Please help me get my ox out of the ditch!” ***
Braxton Williams was getting a late start home. The woman bristled up again. The room had become warm enough so that coats and sweaters had been removed. Salting and buttering his hands once again, he slipped one long-fingered hand beneath the woman’s dress and under the cotton waistband of her pantaloons. Unconsciously, his free hand covered his comforter’s hand. Until he saw her hair, he knew her gender only from the sound of a feminine voice. Elatedly, he suckled each nipple until their pinkness became red. Brax’s softly spoken whisper intruded on the silent serenity, “Miss M’lissy Merryman, when you marry you will take your husband’s name, but he won’t take yours. I think maybe I’d pity the poor fella that had to live with your temperament.”
M’lissy gathered her breath to respond but he didn’t let her.
