The doors swung open and a good-looking tall man in a black hat entered. He had a long mustache and bright blue eyes. Two men came in with him. The whores chattered like a flock of birds, eyeing the new prey and preening themselves in their colorful dresses: red, pink, yellow. The patrons of the saloon, roughnecks and pretty boys alike, grew silent.
The tall man ambled right over to Raney, cutting through the crowd like a blade.
“Raney James,” he said, his voice overly friendly. “I’d love to buy you a drink. I hear you’re the one who took down Tom Parker in Brush City.” He took a seat beside Raney and leaned back, resting his head in his interlaced fingers. “And I hear you might be the man who can beat me in a shootout.”
Whitfield kept his gaze on the outlaw’s men. Two beefy brutes, one blond, the other dark.
Raney gave him a steady nod. “I’d love some fine scotch. They don’t pay the law much around here.”
The tall man laughed. “So you’re the law now? Well, let’s drink to friendly relations.”
They clinked glasses, and Raney never took her eyes off him. She’d already pinpointed his weapons. One under the coat. One strapped to his leg. One on his belt. About the same places she carried her own firearms. Which he’d probably noticed, as well.
“What’s a fella like you doing in a shithole like this?” Raney asked, taking a long draw on her scotch.
He laughed. “Same thing you are. Killing time.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Care to make it more interesting with a little wager, Raney James? See who really is the better shot?”
Raney gave him a small smile. But only a small one. “I love when things get interesting, Bill Jessup.”
The next morning at sunup, Whitfield and Raney left to meet Bill about thirty minutes outside of town. She was on Snowflake, and Whitfield rode the fine black stallion he called Mountain. The air was crisp and rarefied at that early hour, and the sky was clear. Bill and the two men he’d had with him at the saloon were sitting on rocks, poking at a dying fire, drinking coffee. “You always ride with only two men?” Raney asked, her hand on her gunbelt.
“Don’t need more than that.”
Then something went very wrong.
Joseph, as she’d learned the previous night, Bill’s dark-haired man, took a shot at a coyote lurking nearby. Snowflake spooked, rearing hard and dumping Raney off her saddle. Jack, Bill’s blonde man, managed to catch her, but it was a hard fall. And her hat fell to the ground, letting her long, pale hair loose. She gasped.
Whitfield immediately jumped off his horse to help her, but Bill put a gun to his back. “Well, look at this,” Bill said.
“A woman?” Jack said, marveling at her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “The great Raney James is a woman?” He took a handful of her ass. “This is a woman’s ass.”
Raney screamed and moved to punch Jack in the face.
Bill cocked his pistol and pushed it into Whitfield. “Calm down or I kill your man, here.”
Bill and Joseph tied Whitfield up with rope and threw him to the ground. Jack put Raney down but kept his gun on Whitfield.
The outlaw strode over to Raney and grabbed her hair, whispering into her ear, “I always thought Raney James was a cocksucker. Turns out I was right.” He and his men laughed.
She stared at him, not wavering, just waiting for the slightest chance to draw her Colt. Seething inside, but calm. Deadly calm. “What about the wager?” she said. “I want to shoot for our freedom.”
“Deal,” he said. “You win, we let you go. I win…you fuck me and my men.” His eyes traveled greedily up and down her body, looking for the curves he now knew were under the clothes. “My word.”
“Fine,” she said tersely. “You have my word, too.”
“Raney!” Whitfield called. “Just let them shoot me.”
Bill shook her hand. “I’m going to fuck you first. In the mouth. Hard. Then Joseph will take you however he wants, which is probably up the ass, and I know Jack will want a piece of your sweet little gunfighting pussy.” He paused and looked around. “We’re going to put these two bottles of whiskey a hundred yards south. Let’s see who breaks one first.”
Jack ran out and positioned the bottles. Raney stood to the left and Bill to the right. Whitfield took a sharp breath. Jack said, “On the count of three.”
