Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8)

by Cherise Sinclair

  His grin flashed, and he picked up the pace. Hard and fast. Slam, slam, slam.

  As pressure thickened within her, her clit throbbed, demanding more. Her hips rose to meet his, trying to grind against him.

  And…he pulled out.

  No! “Wait. You’re—”

  He shifted to one side and rolled her over onto her belly.

  The alcohol in her system was still there. Her head spun. “What are you doing?”

  He pulled her onto her hands and knees. “Easy, girl. This position’ll be better for you.” With ruthless hands, he pushed her knees farther apart, found her entrance, and impaled her with one hard, long stroke.

  “Aaaah.” His merciless entry was a shocking blast of pleasure—and she almost came in that moment. “Oh, more, please.” Her clit throbbed, her breasts ached.

  He bent over her, his left arm supporting him, his right around her waist, anchoring her in place. His chin rubbed the back of her neck as he whispered in her ear, “I’ll give you more.” He moved his right arm down, and his fingers slid over her clit.

  At the exquisite sensation, her entire center clamped around his cock—and he laughed. “Nice. You can do that again.” As he drove in and out, he worked her clit, rubbing firmly on one side and then the other.

  As her core quivered, her arms gave out, sending her down to her elbows…tilting her ass upward.

  He rumbled his pleasure as he went even deeper inside her.

  Slam, slam, slam. As he hammered into her, his fingers rubbed and teased her clit until she felt swollen to the point of pain. Until her muscles clenched tightly around him with the torment, and she was desperate for more, thrumming with the impending release.

  “Uhhhhh.” She shook with the need. Each touch, each thrust was perfect. Wonderful.

  And not…quite…enough.

  Her hero—the bastard—laughed. “Go on over, baby.” His teeth closed on her shoulder, even as he rubbed directly on top of her clit and slammed into her hard. The devastating mix of sensations blasted through her, engulfed her, and she was coming, the pleasure indescribable as the dazzling splendor rolled over and through her, again and again.

  With a pleased growl, he increased his pace and finally pressed in, even deeper than before. She contracted tightly around him as his shaft jerked inside her.

  After a long moment where there wasn’t a millimeter of space between them, he eased back. “Nice.” Gently, he rolled, landing them on their sides.

  Even though her muscles were limp, she couldn’t stop trembling. Everything he’d done… She’d never felt like this before. Controlled. Taken. Coming so hard.

  “Easy, baby.” He pulled her against him with her back against his chest and spooned her. He was warm against her, almost enfolding her. With one hand, he stroked her shoulder, her side, her breasts—petting her as she would her cat.

  Safe and warm and petted. No wonder felines purred.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  As Mallory drifted off to sleep, Sawyer reluctantly disentangled himself. The downside of condoms meant getting up before his dick shrank too far.

  After cleaning up in the master bath, he returned to the bedroom…and hesitated. His body urged him to climb into bed, nap for a while, and enjoy her again. He wouldn’t mind putting the fanciful iron scrollwork on the headboard to good use. She’d liked being held down. How would she react with some true bondage? He’d like to hear again those pretty cries she made when climaxing.

  And dammit, he wanted to cuddle her for the rest of the night.

  Part of his mind was onboard with the idea. She was a woman he’d like to know better. Especially after realizing she was not only submissive, but a submissive who loved to give. To please. She was someone special.

  Nevertheless, he knew better than to linger here.

  In the six weeks since his release from prison, he’d had ugly lessons about where he fit in the world, especially with females.

  Even more to the point, he had a mission in this town. He had no business getting involved with a woman. Not now. Probably not ever.

  Rather than crawling back in, he covered her with the soft throw from the foot of the bed.

  Sighing softly, she curled around the blanket and pulled it to her front, much like she’d snuggled up to him. The room smelled of sex.

  Bending to touch her soft, silky hair, he breathed in her clean, spring-grass scent, and fuck, he wanted to be inside her again.

  Get a grip, Ware.

  In the dim light of the kitchen, he scratched a note, left it on the counter, and walked out the front door.

