Nicademus: The Wild Ones Read Online Free Page A

And in his spirit he knew this time it was coming for her.
    “Come in,” he heard her call out in his native language from behind the door. It must have been his heavy footfalls that clued her to his presence. He turned the knob and pushed it open. Cora dipped under the sudsy water of her bath and came back up. She wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Her natural curls were now wavy and flat to her forehead. The room smelled like her perfumed bath.
    “Welcome home,” she said in Chickasaw.
    Red Sun closed the door with a hard slam. Cora stood. She faced him. Her bodily perfection continued to amaze him. There were few scars from her life of hardship. Her breasts had a swollen prideful rise, and though her skin was on the lighter shade of brown, her dark nipples and the wavy black hairs that covered her pussy were the compelling reminder of her exotic ethnicity. He wished her womb could swell with his child, and he could drape her in fine dresses like the ones the ladies often whispered about. But for all the years of their trying, her womb remained barren. He knew she wanted motherhood. He knew her heart wanted more than to be some whore-guardian to these lost women.
    She blinked those dark lashes at him and pointed to her robe resting on the back of a chair. He walked over and picked it up. Cora stepped out of the tub to the floor, pooling water at her feet. He put the robe around her shoulders and she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “Four days. No word from you. Do you know how that made me feel?” she turned her head and looked back at him. “Do you even care?”
    He processed the words. Did he know? Did he care? How could she ever ask that of him? He only grunted a response. He knew English. He spoke it in bites when forced to, but vowed never to let go of the language of his people. Why the brown and yellow people of Nicademus insisted on speaking the white man’s language was beyond him. Had they no pride?
    Cora turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. The act of submissive contrition shocked him.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She squeezed him. “Sometimes I don’t know the words that I’ve said until they are off my lips. I should have never argued with you. Okay? I missed you.”
    He stroked the back of her head. His woman did not easily give others forgiveness. Soiled Dove was a survivor. Her iron will made her unyielding and invincible to her enemies. It made her a worthy conquest to the men who lusted for her. He didn’t need to break her. He just wanted to love her, his way.
    Red Sun lifted her chin. Cora’s wet hair fell past her shoulders and dripped heavy drops of water to the floor. Her lips were the softest he’d ever known on a woman. And when he kissed her, all the time spent apart fell away like a distant memory. His tongue swept deep, hers teased in response. Her perfumed hair and body was a gift from nature and God. He forced the robe, now damp and clinging to her curves, off her. He wanted no barrier between them. Cora reached around his neck and pushed up against him, and he lifted her in his arms, refusing to release her from their kiss. He carried her only a few feet to the bed, and only because it was how it should be done.
     
    Cora’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt her body tense from head to toe with arousal. Lord he was a mighty man. He was taller than any man in town, and solid with broad shoulders, a muscular defined chest and thighs, and arms made of steel. All of him was packaged nicely beneath copper brown skin. And eyes so dark they would seem soulless, yet she witnessed the depths of his convictions, his pride, and his emotions. She felt light headed each time she looked into his eyes for too long. He wore a pair of dusty britches, and a hand-sewn vest over a loose fitting shirt. He shed his clothes quickly, then he dropped them where he stood. She reclined into her pillows and extended her hand. He walked around to the foot of the bed and Cora parted