And the bottle to the right shattered a split second before the one to the left. Whitfield yelled when he saw Raney’s pale, blank face. Bill and his men whooped, jumping up and down, and Bill grabbed Raney around the waist. “You’re fast—for a woman. But now it’s time to pay up.” He thrust his tongue down her throat, his mustache tickling her nose, kissing her until she felt warm. Then he tore her shirt open to reveal her pert, small breasts.
“Look at these fine tits, boys,” he said, kneading them roughly. “And this ass,” he said, undoing her pants harshly and pulling them down. He flipped her around and smacked her once, twice, reddening her white skin. He took her gunbelt off, tossing it to the side, and pulled the second gun off her leg. His men hooted and called for him to take her. Bill pushed Raney to her bare knees. “I can’t wait to come in your mouth,” he growled slowly, his voice giving away the depth of his need.
“I hate you,” she said. But her anger fused with lust. Her body burned.
“I can live with that,” Bill said.
Then he undid his own pants, pulling out a huge, thick erection.
She turned her head.
“Now open wide, Raney James,” he said, turning her face to feed his full length in, holding the back of her head. He moaned as she began to suck, her hands instinctively coming up to hold the shaft as her mouth teased the tip.
Even though she hated Bill, his cock felt amazing, hard and wide, thrusting into the back of her throat. She was losing herself in it, letting herself be used. From the corner of her eye she saw Whitfield, staring at her transfixed. Jack held his gun in one hand, guarding Whitfield, and with the other he stroked his cock through his pants. His face was red, his mouth open in lust.
Joseph crouched on the ground about fifteen feet away, looking like he was about to pass out as he watched Raney take Bill’s cock. “Hurry up, boss,” he groaned. “I need some of that real bad.”
Bill didn’t hurry. He took his time, opening her wide with his cock, fucking, pounding, murmuring appreciation and pushing his hips faster and faster into her face as she pulled his balls, and then felt his salty stream began to spurt into her throat, deep, hot, and strong. He continued to fuck until she’d taken every drop, then pulled away and sighed, zipping up.
Raney stood up and made a show of wiping her mouth off.
Bill walked away, smiling dreamily, and took Jack’s spot guarding Whitfield. Jack moved so he could get a better view as Joseph positioned Raney on her knees. Joseph licked his hand a few times, wetting her with it, then nudged the head of his cock into her ass, testing, widening. She couldn’t stop herself from moaning as he moved further and further inside her. The other men all moaned too, softly, without knowing it. Joseph was solid, with thick, hard thighs of rock, and his cock was the same.
With an animal grunt he pushed the whole of his dick into her, grasping her hips for traction, and fucked her slow, then fast. “You love this, don’t you, you dirty little whore,” he hissed. “Pretending to be a man, when you were just a filthy woman who wanted to get fucked like this.”
She cried out in pleasure, and from the burn. Her eyes caught Whitfield’s and held them as Joseph fed his dick into her over, over, and then came hard. She saw that Whitfield had an erection. Every man there was helpless with desire for her.
Jack laid a blanket on the ground and pulled her to it, gently. “I want to watch you suck this man’s cock while I mount you,” he said. Bill pushed Whitfield forward. Raney found she wanted this to happen.
Whitfield was shaking his head. “I don’t fuck the boss,” he said. “It’s not right.”
Bill said, “You will do it. Cause it’s w
hat Jack wants.”
Jack positioned Raney on her hands and knees again, and she the heard the measured, metallic click of his zipper, felt the heat of his cock slipping into her.
“She acts like she don’t want it, but her pussy is sopping wet,” Jack moaned. “She’s in heat.” He held her breasts as he fucked her, and she felt herself climbing, the sensations radiating out from her cunt to every pore of her body.
Whitfield knelt in front of her and took out a beautiful cock, tall and proud, absolutely engorged. Silently, almost reverently he pushed himself into her mouth, stroking her hair. “That’s real, real good,” he murmured.
She had Jack in her pussy and Whitfield in her mouth, both men working her hard, working her right, and despite herself, the humiliation and the loss of her secret, the confusion, the thoughts of revenge, she came, not caring anymore, moaning her bliss around Whitfield. When he heard her, he cried out and shot into her mouth. She drank him down and felt Jack pull out as he climaxed loudly.