  A minute later, he was driving down the gravel lane. The full moon was directly overhead, streaming golden light over the wide pastures he’d admired. Across the valley and up the slope were the barns and huge house owned by the Masterson family. A long fence between the pastures glowed white in the moonlight, and then he was past the meadow and at his brother’s property.

  After parking beside the other two vehicles, Sawyer let himself into the house, toed off his boots, and padded across the hardwood floor. Much like the Ware ranch house in Idaho, his brother’s place was decorated in what Sawyer considered practical western. Red, brown, and white colors predominated. The oversized furniture was sturdy. Native American accents and a stone fireplace added beauty. The sixty-inch, flat-screen TV was, of course, essential.

  “It’s late, bro.” His brother was stretched out on the long leather couch, a book in his hand. “You okay?”

  “Fine. I stopped to intervene in an assault. You’ll probably hear about it from your fellow lawmen.” Feeling the ache in his healing side, Sawyer eased down on a dark red armchair. Leaning back with a grunt of relief, he ran through the high points of the battle.

  Satisfied, Atticus nodded. “Mallory and Zoe were lucky you happened by.”

  “Could’ve been ugly.” Two innocents were all right because he’d been there. That felt damn fine. The sense of satisfaction faded as he studied his brother.

  It’d only been a week since Att had taken a tire iron to his ribs. In the dim light, the lines in his face looked deeper, and his color was faded.

  “You look like shit.”

  “Might’ve overdone a bit today.” Att eased to a more comfortable position. “I swear my busted ribs didn’t hurt so much when I got tossed by a bronco.”

  “You were eighteen that year, dumbass.” Sawyer’d suffered his share of busted bones, too, back when they rode rodeo.

  Att grinned. “True. The black-hearted, four-legged bastard would probably kill me now.”

  “Yeah.” Last week, the two-legged bastards almost had. Fucking assholes. “Take a pain pill, dammit.”

  “Already did, thanks. Some ibuprofen. Gin insisted before she hit the rack. I’m just waiting for it to kick in before I join her.” Att tilted his head. “How long are you going to be pissed at me for getting jumped?”

  “A while.” Sawyer scowled. “You knew those bastards were out to get you. Next time, check your six, jarhead.”

  “Yeah. I made a mistake.” Att shrugged. “And I got thumped to remind me to do better. Ease up, bro.”

  Hard to do when his brother was hurting. But Att had a point. Sawyer tilted his head back and let the breeze coming through the open window cool him down.

  Leaves rustled in the encroaching forest, and an owl hooted. Peaceful sounds. Very different from the clang of metal doors, the cursing of inmates, and the heavy tread of the prison guards making rounds. How long would it be before he stopped expecting to hear the sounds of imprisonment?

  Atticus bookmarked his page and studied Sawyer. “Last week, you planned to talk with Jacob Wheeler about moving to San Francisco. I didn’t get a chance to ask you about it.”

  Sawyer’s prison counselor had served twenty in the Marines, and they spoke the same language. Since Wheeler also had a private practice, Sawyer had continued with him after being released.

  “Yeah, we talked.” He stared ou
t the tall front window. Although it was dark outside, the curtains were open—because there wasn’t anyone around. No neighbors. No traffic. Quiet night. Clean air. “Bear Flat’s going to have a grudge against the prison for a while to come, and I figured a city would have more options for an ex-con.”

  Atticus’s eyes sharpened. “But…?”

  “Wheeler made me think twice.” Actually, Sawyer’d been planning to leave…right up until Att had been attacked.

  Atticus waited. They’d both learned patience on the ranch. The military had made it a necessity. Being Dominants had honed the skill to a sharp edge.

  Sawyer ran a hand over his short hair and laid out some—honest—reasons to remain in Bear Flat. “I’m not sure I can live in a city. Although anonymity would be good, I don’t like crowds or traffic.”

  “Got that. It’s the side effect of being raised on a sprawling ranch.”

  Or a year in prison. “Maybe.”

  “If Hector hadn’t sold the ranch so fast, you could’ve gone there,” Atticus speculated. “You figure on joining him once he moves down here?”

