Page 16 of Damnation
Sarah does not speak, that same hollow fear staunched across her face. My hand rises to cup her cheek, my fingers tracing the smooth skin tenderly as I speak with comfort.
“Take no fear in this moment. We shall all keep the town safe, and I shall keep you safe all the same. I swear to it.”
A strained smile meets her lips as she nods to me.
Looking around us once more, I ensure the coast is clear before resting my free hand onto her belly as I press my lips to hers. She meets me eagerly as our embrace becomes feverish. My hands roam over her curves as her own wrap around my neck. I ought to know better than what I am about to do, but when a woman as beautiful as Sarah looks at you and lets out the softest whimper, well, God made me only human.
My fingertips skate down her legs before pushing up her skirt. A gasp escapes her that only spurs me on. Pushing her undergarments to her knees, I’m able to pull myself from my trousers before pushing inside her. We both gasp at the feeling of being together once more. For decency, I pull her skirt down to conceal us, so that God forbid a witness should pass us by, the sight of our actions would be undetermined.
Who am I trying to fool? There would be no mistake. The joining of our bodies is hard and rough. We are not slow or subtle in our moves. I fear we will dent the brick building behind us with the fever of our thrusts.
The fear of being caught like this, with a woman who is not my wife, in public, no less, is far more thrilling than it ought to be. Dare I say, ‘tis the best sex of my life. Every time with Sarah has been blissful, but this…the excitement, the rush. It is practically euphoric, and I’m a vile man for taking pleasure in such.
Her tightness grips me in a way that has myself aching for my release.
“Thomas,” Sarah moans softly as I bring my free hand up to cover her mouth.
“Not a word! You should know the penalty we should face upon someone catching us like this. We’d be ruined, cast out, perhaps even tried.”
“I know,” she agrees as I move my hand to palm her cheek, softening her tone this time.
“Only you could do this to me, turn me into this kind of lawless, sinful man. Only you could woo me with your charm and beauty, practically forcing me to impregnate you and before you have even birthed our first child, make me desperate for another,” I say between clenched teeth.
Sarah’s eyes sparkle in surprise as her mouth drops open.
“Another?”
“Yes. One baby is not enough with you, Sarah. One life is not enough. The instant you are able, I will be filling you with my seed once more. Again and again until we have a brood that rivals the King of England’s.”
“Thomas,” she cries, like my name is an answer to her prayers.
I hold her tightly, utilizing the angle of us to push myself deeper inside her.
“Nothing will ever be enough with you, my love. I want it all. We shall marry before the baby comes, so they ought not be born out of wedlock. From there, we shall start our new life, together.”
“‘Tis all I desire,” she moans.
“I know, I know. Be my perfect girl and release for me. Allow me to fill you up so your womb shall never be empty again.”
I feel her begin to clench and spasm around me before my hand presses firmly against her mouth to muffle her screams. I, too, find my release in the next moment and have no other alternative than to bury my head into her neck, sinking my teeth into her silky flesh as I fill her with my seed. As my thrusts slow, I can feel it attempt to escape her, but I will not allow it. My hips move forward several more times, ensuring every drop remains where it belongs.
We hold our embrace for several moments before I press my forehead upon hers.
“Until spring, my love,” I say, rubbing my hand against our growing child.
“Until spring.”
Chapter Seven
Sarah
Iawait for the guard to take his break before I attempt to slip into the jailhouse. Thankful to God, the sheriff has his attention on the reverend, who is still hollering and raising a commotion out front.
My feet tread carefully across the dirt floor, avoiding small puddles of water where yesterday’s rain had come through the roof. The odor is repugnant in the air, stale and smelling of death. I pull my bonnet over my face, attempting to conceal my identity as I pass by a few men who are no doubt in here for various crimes, before I stop at the furthest cell around the corner.
There, Tituba sits on the floor, drawing patterns into the dirt with her finger as she murmurs something under her breath. Slowly, I lower myself to her level, tipping back my bonnet enough to allow her to see me.
“Why have you come?” she asks, her thick Caribbean accent coating her words as she keeps her eyes on the floor.
