It was his turn to grip her wrist and give her a little shake. “How can you say that? Tallulah Crabtree. Do you think I run around telling every woman I love her? No. The opposite. I have only loved one woman up until now. It’s not easy for me, speaking frankly to you like this.”
“I know it’s not easy,” Tallulah breathed. She encouraged his hand to stray to her naked breast, encouraged his fingers to pinch her nipple. She was proud of how this elicited a growl deep within his chest, and he seemed unable to stop himself from biting her shoulder. “I know that I love you, too, my sensual, powerful buck. But I don’t feel lovable. None of those men truly loved me or they wouldn’t have cheated. I don’t feel I’ve earned your love or deserve it.”
“Really? All right. Earn it, then.” Milo grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted her head. His tone was playful, and she became aware that Reynaldo stood by the bed. For how long, Tallulah didn’t know, but Reynaldo, too, was clad in only his red pantaloons, his erection standing out alluringly. Milo gasped Reynaldo by the wrist and tossed him onto the mattress. Reynaldo sprawled there, shoulders jammed up against the headboard, and Milo pressed Tallulah between the shoulder blades, urging her face toward Reynaldo’s crotch.
He told Reynaldo, “This innocent girl doesn’t think she deserves my love. Shall we make her earn it?”
“By all means. He truly does love you, Tallulah,” Reynaldo said earnestly, releasing his cock from its confines. “He told me he’s going to find a way to stay here in Sonoma. Lease out his farm to Grigsby.”
Stay in Sonoma? Tallulah didn’t have a chance to utter a word, as Milo shoved her torso down with one hand while lifting her hips with the other. She wound up balancing on her elbows, ass high in the air, slurping Reynaldo’s prick down her throat. Ah. He loves me. But is he being honest? Don’t men just say that to get you to fuck them?
Indeed, as soon as she speared Reynaldo’s cock down her throat, Milo maneuvered her ass into position. He had a rather large, fat cock, but even she gasped when he penetrated her. She was accustomed lately only to Four-Fingered Sam, a cheater of average proportions, so her inner cunt was stretched when Milo impaled her. Relaxing into it, Tallulah twined around Reynaldo’s cock with her tongue, making elaborate squiggling patterns, finding his sensitive spots.
Milo rode her as she had suspected he did most everyone—rough and powerful. He fucked her with strong lunges, unfurling his spine with each thrust. But even in his sensual brutality he made sure not to hurt her, hissing and groaning as he plunged into her, each groan resonating through his prick, vibrating her clitoris.
He shuddered and stilled himself, probably on the verge of orgasm too. Covering her back with his torso, he leaned over her and took over fingering her clitoris. “My sweet,” he murmured in an entirely new, loving tone. “My ravishing spitfire. You love sucking Reynaldo’s prick, don’t you? You love eating that long, juicy tool, I can tell. You do it so well. You have such enthusiasm for it. Do you like it when a man comes in your little mouth? Do you like gulping a mouthful of that hot jism?”
Of course, she couldn’t answer. She could merely grunt “mm hm” while suctioning the big prick in and out of her mouth. Milo’s fingertips tickling her clitoris so expertly distracted her, too. He fucked her like an untamed animal, plugging her full of his fat cock, and she wanted nothing more than to feel the spurt of his cockhead exploding deep inside her. He hasn’t done this to another woman in five years. But I imagine it’s the same when he does it to a man. He must have thought she wasn’t doing a good enough job cocksucking, for he took a handful of her hair and yanked her head away from Reynaldo’s crotch.
She complained. “What’s wrong—”
He took a big slurping bite from the side of her neck as his swollen cock twitched inside of her. “It’s not you, love. You’re doing fine. It’s me.”
“What’s wrong with you—”
“Dios mío!” cried Reynaldo, gripping his own cock by the base. “Will someone just—”
Milo dove down eagerly onto the proffered cock. His wide shoulders crouched between Reynaldo’s thighs shoved Tallulah aside, and she was perfectly content to watch Milo devour his friend’s prick. Milo had a talented ability to coordinate the two actions at once, bobbing his head up and down while fisting the bulging cock, and lunging his hips against Tallulah’s backside. However, he was not quite talented enough to continue diddling her clitoris, so Tallulah had to take over for him. She tickled the exact spot she knew would bring her off instantly. Milo snorting and suckling away enthusiastically at Reynaldo’s dick only speeded up her response. Reynaldo bucked and trembled as he clutched Milo’s shoulders, arching up into his friend’s mouth.