And then Whitfield picked her up, holding her to him, and kissed her full on the lips, a kiss full of tenderness and fire. Love, even. His hands held her face and he looked at her. And she at him, wonderingly. Seeing how he really felt. Then he narrowed his eyes and nodded imperceptibly. She winked.
It was time.
Raney’s legs were shaky, and Bill brought her a canteen, from which she took a long, long drink. She got dressed, this time leaving her hair down under her white cowboy hat. She and Whitfield mounted their horses.
“Damn fine shooter and damn fine piece of ass,” Jack said.
“I second that,” said Bill. “Don’t know about her being the fastest shot, though. I won.” He smirked. “Now everyone’s gonna know who Raney James really is.”
Before anyone saw anything, Raney had her Colt out and shot a hole right through Bill’s cowboy hat.
“Who said I didn’t let you win?” she spat. “It seems you were the one who got screwed.” Bill’s face fell and his men drew their weapons. Raney shook her head in disbelief.
“You are a lousy shot, Bill Jessup,” she said. “But you’re a marvelous fuck.”
Bill was furious. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said.
Then Raney James shot him in the heart. For Paul.
Whitfield took out Bill’s men, one after the other.
Raney and Whitfield nodded at each other, the landscape still ringing with the sudden shots.
“I love it when things get interesting,” Whitfield said. And off they rode.
RUNAWAY BRIDE
Delilah Devlin
Jackson Lowry cussed softly when he spotted the blue lights spinning at the roadblock just ahead. Too late to turn back now. He’d only draw more attention.
Squaring his jaw, he rolled down his window and forced a polite smile as he peered into the darkness at the sheriff’s deputy checking IDs with a flashlight.
As soon as the deputy waved the car in front of him to move along and turned to watch the black pickup roll forward, Jackson’s tension eased a fraction.
Maynard Colby’s expression turned from crisply professional to worried in a second, as soon as he recognized Jackson. “Dammit, Jackson, where have you been?”
“Around. Why?”
A soft moan sounded beside him, and Jackson reached surreptitiously beside him to tap the tarp covering his precious load.
“You didn’t hear?” At Jackson’s vague expression, Maynard stepped onto the truck rail and leaned toward Jackson. “It’s Sammi Jo. Her car was found in Shooter’s parking lot, the door wide open. No one’s seen her. Looks like she’s been snatched.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “How serious is this gettin’?”
“It’s only been a couple of hours, but Sammi Jo’s daddy is buckin’ to get the sheriff to call in the FBI, the CIA, the ATF—and whatever other agency his money can buy to find her. I tried callin’ you, but your phone kept goin’ to voicemail. After the way things went down at the weddin’ last Sunday, I don’t blame you a bit for layin’ low, but I thought you’d wanna know.”
Another sound, this time a snort, sounded beside him.
Maynard’s gaze cut to the dirty tarp folded over a moving bundle on the floor of the cab. A ruddy eyebrow shot up. “What’s goin’ on, Jackson?”
Jackson rolled his eyes, then pulled up the corner of the tarp to reveal a bound and gagged Sammi Jo whose eyes glittered furiously back at both men.
Maynard barked a laugh, then tightened his lips. “This time you’ve gone and done it, boy. This is seriously fucked up.” He laughed again, then tipped his hat to Sammi Jo. “No disrespect meant, missy.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “Don’t s’pose you can forget about this?”
Maynard’s gaze shot to Sammi Jo again, raked her once as though ensuring she didn’t look to be in any real danger, then tipped back his cowboy hat. “Tell ya what. I’ll put a bug in the sheriff’s ear, but she better come walkin’ through the po-lice house doors come Monday mornin’.”
“Not a word to her daddy?”
One corner of Maynard’s mouth crooked up. “Man’s already caused enough problems. Deserves to cool his heels a couple o’ days. Don’t do nothin’ I’ll have to arrest you for.”
With a nod, Jackson rolled up the window and pulled past the barricade. In his side mirror, he watched as Maynard crossed to the other deputy’s car and both men bent over laughing.
