“You’re more of a dreamer, Theophilus.”
“Sometimes,” Doc said, feeling his voice thicken as he thought of the dementia that occasionally took him into its seductive embrace, “I am too much of a dreamer.”
“One of these days, I’d like to hear about those dreams.”
He thought of his lost wife and children, and the melancholy that was so much a part of his existence. A twinge of guilt struck him as he looked at the woman before him. His wife had been good with her hands around the house, as well, using her skills to turn it into a home.
“Those dreams, madam,” he said, “are too often filled less with laughter than sadness. You might not like hearing about them.”
She turned her head, looking at him. “You’re nursing old wounds.”
Doc gave her a grin, but it felt weak. “I would say that anyone who attained our age has more than a few regrets and disappointments.”
“And tragedies? Like the ones Shakespeare wrote about?”
“Those, too. Though I think if the bard had lived at these times, he’d see what true tragedy really was. This canvas that is the world around us now is pared down to the basest of emotions and desires. But our mere living our lives, with effort to conduct them the way we want to, has to be considered a triumph. Take this trading post you’ve built. Not many people would have invested so much of themselves into such a structure.”
“Lot of back-breaking work went into the construction of this place.”
“And a lot of heart, as well.” Doc ran his fingers along the carving on the wall.
“Couldn’t leave this place if my life depended on it,” Annie told him. “Got too much invested here.”
Doc nodded. “You say that, but if it came to it, I think you would survive. Despite our best intentions, those of us strong enough find ways to survive no matter what we experience.”
Annie crossed the distance between them and took Doc into her strong arms. “Bath’s ready. If you’re ready.”
“Yes,” he replied.
She reached into the wall beside him and turned the faucet off. Then she placed a hand on the front of his trousers and stroked his erection.
The pressure against his groin surprised Doc because he hadn’t noticed exactly when the erection had sprung into being. The aroma of the cedar in the wet environment had grown stronger, flooding his senses. He bent his head and crushed his lips against hers, tasting the honeyed tea on her breath.
“You’re ready,” she declared. Her hands fumbled with the buttons on his pants but couldn’t quite manage the feat.
Gently Doc stepped back from her, then undressed her first. Despite the age and the extra pounds, she maintained a womanly figure. Her breasts were larger than he’d expected, capped with brown nipples too big for him to encircle between his thumb and forefinger.
He bent his head to them, taking the first into his mouth. He tasted the perspiration that clung to her, the saltiness on his tongue mixed in with some kind of herbal scent. Her nipple came erect at once, and she moaned in a low voice as her pleasure took her. He nibbled at both her breasts, noting the scarlet flush that crept under her skin. She held him tightly, pulling his mouth against her breast.
His hand crept down, slipping between her thighs. At first, she tried to block his progress.
“Can’t,” she breathed huskily. “You touch me there, and I’m going to go off. Been too long since the last time, and I don’t remember a touch ever being so gentle.”
“Good,” Doc told her. “But if you do, do not worry about it. There will be other times.”
She pulled his head back from her breasts. “Are you sure? I don’t want to waste this one building.”
Doc chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m sure, dear lady. We have only just begun.”
Her thighs parted, allowing him to touch her inner recesses. Doc’s fingers slipped into her at once, exploring the depths and finding her surprisingly tight. His thumb brushed against her clit, locating the throbbing pulse of her lust beneath the pubis mound.