Mastering Her Will (Dirty Texas Love Book 2)

by Shanna Handel

  When he was satisfied with his work, Jake released me. I jumped to my feet, my hands wanting to go to my sore bottom and try to rub the sting away. He watched me jump from foot to foot for a moment, then commanded, “Be still.”

  My hands dropped to my sides and I stood, frozen, in front of him.

  Reaching out slowly his hands slipped under the thin fabric of my dress. His nimble fingers unrolling and pulling up my panties, snapping them into place over my hot skin. To my utter disappointment, his hand left the underneath of my skirt. How I had longed for his deft fingers to stray beneath my panties, feel my wetness, stroke my clit. He did not.

  Standing before me, towering over me, Jake gathered me into his arms. “I love you, baby. Can you be my sweet buttergirl, now?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, snuggling deep into his chest and wrapping my arms around his lower back.

  Softly kissing the top of my head, and patting my bottom he asked, “And soon, you’re going to be my sweet little wife?”

  Holding back a chuckle, I replied honestly, “I’ll try. We all know even the sweetest of women has their moments. That’s what a firm husband is for.”

  Jake’s lips met mine and he kissed me deeply my body melting into his. But of course, as always, just when it was getting good, my insides like molten lava, he stopped everything—leaving me burning with desire.

  But no longer would I burn. Tonight, my desires would be fulfilled.

  My mind came back to the present as we made our way down the stone steps of the chapel, his hand in mine. I was no virginal blushing bride. After months of anticipation, of wanting, of yearning, I was finally going to get exactly what I wanted— Jake Hargett’s rock hard cock thrust in my weeping, begging pussy.

  And not a moment too soon because I’m beginning to think a girl could die from desire.

  The limo driver closed the door behind us, the soft thud announcing our departure. Finally, alone—if only for a few minutes as we made our way to the reception. Jake pulled me across the black leather bench seat in the back of the limousine to get me closer to him. Laughing as I pushed my crinoline and yards of material of my skirts to the side, I cozied up onto his lap.

  As my head rested on his chest he murmured about the finer points of the screen that separated driver from rider. There was a gentle buzz as he held his finger down on a button. To my excitement and embarrassment, a dark tinted window rose, giving us a moment of utter and total privacy as husband and wife.

  Reaching his arm, he leaned over my lap, his hand finding the ends of my elaborate dress. I could feel my skirt raising as he battled with the cloud of material. Winning his battle, I trembled as fingertips slowly and lightly made their way up the bare skin of my leg.

  Squirming with delight, his fingers reached the tops of my thighs and trailed down between them. To my damp, silky panties.

  My cheeks burned with shame as he said, “Tsk, tsk. Naughty wife—getting so wet and you haven’t even been touched.”

  “I was… remembering… things.”

  His smile crossed over his face, he murmured into my ears, “What things, sweetheart?” I could barely register his touch as his fingertip traced the outline of my slit. Burying my head further into his chest, I pressed my mound towards his hand. “Let me guess. You were thinking of all the times you were being a bad girl and I had to put you over my knee… pull down your panties… and give you a good, hard spanking. Is that right? Do you like it when I spank you?”

  Closing my eyes and leaning my head back, I nodded honest and earnestly.

  My answer was rewarded by his hooking around the elastic of my panties right outside my entrance, pulling them to the side, his finger slipping inside my wetness. Gathering my juices, his finger slid up to my clit, pressing and swirling in my slickness.

  Rubbing harder on my clit, he growled, “Answer me, wife.”

  His fingers froze as he waited for me to speak. Wanting his hand to keep bringing me pleasure, I pushed past my embarrassment, saying, “I like it when you spank me.”

  “Sir.” His fingers slowly started to move again.

  My hips were squirming as I repeated, “I like it when you spank me, sir.”

  “Good girl,” he murmured, kissing and nibbling at my neck. “You’re my wife now. So not only will you learn to obey me in our everyday lives, you will learn to obey me in the bedroom as well.”

  My eyes still closed, I was melting with pleasure as he played with me. “What do you mean?”

  “I see your eyes go wide when I command you. I know what my wife likes.”

