powerful hands grabbed my slender arms, and he pushed me down on the bed.

  This was the first time for me, really. I had been sexually taken. I’d been penetrated many times. This was the first time I’d ever wanted it. Needed it. As he moved over me, I pushed at his trousers. With his mouth on mine, he pushed them down with first one, then the other hand. I reached down and found his burning manhood. It was thick and hot and I had to have it inside me. I pushed it to my swollen entrance.

  He pulled his face from mine. “Are you sure?” He was so patient even in this moment of passion. I didn’t answer, but instead pushed myself against him. As his tip pushed against my opening, I could already feel the first wave of what I knew would be a searing climax. My body was so ready. I felt like I would consume his heated flesh.

  And then it happened. He slowly moved his hips forward, and I felt him begin to slide into me. A mix of gorgeous pleasure and sharp pain. I’d only known sex as a violence against me. Now I was opening to a man I wanted so badly. As he slid into me, my body began to radiate heat. I pushed against him to take more of him into me.

  The climax hit me like a tidal wave. A fiery wave radiated out from his penetration, and raced across my body, from my toes to the top of my head. This wave convulsed me. I threw back my head and shouted out. It echoed around the room. I could feel wave after wave pounding me, burning me, electrifying me. My eyes were shut hard and I saw stars. I pushed my mouth hard against his, and I pulled his body against me. He continued to penetrate me, and each thrust threw another wave on my beach. These violent, crashing waves broke me, scorched me, excited me. I was like a wild animal, pushing against his weight with all I had.

  I lost consciousness for just a moment, and I was floating on the stars in heaven. I opened my eyes, and I saw his blue eyes waiting for me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, that quirky, crooked smile on his face.

  “Yes…” I was panting. “…never better.”

  And then his mouth was on mine, and his whiskers again chafed my face. He began to move against me again, pushing himself into me. His body was so lean, but so wiry and strong. I put my hands on his broad shoulders, and he lifted up to thrust into me.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready. My husband would merely lay on top of me, finish, and then roll off. I’d never been taken like I was about to be taken. But I also knew I wanted it. My body ached to be had and enjoyed. As he began to penetrate me again, I felt the heat begin to rise in me. I was wetter than I had ever imagined I could be, and he was as hard as iron. My body reacted to that combination in the most pleasant way. I took his thrusts. I wanted them. I pushed my body against his to deepen his entries. I was slamming myself against him. He sensed my passion and began to push himself even harder into me.

  Almost immediately, I began to build to a second climax. In fact, I’m not sure my first had even finished, because my body felt electrified. Every push sent sparks throughout me. My whole body felt like it was being consumed with pleasurable fire with every single stroke he gave me. My mind was in another place. It was pleasure upon pleasure. I looked at his beautiful body, each muscle rising and moving over me. His shoulders held him above me. His corded muscles drove his body against mine.

  And then the second wave hit me. I was lost again in a sea of churning waves. A tempest, roaring in my mind and body. An ocean of scalding, crashing waves hitting all the parts of my body at once. I surrendered to them, and I was floating in the sky, thousands of miles above my body. Whooshing through the firmament. Floating on clouds. My mind was on the highest clouds and the deepest oceans all at once. I had never experienced anything like this. It was more than I ever could have imagined.

  And then, from a distance, I could feel his thrusts becoming more urgent. I knew he was nearing his own. I wanted him to have some measure of what he had given me. I wanted him to release into me and feel his own waves of pleasure.

  “Yes, Owen. Give it to me. I want you to give it to me now,” and with my permission, I saw his face flush darkly, then his body jerked hard. I immediately felt him twitching inside of me, and that twitching and warm wetness sent me back on my own orgasm. I was floating above us, feeling our combined sticky heat. I felt the blanket of our passion swaddle me. Every inch of my body was warmth and pleasure.

  And then his hot, sweaty body crashed down on top of me. His mouth covered my own. My tingling senses swirled with his hot mouth. His sweat mixed with my own. I enjoyed the heat inside me, even as it began to cool and run out.

  I must have drifted off to sleep, but I have no memory of that. I only remember feeling complete for the first time in my life. I finally experienced what I knew I had been missing. Like a starving person having his first meal. Like a lost child finding her parents. I now had what I knew I needed.

  But it wasn’t to last, sad to say.

  1864 – War and Loss

  The next morning, I awoke in his bed, but Owen was gone. I rose and felt the most pleasant soreness. My body told me the secrets of the night before. I thrilled at it. I had expected to feel some guilt. I thought I would be ashamed of my actions. After all, I was a married woman, and my husband was out fighting a war.