  “It’s my second choice.” Their little brother had operated their Ware Ranch up in Idaho until a polar blast froze half a herd of cattle. Fed up, Hector’d sold the ranch and was hoping to buy a spread in the Sierra foothills.

  “Hector won’t be far.” Att set the book down. “It’d be nice to have you close, too.”

  “How close?” Sawyer asked slowly.

  “Close as I can get you. If you want to live here, we can build on—like the Mastersons did with their place. All three brothers still live there.”

  Sawyer cleared the thickness from his throat. He’d always known Att loved him, but the confirmation was sweet. “I’m not going to live with you, bro. However…I hear the place to the west of you is for sale.”

  “Is it?” Att blinked. “Well, damn, that’d be fucking fantastic. What’ll you do with it?”

  “Got some thoughts.” Sawyer rose. “Let me grab a beer and run them past you. Want one?”

  “Damn right.”

  Sawyer headed into the kitchen. This might actually work.

  Att had moved here to be close to Sawyer while he was in prison. Of course, being Atticus, he’d put down roots. He’d taken a job with the police force, bought enough acreage to pasture a couple of horses, made friends. Found a woman.

  Bear Flat was Att’s home.

  Now…maybe…it’d be Sawyer’s.

  He had to find work. Even so, his counselor was right. He wouldn’t do well being penned up in a building. He needed to be outside, to have space and solitude. Land and livestock were in his blood.

  He also needed a base to operate out of as he drove the fucking Aryan Hammers right out of Atticus’s town.

  *

  As usual, Mallory woke at dawn. Yawning, she sat upright and started to stretch.

  Oh, pain. Her body felt like she’d fallen down a flight of stairs. And her head. Spit and hiss. Some evil entity named Scotch had crammed her brains into her skull in the same way Gramps had always overstuffed the washing machine.

  Would Gramps come back to haunt her if she poured his precious Glenfiddich down the drain? Gingerly, she shook her head and remembered how she’d filled her glass. Twice.

  Her lips curved up. Hangover or not, the sex had been worth it. Becca was so right.

  After another yawn, she glanced around. Sunlight shone over the pale blue walls and across the hardwood floor. Covered by her chenille throw, she’d slept on top of the fluffy white bedspread.

  Alone.

  Where had her rescuer gone? She listened for a minute. Complete silence.

  He’d left. Disappointment swept through her. She would have liked waking up beside him. Feeling his muscles against her. Hearing his smoky-smooth voice. He’d have a scratchy beard—and she’d be able to see the laughter that sometimes appeared in his eyes.

  She’d see the way he’d watched her.

  Pushed her.

  Being pushed had been…exciting. She remembered how his weight had pinned her against the mattress. How amazing it had felt when she couldn’t move her arms. Yet, he hadn’t scared her. She’d known he’d stop if she objected, and having him…dominate…their time together had fulfilled an odd need inside her.

  I want more.

  Maybe she could meet him for coffee or lunch. Get to know him and see if he was as nice outside of bed as he was in it. Because—she smiled slightly—he had a hold on her. He was brave, honest, and protective. He had a sense of humor. Was polite. And, oh, his aura was beautiful.

  Everything inside her said he could be someone special to her, but…okay, she wasn’t a total fool. She should actually get to know him.

  Talk to him. Light, flirtatious conversation wasn’t her strength. Nonetheless, she was willing to give it a shot. Maybe she could call him.

  Her thoughts sputtered to a halt. Call…who? She flopped backward, making her head hammer even harder. Talk about an idiot. She’d not only been to bed with—had fucked—a man she’d just met, she hadn’t even asked him his name.

  Oh, wow. Two demerits for bringing a stranger home. Two demerits for letting him into the house. Two more points lost for getting intoxicated. Two down for having sex on a first date—no, no, wait, it wasn’t even a date. Four points, then. And at least a dozen demerits for not even learning his name.

  Slut wasn’t a word she tolerated, but she probably deserved a T-shirt with BAD, BAD GIRL on it. In flaming red letters.

  Heaving a pitiful sigh, she slid out of bed and pulled on her robe. A pot of tea was calling her name.

  In the kitchen, she noticed the note on the kitchen countertop.

