Free Beguiled by Paisley Smith Page B

Alice asked, incredulous.
    “Not me so much. But she will kick the pail over—or worse, dip her hoof into the milk.” I pulled up the short stool where I sat to do the milking.
    Cinnamon pushed through the others to take her place as leader. I secured her head in the stall and then arranged my skirts as I sank onto the stool. Alice leaned on the wall behind me and watched intently as I reached underneath the goat and grasped her two udders in my fingers. I squeezed thumb to pinkie, thumb to pinkie, and the milk hissed into the empty pail.
    “Why goats?” Alice asked. “Why not cows?”
    “We had cows,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Until the soldiers took them.”
    Her mouth formed an O, and she averted her gaze back to where I milked Cinnamon’s teats.
    “But we’ve always kept goats,” I said, concentrating on the milking. “When my pa was a baby, cow’s milk made him sick, and Granny’s ma—she was the local wise woman back then—gave him goat’s milk to drink. We’ve had goats at Rattle and Snap since.”
    “Do you ever eat them?”
    “Oh no!” I said and stopped milking to glance at the kid pen where one of my beloved babies was missing. “These are dairy goats. I couldn’t bear to part with any of them…unless a human’s life was in danger.”
    Afraid I would start crying, I turned back to Cinnamon and commenced milking her.
    “What does the milk taste like?” Alice asked.
    “This milk tastes like summer. Like honeysuckles and blackberries and ripe persimmons, like the fresh, tart scent of leaves and grass,” I mused and then smiled. “In other words, goat’s milk tastes like what goats eat.” Since I’d milked Cinnamon out, I withdrew the bucket from between her legs and dipped my finger into the milk. Alice leaned in and sucked the digit between her lips.
    I gasped. My whole body reacted as her eyes locked with mine and her tongue teased the underside of my finger. The wet heat of her mouth reminded me of the tight warmth of her channel. My own insides clenched in response.
    Perspiration beaded at my hairline. My reaction shocked me. Cream gathered in my own sheath as a deluge of images assailed me. Alice spreading for my touch. Flicking my tongue over her hard nipples. I wanted to do all those things. With her. With a woman.
    My heart pounded.
    Breaking the spell, she slowly released my finger, pressing a flirtatious little kiss to it before she stood once again. “Delicious,” she said.
    Up until now, I’d reserved such actions for the bedroom. Never, not once, had I engaged in anything sexual outside my room or, up until last night, outside my bed. Right now, however, all I wanted to do was pull up my skirts and let her pleasure me. I dragged in a breath. What the hell?
    I stood, drawing up the front of my skirts at the same time.
    Alice stared. “Belle…”
    My resolved wavered. “Don’t you want to?”
    “More than anything,” she whispered.
    “Touch me, and let me touch you. I want to. Please don’t deny me.” I couldn’t believe the words that sprang from my lips.
    Alice came toward me, not stopping until my spine found the stall wall. Her gaze held mine as her fingers wriggled their way through the slit in my drawers.
    “Mmm.” She voiced her approval when she found me wet and ready.
    My eyes closed. I spread my feet farther apart. My body reacted as if it had a will of its own. I rocked against her hand. I wiggled on her fingers, desperately wanting her to appease my desire. Whimpering, I covered her hand and pushed it higher. “I need…” I couldn’t finish my request.
    “What do you need, Belle?” Her voice was like the rough nap of velvet brushed backward.
    “Please—”
    “Tell me.”
    “Your fingers.” I gasped.
    “Where?” She slid through my folds. “Tell me, baby doll, and don’t sugarcoat it. I want to know precisely where you want my finger.”
    I tried to swallow but couldn’t.
    She straddled my thigh and slowly rode