Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

husband to be gentle and kind and give me more time? Should I confess all the horrors of my life and seek his compassion?
    Another part of me shouted No, loud and clear. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would understand and care; he was not a Southern gentleman in any sense of the words. Old Henry's words of wisdom came back to me: "A branch that doesn't bend with the wind breaks." I sucked in my breath and swallowed back my cries. Bill Cutler would see no fear in my face, no tears in my eyes. Yes, the wind blew me from one place to another, and there was seemingly nothing to do about it, but that didn't mean I had to wail and moan. I would move faster than the wind. I would bend harder. I would make the devilish wind look inadequate, and I would take charge of my own destiny.
    By the time Bill returned to our honeymoon bedroom with our bags, I was undressed and under the blanket. He paused in the doorway, his eyes full of surprise. I knew he had been anticipating resistance, even hoping for it just so he could lord it over me.
    "Well, now," he said, putting the bags aside. "Well, now." He prowled around me, a cat on the stalk, ready to spring. "Don't you look inviting?"
    I wanted to say, let's get it over with, but I kept my lips sealed and followed him with my eyes. He pulled off his tie and literally attacked his clothes, impatient with buttons and zippers. I had to admit he was a fine-looking man, slim and muscular. The way I studied him took him aback and he paused before he lowered his shorts.
    "You don't have the face of a virgin," he said. "You look a little too wise, too calm."
    "I never said I was a virgin," I replied. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
    "What?"
    "You never said you were a virgin either, did you?" I asked pointedly.
    "Now look here. Your daddy told me—"
    "Told you what?" I asked, very interested.
    "Told me . . . told me . . ." He stuttered. "That you never had any beaux, that you were . . . untouched. We made a deal. We . . ."
    "Papa didn't know much about what went on at The Meadows. He was usually off gambling and carousing," I said. "Why? Do you want to bring me back now?"
    "Huh?" He was dumbfounded for a moment.
    "All of this excitement has made me a bit drowsy," I said. "I think I'll take a little nap." I turned over, my back to him.
    "What?" he said. I smiled to myself and waited. "Just a cotton-picking minute here," he finally declared. "This here is our wedding night. I don't intend to pass it away sleeping."
    I didn't reply. I waited. He muttered under his breath and after a moment, he got into the bed beside me. For a while we just lay there side by side, Bill staring up at the ceiling, me curled up inches away from him. Finally, I felt his hand on my thigh.
    "Now see here," he said. "Whatever's the truth about you, we're husband and wife. You're Mrs. William Cutler the Second and I claim my conjugal rights?' He pressed down harder so I would turn toward him. The moment I did so, his hands groped me and his lips pressed down on mine. My lips parted beneath his prolonged kiss. I gasped because his tongue touched mine and then he laughed and pulled his head back to look down at me with condescension. "You ain't so experienced after all, are you?"
    "Not like any of the women you've known, I'm sure," I said.
    He laughed. "You are one proud young woman, Lillian. I can see how you're going to make one helluva mistress for Cutler's Cove. I ain't done so bad after all," he said, and repeated it more for himself than for me.
    He lowered his face to mine and moved his lips over my eyes, my cheeks, my chin and my neck, and then he continued down, kissing my breasts, lingering over my nipples and moaning. He nudged my bosom with his nose, inhaling the scent of me. Despite my reluctance and unhappiness, my curiosity accompanied the titillating sensations that washed over my body in wave after wave, taking me to places I didn't expect I would go. I cried out when he continued on his journey down my body, tracing his lips over the small of my stomach.
    "No matter what you say," he muttered, "you're like a virgin to me."
    How different sex was when it was expected. What Papa had done to me was still lodged in the darkest places of my mind, locked away with my worst nightmares and childhood fears. But this was different. My body was interested and receptive and no matter what my mind said, the tingling grew stronger until Bill finally entered me and consummated our arranged