  “Thanks for the reward.” No name. No number. His meaning was as clear as a slap in the face.

  As the bottom dropped out of her stomach and tears welled in her eyes, she realized her mistake. She’d never tried a one-night stand with a stranger before…and she still hadn’t.

  He hadn’t been a stranger to her—he was the man she’d waited for. And last night had been a dream come true.

  For him, it’d been meaningless sex…with someone who meant nothing.

  All the muscles around her heart ached as she pulled in a slow, careful breath. She’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.

  Move on.

  Her cat, Aslan, padded into the kitchen and jumped onto the blue stool at the kitchen island. Lion-like, he twitched his golden tail in a blatant expression of annoyance.

  She managed a smile. “Yes, I brought a stranger into your house and didn’t introduce you. However, you can relax. It won’t happen again.” Under his stern eyes, she tore up the note. “There. All gone.”

  Her lips quivered for a second before she lifted her chin. “Isn’t it nice Becca gave me a new book to read?”

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Five weeks later, with his brother beside him, Sawyer walked the fence line. His fence line. Possessiveness and pride welled up inside him at the knowledge that every step was on his own land. The hot mid-September sun heated his shoulders, but within a couple of months, there would be snow. He couldn’t wait to watch the seasons change from fall to winter—and in the spring, his pastures would fill with horses.

  Atticus grinned. “I had the same reaction when I bought my place.”

  Sawyer pulled in a deep breath of the clean air and looked out over the long expanse of meadow. Four properties shared the mountain valley, which had the finest grass in the area. A year-round stream ran through the Masterson’s pastures, across his, and around the edge of Mallory’s place.

  A hawk perched on a fence post gave him an assessing look before returning its gaze to the ditch beside the lane.

  “Feels good to be back in California,” Sawyer said. It’d been odd to realize that Idaho didn’t feel like home any longer. They’d just spent a month on the newly sold Ware Ranch there, helping their little brother prepare to move.


  “Yeah, I missed being here. Although if Gin hadn’t joined us for a couple of weeks, I’d have returned sooner.” Atticus lifted a cynical brow. “I also realized something. After I got attacked, you wanted me out of town until my ribs healed. I’m betting you talked Hector into calling and asking us for help shutting the ranch down. Am I right?”

  “Yep.” Sawyer grinned. “You’re a pretty good detective, bro. Besides, Hector did need help.”

  Talking about help… Sawyer looked around at his own property and winced at the broken-down fences. “I get the impression your spread was in better shape when you bought it. Mine’s going to take a shitload of work.” The huge stable was run down, and the small log cabin wasn’t much better. “At least the buildings are structurally sound.”

  Atticus nodded. “I thought you were overly optimistic when you proposed this, but the more I think about it, the more I like it.” He nodded toward the Mastersons’ massive house and barn upslope on the other side of the northern fence. “If you could talk them into letting you handle their stock, you’d have a good source of income.”

  “We’ll see.” Sawyer’s plan was to raise, train, and rent out horses for the various guide businesses in the area. His neighbors over there ran the Masterson Wilderness Guides, and if they’d lease trail horses from him, he’d have a good leg up. The well-respected family had been here for generations.

  As he and Atticus walked past the stable toward the house, his brother shook his head. “Your cabin is a fucking mess, bro. Stay with us until you get it fixed up.”

  “Nah. Long as it doesn’t leak and the heat works, I’m good.” A shame the fancy CEO hadn’t put any money into maintaining the place.

  Sawyer glanced down toward the end of the road, wondering if Mallory’d heard she had a new neighbor. Dammit, it’d be easier to forget her if she didn’t live so close. If he didn’t recall the feel of her every time he saw her house. He shook his head. Focus, Ware.

  “I need to get shit repaired before I bring in horses next spring.” Since real estate values in the area had nose-dived with the prison closure—and since the sale of the Idaho ranch meant he could offer cash—he’d gotten a hell of a deal. Now all he had to do was make it work. Starting with repairs. He frowned. Anything more than basic carpentry would be beyond his skill level. “Looks like I need a general contractor. Any suggestions?”