  “What is that?” I asked, lazily as my hips ground into his, his hand working its magic.

  “To be controlled,” he growled. I gasped as he plunged two fingers within me. Removing them slowly, he thrust them harder within me. “To be owned.” Once more he withdrew them, then pushed them within me. “To be dominated. I will be the head of our household in all ways. And you will love it.” Two fingers remained thrusting within me as the flat fingerprint of his thumb gently pressed on my swollen clit.

  “Oh, Jake,” I groaned, his thumb now making hard, slick circles around my button as his fingers buried deeper within my pussy. The pleasure that I was feeling melted my inhibitions and with abandon, I scooted my hips up until I was sitting on that hand, grinding my hips and letting his fingers fuck me as his thumb rubbed hard against my clit. “Yes,” I moaned, trying to remain quiet in the back of the limo, but I wanted to shout the word. “Yes!” Yes, to Jake owning me, dominating me, running our household, being in charge. Yes, to everything my husband promised me.

  As the pleasure mounted, my fingers dug into the back of Jake’s neck as he sat, so casually beneath me, my bottom gyrating in his lap. “Oh, Jake,” I groaned. As the inside of my sex clenched around those lithe fingers, his thumb rubbed harder and faster on my clit. I moaned, I groaned, I made noises I didn’t recognize as my own as I came in shaking bursts.

  Shuddering, I collapsed back on the limo seat. My entire body went limp as I basked in the post, ‘this man has been my husband for five seconds and just fingered me—to orgasm—in a limo,’ afterglow. Withdrawing his hand from my spent sex, he wrapped his arms around me, whispering, “There’s a good girl. Your pretty kitty likes my hand, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you like it when I tell you how it’s going to be.”

  “Yes.”

  “My wife.”

  “My husband.”

  My eyes considered his—brown, warm, kind, with a strength behind them that I had not seen in many men. Our lips met, as husband and wife.

  Jake

  You might think I had done the wrong thing making Buttercup wait until our wedding night. Afraid it was going to be one of those situations where the anticipation was so great that the thing you were waiting for could never live up to your imagination?

  Not a chance.

  Not with what I had planned for our first official night as husband and wife.

  I had a darker side I had been unwilling to share with other girls—knowing full well they weren’t going to be around for long.

  But my little Buttercup had come back to Poke. I knew she was the one from the first time I laid eyes on her, over ten years prior. Her brother was marrying his wife, Jessica, and I was the DJ at the wedding. Buttercup had come to town for the celebration.

  Wearing a beautiful lavender dress that made her green eyes shine, I could not take my eyes off her. She had the sweetest smile. Chatting the night away with the aging ranchers, I knew she was making their night as well as mine.

  I wanted to talk to her, get to know her. But I was working, so I kept my focus on where it should be—getting people on the dance floor. The following week when I finally got up the courage to ask Ray about his little sister, Buttercup, he informed me she had a boyfriend.

  I left well enough alone. But it turns out the boyfriend, Tom, was a bad dude and Buttercup fled their relationship, returning to Poke. And as luck h
as it, I just happened to be working on her brother’s house, building him a garage, when she moved in with his family.

  I got to know her, chatting with her under the soft spring sun. She had taken to coming out to the yard more and more while I was working. Making up excuses–bringing out scraps for the chickens, playing ball with her three nephews. But I knew she was coming out to see me. And I’d never been happier.

  Until she said ‘yes,’ to my marriage proposal.

  She was the one I had been waiting for all my life. And now, she was my wife and I intended to fulfill her desires. All of them. Especially the wild ones I knew she had hidden deep within her. To be tied up, to be controlled, to submit to my will.

  When I had first told her what I desired in a relationship—domestic discipline—don’t think for a second that I had missed the glimmer in her eyes. The way her body melted in her chair, leaning forward to me, her red lips parting slightly, her breath coming in short, excited gasps.

  And that first time I had spanked her on her bare bottom, her legs spread, the telltale glistening of her sex. I knew she wanted everything I could give her.