  But I didn’t. Not one bit. I was a woman left alone for years. I had been left to handle the complicated affairs of a Southern plantation, a staff of nearly a hundred, ships, transactions. I’d also had to deal with a conquering army moving through our community. Whatever my husband was facing, I couldn’t imagine that it was much worse.

  And what this incident pointed out most clearly was that I wasn’t in love with my husband. In fact, I don’t think I even liked him much, though I did respect him. For the entire duration of the war, and with him being a high-ranking officer, he never once returned home. He never provided assistance. I was left to fend for myself, and I was only 22 at the time.

  I had grown up, you see. I had become a woman. I was married as a girl, handed from one male, my father, to another, my husband. But the war, while horrible and tragic, had served to make
me a confident, resourceful woman. I was proud of myself. I didn’t need a man telling me what to do. I did what needed to be done. I asked for assistance where needed, but the drive and ideas were mine. I felt like I could handle anything at this point.

  It was bitterly cold that morning. As I looked out the windows, I saw frost across the fields. The empty cotton plants shone as far as I could see. The animals huddled in the barn, waiting to be fed. I busied myself with my daily chores.

  At noon, a young blue-clad soldier rode up to the front of the home. He held a note in his hands. He was breathless from the ride.

  “From General Bradley, ma’am,” he said and tipped his hat. He then remounted and rode away. I opened the note.

  Dearest Sarah,

  I’ve been ordered to lead a contingent of men against some resistance fighters to the north of the city. I expect to be gone for a few days. Will return when possible.

  CO Bradley

  I was disappointed, of course. I was already looking forward to being in his arms again. And then, perhaps, a repeat of the night before. But instead, I was to be alone for at least a few days.

  Of course, I had lots of work to do. Now that I was on my own, I had an entire home to clean and maintain. As it was nearly December, there were no crops to manage, thankfully.

  So I busied myself doing things. I freshened up the linens. I mopped and waxed all the floors. I kept the animals fed. I stayed busy from sunup to sundown. It was good for me, after all. Had I sat and thought about my situation, I would have driven myself mad. Instead, the work kept me moving and made the time pass by.

  Owen returned on the third day as he had promised. That morning, I had woken to the worst nausea I had ever experienced. I spent the morning vomiting. However, it cleared up rather quickly, and I even managed to eat a light breakfast before he returned. He was so tall and handsome, and I was so glad to see him. When he dismounted, though, I could see the worries of the world on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, after he had stabled his horse. “You seem upset.”

  He looked up, but his eyes were far away. “I’m sorry, Sarah. Sorry.” He put on a fake smile for me, but I knew he was troubled.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he said, and he was still far away.

  Over dinner, I questioned him about his demeanor, but he continued to brush aside my questions. I incorrectly assumed he was dissatisfied with me in some way. I guess it was my love that made me a bit mad about questioning him.

  In frustration, I finally said, “If you wish not to speak with me, then why did you come back?”

  His face darkened. He put his hand to his forehead. “I killed a young boy, Sarah.”

  “What?” And it suddenly hit me that I was so self-centered that I had almost forgotten that my lover was busy fighting a war.

  “A young boy. He couldn’t have been more than ten.”

  Stupidly, I asked, “How? Why?”

  He leaned back in his chair. His eyes were red. His face was white. His countenance was ghostly. “We were cutting train lines. Twisting the ends. By order of Sherman. I heard movement in the bushes. Nearby.”

  I moved over and sat next to him.

  “I pulled my pistol. Suddenly, we were under attack. About twenty Rebels started firing on us. It had been an ambush. I assumed the movement in the bushes was more of the same. I fired into the bushes. Five of my men were killed. We managed to drive off the snipers. When we investigated, I found the boy. He had been hiding in the bushes. Not sure why. Maybe to watch.”

  “Oh my dear Lord,” I said. “Owen, it’s not your fault.”

  “He was unarmed, Sarah. Just a kid.”

  “You didn’t know that,” I protested.

  He looked up at me. “But don’t you see? Whether I knew or not, I killed a boy. He was probably the same age as my son, Taylor. He even looked a little like him.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, and he cried into my shoulder. A deep cry, expressing agony I couldn’t even imagine. All that he had been through, I think, finally caught up to him. I can’t imagine ever having to lose a child, and this boy reminded him of his two dead children.

  He stayed with me until December 1st. On Friday, December 2nd, his was the first division to leave Savannah and begin moving north.

  The weather was frigid, and it matched his spirit. In the last few days, he had barely said a word. The loss he felt was like a heavy weight around his neck. He would eat. Put on wan smiles. Say a few cordial things and then cry to himself by the fireplace. His consumption of brandy increased dramatically, and I’d say he was drunk most evenings.