“See that, Sammi Jo?” he murmured, not expecting an answer because he’d made double-damn sure he’d tied some serious knots and gagged her pretty mouth. “I’m not the only one who thinks you need a good paddlin’.”
Sammi Jo Clements worked her jaw side to side to ease the ache. The dirty bandana was gone, but her mouth and tongue were swollen, and she was sure she had spit dried on her cheeks. The nerve of Jackson Lowry—kidnapping her in broad daylight!
And not a one of the customers lined up to peer out the saloon’s windows had raised a hand to help or, apparently, to call the police. The fact that every one of them had kept mum about the whole thing burned a hole in her gut.
They all thought she’d been dead wrong—mean, even—to leave Jackson standing at the altar.
That had been only a couple of hours ago, but darkness had fallen swiftly. The cabin was awash in shadows that moved with the flicker of the gas lantern Jackson had hung from a hook in the ceiling.
A washcloth entered her view, and she snatched it from his hand to scrub her cheeks. “Don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish here. Daddy’s gonna have your ass thrown in jail so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
Jackson grunted, then sat on the mattress beside her. He pulled down the brim of his hat and leaned back against the rough headboard as though he was getting ready to take a nap. “Daddy’s got nothing to do with this,” he drawled. “It’s between you and me. Always has been. The fact you let him get to you— well, that’s just one of the things we’re gonna discuss.”
“Discuss?” She eyed the length of rope attached to her left arm. “This can only end badly—unless you drop me at home. I’ll tell him I got drunk and decided to sleep in a ditch.”
Jackson chuckled, a sound that never failed to make her nerves twitch. “With your reputation, he might believe it.”
She tilted her chin and gave him a scalding stare. The truth hurt, but he didn’t have to rub it in. So she’d been a party girl. So what? Jackson had known what he was getting into when he first asked her out. “No need to get snide.”
“I don’t wanna waste my breath tellin’ you something you already know.”
“Then what is it you want to discuss?” She wished like hell she could see his eyes, because they always reflected exactly what he thought, but the brim of his hat cast deep shadows.
His sexy mouth curved in a smile. “Maybe ‘discuss’ was just a euphemism.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice clipped now. “It’s just something else you don’t get.�
� Jackson leaned forward to set his elbows on his thighs. His head dipped between his shoulders. Then he turned his face toward her and light glinted in his dark eyes. His gaze nailed her, sliding over her face, which she knew wore an expression as stubborn as a mule’s. Then his hot stare trailed down the rest of her body.
Heat seeped into her cheeks. “That what this is all about? You think I owe you somethin’?” His huffing breath told her she’d guessed wrong and pissed him off, but she was too stubborn to take it back. She tilted her chin higher.
Jackson shook his head. “Sweetheart, you are some piece o’ work. You think I brought you here to get what you promised ?”
“Didn’t you? What else am I supposed to think? You have me tied to a goddamn bed.”
His snort this time seemed directed inward. He took off his hat and raked a hand through his short, dark hair. “Guess I wasn’t thinkin’ at all. I’d imagined you stretched across my bed so many times…” He pushed off the mattress, placed his hat on a crude wooden table, and then strode toward a grimy window. He stood there for a long moment with his back to her, staring out into the darkness so long she began to wonder if he was having second thoughts about what he’d done.
Sammi Jo was having second thoughts of her own—about whether she wanted him to let her go. He’d gone to a lot of trouble, risked arrest—or worse—to get her here. She was curious now about what he intended. “What is this place, anyway?”
“My family’s huntin’ cabin.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave her another dark, unreadable stare. “Not up to your high standards?”
Lord, he didn’t know her at all. Not that it was his fault. She’d led him on a merry chase, never letting him see her in any condition other than perfectly put together. Mussed and smudged with dirt as she was now, he probably thought she was horrified at the indignity.
Lord, she’d been such a bitch. And yet he’d been tender and patient throughout his courtship. He hadn’t had a clue about the real her. She wasn’t a goddess on a pedestal, although she’d pretended for years to please Daddy.
Cowboy Lust: Erotic Romance for Women Page 17