  But one thing Buttercup needed to learn was patience. And I would teach it to her. With my fingers, with my mouth, with my cock. Soon, I would know every inch of that beautiful body. Every sensitive spot, every button to push. Every cry, every moan. It would all be mine. And I would be ruler of it all.

  My wife.

  I stood in my quiet corner in the shadows of the reception hall, taking a break from my friends and family, and watched my beautiful, blushing bride as she twirled and laughed, engaging everyone she came across.

  Her long, dark hair hung freely down her back, sprigs of baby’s breath tucked into a pearly headpiece upon her crown. Hints of red highlights caught the light as she made her way under the chandelier of the great hall. Her green eyes shone with happiness as she hugged the townspeople of Poke.

  My heart felt full at the knowledge that the happiness was put there by me, by the love that we shared.

  And that dress. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the enticing, soft curves that were hidden underneath that ivory silk—the sweet little kitty I had just stroked to climax. The fabric was gathered in the back—I think she told me it was called a ‘bustle,’ I have no idea—accentuating her tiny waist and generous curving backside. How I longed to slowly unbutton the tiny pearls, one by one, until the fabric fell from her body and I could—”

  My thoughts were interrupted by Ray, my new brother-in-law. The big man was my height but seemed to stand a head taller than me with his huge, muscular chest and dark beard. Ray liked to work out ‘to be able to keep up with my three rowdy boys,’ but I think he did it to keep his energy up for his sassy, blonde-haired wife, Jessica. She was as strong willed as they came, and smart as a whip. And gave Ray a run for his money.

  “Hey, man. Happiest day of your life, or what?” Ray asked, punching me in the arm. “You know you’re the luckiest guy in the world, right, that I let you marry my sister?” He joked, but it had taken me time to win over Ray as his sister’s suitor. He had liked me just fine when I was working for him, but when I had shown an interest in Buttercup, he had become cautious. I was glad to feel his big arm around my shoulders, accepting me as a member of the family.

  Leaving my lewd daydream behind, I pulled my eyes from my bride, turning towards Ray. “I know,” I said, giving him a teasing grin. “Lucky that you let me marry your sister after all. I was starting to doubt I would have your blessing, Ray.”

  Looking a bit ashamed, Ray quickly apologized—again. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you, Jake. Its just—you know how much Buttercup means to me. I knew you were a good guy and all, but it’s still hard for a big brother to let go—especially after all that she’s been through.” His proud gaze turned to Buttercup. We watched as Buttercup danced with Harry, an older gentleman who had chosen to wear bib overalls to our wedding and had requested Mo money Mo problems within five minutes of the DJ starting the dance music.

  “Good thing I got to her before Harry did,” I laughed as the old rancher twirled and dipped my bride to the beat of the rapper’s flowing words.

  “Oh, no, Harry is as good as gone on Mama Love. She didn’t see it coming—never thought she’d love again after Wes’ father died. But love found her on the dance floor that day I married Jessica. Maybe even thanks to your record spinning skills as DJ. And now they live up in that senior community and do everything together. I swear the boys rarely see Mama anymore—she’s always at bingo, or yoga, and we know Harry’s right there by her side. Doing the sun salutation or whatever the heck it is they do on those mats.”

  “Wearing bib overalls while he’s at it?” I jested.

  Ray turned to me with a serious look. “Yes.”

  I laughed as I watched Mama Love cut into the dance as the music slowed, procuring Harry for herself. The couple twirled, their smiles no different than teens in love, their gazes locked on one another.

  Mama was the matriarch of the local ranch, The Lonestar Cattle Company, where her sons Wes and Garrett had taken over. Her husband had passed away years ago and she and her grown son, Wes, ran the ranch together for a decade. When Wes’ younger brother Garrett came back to the ranch for good, Mama Love had moved to a senior community under the guise of ‘giving the boys space.’ Garrett had taken up residency in the smaller renovated bunkhouse and started a program for the children of recovering alcoholics, called, Hope Reigns.

  Mama Love had taken up residency with Harry.

  Buttercup stood watching Mama and Harry dance. Her sweet smile resting on her shining face. I felt an elbow in my ribcage as Ray said, “Time to sneak a dance in with your bride.”