  I tried to speak with him, but he just wasn’t there. He was but a shell of his former self. Empty and dead inside. I think he imagined the boy he killed as his own son, and that horrible moment came back to him in a way I could never imagine. He didn’t even make empty promises to visit me. He didn’t try to assuage my guilt or my fears. He simply hung his head and moved about like a ghost.

  I cried like a child the day he rode out, and I honestly knew I would never see him again. By the middle of December, the rest of Sherman’s army pulled out of Savannah, though the blockade stayed off our coast. True to his word, the city wasn’t burned to the ground, as Atlanta had been. When they left, the city seemed almost like a ghost town. Eerily quiet. Where once thousands of soldiers had marched and taken up residence, the streets were now empty. The locals stayed inside that first day, not sure what to make of the events. A few people moved about. A few carriages rode from home to home. But the houses were quiet that first day.

  But not the second.

  I knew I was in for trouble when I saw him. Simmons. At the end of my oak-lined drive, I saw him standing there, still wearing that sweat-stained hat he’d worn a couple of years ago. Two other men were with him. He smoked a cigarette and simply watched the front of my house. I knew in that very instant I was in for a bad day. Though he left after a bit, I knew I had to be prepared. My husband’s Henry rifle was stored in our spare bedroom. I searched frantically for shells, which I found in another closet. My hands were shaking as I loaded the side breech. As I loaded it with sixteen shells and cranked the lever, I already heard the mob forming outside. I put extra shells in the pockets of my apron. I could hear their shouts outside.

  “Come out here, Sarah.”

  “Come on out, nigger-lover”

  “Yankee whore, come pay your penance.”

  I threw open the front door, and there I saw a collection of about twenty of my neighbors. Men and women both. I recognized all of them. I hated all of them as well. In addition, Mr. Simmons was there. He was in the back, like the coward he was. I kept the rifle in front of me, barrel pointed down but ready to fire if attacked. When they saw the rifle, they all took a step back.

  “What do you want?” I demanded. “How dare you come to my door like a mob! Who do you think you are?”

  “We know what you’ve done,” said my neighbor Beauregard Fitzgerald. “You paid to have your niggers sent out of Georgia.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I knew I had to lie. Abolition was a hanging error in Georgia. “General Bradley took them.”

  “She’s lying,” Simmons shouted. “She was consorting with that Yankee bastard,” he shouted.

  “How dare you?” I shouted back, and this time I leveled the rifle at him. Those around him stepped away from my line of fire. “Are you accusing me of moral turpitude, Mr. Simmons? If so, get ready to meet your maker.” While what he said was true, I wasn’t about to be declared a whore in public.

  “We all know,” he returned, but now his voice faltered. Staring at the wrong end of a gun seemed to have sapped his courage. This obviously wasn’t going the way he had planned.

  “What on earth could you possibly know? I was forced to house that Union officer. My own husband wasn’t here to protect me. You know the rest of you were also forced to house soldiers.”

  “She’s lying,” Simmon
s again shouted, but when I put the gun back to my shoulder, he began to look nervously about.

  “Say that again!” I commanded, and I put my finger on the trigger and aligned my sights. “Say that again, and you’ll be six-feet under by nightfall.”

  My neighbors all continued to shuffle away from Mr. Simmons, who now stood there dumbly. I took this moment to capitalize on his weakness and lowered the rifle just a bit.

  “Every single one of us here has been under Union control. You’ve all had to feed these soldiers. You’ve all had your animals stolen and your crops taken. Do you think I was any different? In fact, mine was the first house taken in Savannah. General Bradley didn’t ask…he simply took it. Just like the rest did to you. And now you want to blame me? As if I had any choice? How dare you? You are accusing me of consorting with the enemy? While my husband is leading the fight up north? If you feel that way, step up and taste lead. Otherwise, get your filthy feet off my porch and go back to your homes.”

  Since the gun wasn’t pointed at him, Simmons’ courage returned. “Don’t let that Yankee-loving whore—”

  When he said those words, I fired a shot over his head. The kick was wicked, but I held it strong. He ducked like he had been struck. I cranked the lever and the first empty shell expended.

  “The next shot, I don’t miss.” I swept the gun from person to person. “I’ve got enough ammo here for all of you. Who wants to die first?”

  They looked nervously between them, but none of them seemed up to challenge me. Even Simmons had lost his nerve and seemed to be looking for a way out.

  “Then leave. Now.” I swept the barrel across them again. “NOW!” Their resolve quickly faded, and they walked away, down the long, oak-lined drive.

  What I didn’t know at that moment was that Sherman’s army had freed nearly every slave in Savannah and that most of them were following the army back up north, walking most of the way. I was so glad I had sent my people by ship and that they were already getting settled. I couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be for these freed slaves when they made it up north.