“Hazlo. Eso es bueno. Sigue haciéndolo,” Reynaldo hissed. Which meant something like Do it. That’s good. Keep doing it. “Usted es un hombre hermoso.” You are a beautiful man.
It was the slurping sound that brought Tallulah off. Suddenly the world around her shut down and she held her breath in anticipation of the explosive orgasm. She felt Reynaldo’s hip against her breasts, hot and slick. And Milo’s beautiful fat cock spurted inside of her, just as she had desired. She knew her spasms were milking his delicious prick, and his entire body went rigid, only his hips shuddering as he poured his seed into her.
“Tu maldito desgraciado,” grunted Reynaldo.
Tallulah was able to clamber off Reynaldo once her spasms subsided. On all fours, she crawled across the mattress, panting, taking great enjoyment in the semen that trickled from her pussy. Briefly it crossed her mind. Oh, like hell. I forgot my family limitation pessary. But Tallulah wasn’t too concerned. She had never been pregnant in thirty and three years so was obviously barren. A medical doctor had told her once it was due to her awful habit of masturbation. This had angered her husband, too, that she had made herself infertile through a dirty practice, and was one of his many excuses for seeking out other women—as if he wanted to impregnate them! No, he did not. That had just been one of many excuses to stray from the marriage bed, some excuses feebler than others.
She wiped herself down with the fresh water in the washbasin. When she turned back to the bed, Milo had collapsed between Reynaldo’s thighs, his muscular arms splayed out, twined with Reynaldo’s. Reynaldo’s mouth was open and he was seemingly snoozing already. The men had had long days. It was not easy creating a new republic.
Tallulah stood for a while, enjoying the buoyant slope of Milo’s splendid ass. She really had never seen such a well-shaped ass on a man. His prick at half-mast stuck out between his hip and the mattress. His head rested on Reynaldo’s abdomen, and he looked as though he was in the realm of angels, how youthful and innocent his face looked. Not like the face of a man who enjoyed tying up others and whipping them. Milo, Milo. There were so many different aspects to his riveting personality. Forceful and fearsome one moment, then tender as a youth in love the next.
He loves me. And he’s staying in Sonoma. Grigsby had better not get shot by a desperado before he can take the lease on Milo’s farm.
Tallulah was about to venture to the bathroom to piss when she heard the heavy front door slam. The boots that stumbled in appeared to be navigating around the parlor furniture, so she grabbed her dressing gown and snatched up her derringer from the nightstand before going down the hallway. Her lamplight displayed Origin Oakley, hands out in front of his face like a sleepwalking man, feeling around in the air.
“Origin,” Tallulah sighed, “do you wish to sleep here tonight instead of our house? There is one more room.”
“That is not why I’m here!” Origin cried, wide-eyed. “Where are Milo and Reynaldo? They must come at once!”
Tallulah sighed. The poor men had only now fallen into much-needed slumber. “Tell me why, Origin. Or I won’t wake them.”
Origin held his hands out like eagle’s talons. “Conquistadors! Conquistadors have arrived on our shores!”
Tallulah rolled her eyes. “Oh, like hell, Origin. Hernando Cortes
is hardly coming to claim Sonoma for Spain. If anyone is the conquistadors it is us, remember.”
“No! Poor Bill Todd has been taken prisoner by a gang of greasers, down near Camilo Ynitia’s adobe! A conquistador named de la Torre has sent us a note bragging of his accomplishment—see here!”
Origin thrust the note at her, and Tallulah put the lamp on an occasional table to read the note in the fancy, scrolly Spanish that was popular.
Origin breathed aguardiente onto her shoulder. “See? They are bragging about being better pigs than we are.”
“Oh, I hardly think…” But Origin was right. This de la Torre character knew he had captured the man who had painted the pig flag, and he wrote, “We are much meaner pigs than you and are experienced in torture and disembowelment.”