  “Good idea. If you’ll excuse me.” I gave Ray a wink, turning to head to my wife.

  Making my way across the floor, I was ready to hold my bride in my arms. But I was already too late. Wes Love had arrived next to his mama and had already stepped in, swirling Buttercup across the parquet dance floor.

  And of course, his wife, Carrie Love came bursting in, a cloud of yellow curls, pink lace, and cherry blossom perfume, demanding a dance from the groom.

  I tried to smile and nod politely, giving sweet Carrie my full attention, but I couldn’t stop my gaze from going over the head of Wes’ little, half-pint wife to catch a glimpse of Buttercup as Wes twirled her across the floor.

  Funny, how on your wedding day you barely get to see the person that you wanted to the most, the one who’s whole purpose of the day was to celebrate with you—your wife.

  I tried to stay focused as Carrie chatted away. Keeping time with the music, I continued to dance with Carrie.

  “And Wes said the funniest thing and Rose started to crack up and laughed so hard—you know how ten-year-old girls are when they think something is funny—and the preacher shot us the dirtiest look and I just thought it was going to ruin the ceremony. But then they played the wedding march and those doors opened and Buttercup looked breathtaking and at the sight of that gorgeous wedding dress my daughter’s eyes were round as saucers and she finally stopped her giggling—” Carrie carried on with her excited chatter, retelling our wedding from her point of view.

  Buttercup’s beautiful body twirled further from me as another song began. Wanting to be polite to one of our closest friends, I smiled and swayed, keeping time to the music as Carrie went on about her and her husband, Wes’ wedding. Then onto the memories of the wedding of my brother-in-law Ray and his wife Jessica. I nodded politely as she moved on to speculating whether her mother-in-law was going to marry Harry—the elderly bachelor—at some point.

  Smiling down at her I threw in a quick, “Dunno,” which I knew would buy me at least another minute. But at the beginning of the third song I had danced with Carrie to, my stomach turned, my nerves going on high alert.

  Buttercup was now dancing with someone I didn’t recognize. He was my height, broad shouldered, and looked to be about our age. When he tur
ned with the music, his eyes meeting mine, I froze.

  Apart from his sandy colored hair, he looked exactly like Tom, Buttercup’s violent ex-fiancé whom I had run out of town just months prior.

  When Buttercup had returned to Poke it was with a sudden urgency—she had been running from Tom. Having nowhere else to go, Buttercup had thrown a couple things in a bag, and taken a bus ride to Poke. Ray and Jessica were beyond thrilled and took her right in to their home.

  But Buttercup had not heard the last of Tom.

  Coming to Poke, with the nerve to hunt her down and show up on Jessica’s porch, Tom gave some sob story about needing closure and wanting to say goodbye. Jessica had fallen for it and let the piece of trash in her house.

  Buttercup and I were already an item by then, me making plans to propose. But Buttercup fell for his story, my sweet, little Buttercup never wanting to hurt someone’s feelings even if it means hurting herself. She snuck off to a coffee shop to meet him and give him his goodbye.

  Having a nagging suspicion about the creep I had followed her to the place where she met Tom. When I saw the two of them in the parking lot—Tom trying to take the keys from Buttercup, convincing her to let him drive the car—I knew he was trying to abduct her.

  Flying out of my truck, I had made my presence known. And used my fist to make my displeasure known. I had hopped out of the truck, gotten Buttercup into it, then broken his nose.

  Tom didn’t deserve to breath the same air as Buttercup.

  He left town but the memory of those months—looking around every corner—expecting to see Tom, protecting Buttercup as best I could, filled my mind, making a ball of ice form in my stomach. Sneaking off like that had earned Buttercup a severe paddling, in hopes that she would never put herself in danger like that again. To this day I can’t prove Tom’s intentions, but sometimes you just know something, deep down and you don’t question it.

  And now, my bride of only a few hours was pressed up against a man who looked like Tom, holding my precious woman in his arms. Flashing what I hoped was a debonair smile, as smoothly as I could muster, I said, “Would you forgive me, Carrie, if I asked to dance with my bride? I love this song.”