Tallulah read aloud. “‘We are only refraining from dismembering Todd because he told us if we do, you will execute Comandante Vallejo.’”
Origin added, “We think Padilla and Loco Garcia are with de la Torre, too. This Captain de la Torre was sent by Castro across the bay. He landed near Mission San Rafael and caught Todd while Todd was out looking for horses.”
“How far out is Frémont?”
“He should have been here tonight, but he isn’t, so I imagine tomorrow morning.”
Tallulah hesitated to wake her men. They couldn’t do anything about Todd in the dark, but they might be angry with her if she failed to wake them.
She sighed heavily and picked up the lamp. “All right. Who else knows? Ford? Swift? Sears?”
“Yes, they’re all in the barracks,” Origin said soberly.
“I’ll be right back.”
When Tallulah sat on the bed next to the slumbering men and lightly shook Milo’s shoulder, he responded like an ardent bear. Draping one arm over her, he drew her to him, groaning deep in his belly. He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Milo, something urgent,” she whispered. “Bill Todd has been captured.”
“Mm,” groaned Milo. Then his eyes darted open, and he sat up like a shot. This must be how men became after a while of being on the alert against enemies or intruders. Antsy and jumpy. “Says who?”
“Origin. He’s in the parlor. He told me conquistadors captured Bill.”
“Oh,” groaned Milo and made as if to collapse on Reynaldo again.
Tallulah dug her fingers into Milo’s arm. “No, really. He brought a note from a Mexican Captain de la Torre, rubbing it in that they’re better pigs than us, and the only reason they’re not dismembering Bill is because they think we’ll execute Vallejo.”
This time Milo believed her, and he leaped to his feet to step into his pantaloons. The rest of his clothes must have been in the room he used as a bedroom, for he had to step into the hallway shirtless. “Reynaldo!” he hollered, causing his partner to instantly leap to attention as he had.
Tallulah followed him into the hall. “Shall I make coffee for everyone? Frémont should be here at daybreak.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Milo, rubbing his head wearily. He caught her by the wrist. “Tallulah? I meant what I said.”
Tallulah was uncomfortable, knowing what he referred to. Love. That awful word. “I believe you,” she said cautiously.
But he wouldn’t let go. “No. I mean it. I know you don’t believe in true love. But trust me. I know what it is. I had it for five years before it was taken away from me.” Milo, too, seemed uncomfortable discussing real, deep emotions, but he soldiered on. “So I know how it feels. I know the overwhelming sensation, never forgetting about the person for even a minute, even when you sleep. Knowing that that person’s life is more precious than yours, that you would tramp across a mountain range to see that person.”
He spoke swiftly, as though afraid if he stopped he’d never get the nerve to start again. “That there’s no bigger joy in life than holding that person in your arms. That’s why I’m leasing my farm to Grigsby, and if Vallejo or Leese is willing, purchasing some land here from them. I need to start allowing others into my life, Tallulah. I don’t want to die a bitter, mean old man.” He grinned suddenly and had never looked more enticing and adorable. “And I need to help Reynaldo with his damned vineyard, right?”
Tallulah finally exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Right,” she said with relief, glad that the “love” talk was over.
Reynaldo stepped into the hallway. “What about my vineyard?”
“Later,” said Milo with authority. “Right now we have to go save Bill Todd from some conquistadors.”
Chapter Fourteen
They were no longer a band of guerilla men seeking vengeance. Now that Frémont had finally arrived with his sixty soldiers and officially sanctioned the Osos as members of the California Battalion, Reynaldo Vargas was made a second lieutenant. Nothing was said about the presidency of Milo Stephens—Frémont probably wanted to wait for the glorious outcome of this troop maneuver before claiming victory for that, too.
Frémont appointed Henry “Fighting” Ford as commander but allowed President Stephens to accompany the thirty scouts who rode southwest toward the San Rafael mission.
“De la Torre was sent across the bay by Castro to retake Sonoma,” said Grigsby, riding abreast of Milo and Reynaldo.
“That could very well be,” agreed Reynaldo. “But I’ve fought Mexicans for a couple years now. They’re not disposed to attack gringos, with our fearful guns. They mistreat helpless prisoners but piss their pants when they see us coming. They swagger around when there’s no danger, but there’s no big fight in them.” He had actually only skirmished a few times with greasers. The other times, they had fled in panic at the sight of organized Norteamericanos.
“Well,” said “Fighting” Ford. “I’m not underestimating them. Once we spy them, I’m positioning those carronades.” Akers and Sears, after burning down Padilla’s rancho, had also procured quite a bit of powder, so they were hauling the guns with mules.
Milo appeared to agree with Reynaldo. “In most of the battles, a few shots are enough for them. Then the generals fight amongst themselves for the honor of leading the retreat.”
Reynaldo added, “There’s no glory in shooting your average cutthroat. But we seriously need to even this score. First Fowler and Cowie, and now Todd. And we haven’t spilled a drop of their blood.”
“Yet,” said Kit Carson, a famed scout of Frémont’s who had insisted on coming along. Reynaldo had ridden with Carson for a year and he was fond of the wiry, energetic guide. It was Kit’s brother Mose who Fowler and Cowie had been going to see when they were yanked into so many pieces. “I don’t care how cowardly they retreat. I’m following them with both barrels blazing.”
Milo said, “Don’t be a renegade. This is an army action, so you have to obey Ford.”
Carson grumbled, “If I see that greaser Garcia—the mad barber, I’ve been told—I’m taking his head off. I’ll knock the hindsight off him. He’s been harassing Yankees for years up and down the ranges of California.”
Ford said, “You’ve got my permission, Carson. Raise that bastard’s topknot, even if he’s retreating.”
Carson agreed energetically, “Sure as my rifle’s got hindsights and shoots center, commander.”
Reynaldo rode off to Milo’s right flank and spoke confidentially. “You heard the commander.”
“Sure as shooting,” Milo agreed.
Reynaldo knew that both Milo and Carson were former mountain men compadres as well, having run into each other trapping beaver in the mountains and at the rendezvous where hundreds of smelly men with animals on their heads met every year to swap booze and tall tales. And frankly, Reynaldo agreed with Carson and Ford. They had taken Sonoma without so much as a frayed nerve, but now Spaniards were squatting in the bushes, snatching only the lonely and unarmed Norteamericanos who strayed from the towns. The Norteamericanos were understandably in a lather.
“Hey Stefanski, old hoss,” said Carson, coming abreast of Milo on his othe
r side. Reynaldo cringed, knowing how Milo disliked anyone using his Polish name. “I heard tell you is mounting that innkeeper, Tallulah, of Sonoma.”
Already this discussion did not bode well. Carson’s mountain fame was such that everyone knew him as rough and bear-like. Mountaineers never offended a woman’s modesty but were sometimes compelled to use “compulsory wooing,” claiming a lack of time for ordinary courtship. And Carson had been known to yank a beautiful squaw or two behind his saddle.
“What of it?” Milo said gruffly, staring straight ahead. They were coming up to Olompali, an old Digger village that had allegedly been abandoned for some years now.
“She’s some pumpkins,” said Carson, lapsing into mountaineer lingo. “I’ve seen nothing as can beat her.”
“And how would you know?”
“I knew her before she came to Sonoma, near on two years ago on the Feather River. Right after that rat bastard of a husband of hers told her he didn’t care if she went her own way, he was going to keep mounting anything shaped like a gal. I helped her escape that shit sack.”
Reynaldo used soothing words, to calm Milo. He knew Milo well enough to know he was already riled like all possessed just because Carson had been acquainted with Tallulah. “Why, that’s awful helpful of you, Carson. I heard tell that shit sack husband of hers—”
But Carson just had to continue. In a leering tone, he began to reminisce about his escape with Tallulah. “Yes, those were some shining days, all right. Riding along the river by day, under the stars at night.”
Already Reynaldo could see Milo’s nostrils flare, and he snorted like a lathered horse.
Carson continued on obliviously. Perhaps not having spent much time among humans, he was unfamiliar with what might rile them. “She was awfully eager to lock horns after spending years with that miserable old critter. She was just eager as a beaver to be mounted. We had some shining times—”
The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 14
