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

by Cherise Sinclair

  Waves of heat traveled from her toes to her head.

  She had a few seconds with nothing happening and pulled in a slow breath. Was he done?

  His palm struck her pussy…and this time, the bottom of her clit. Her clit.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  Even more blood surged into her labia and clit, and the throbbing burn was so intense, her hips bucked. How could something hurt and feel incredible at the same time?

  “Someone likes having her pussy slapped, I think.” His voice, so rich, smooth, and controlled, pulled her deeper, yet kept her safe, like arms around her in a scary world. Another contradiction.

  His tongue ran in a circle over her stinging clit…sending her up and up, almost to coming before he retreated.

  She moaned.

  His hand slapped her…higher…right over her clit this time.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  Each slap was a burst of sensation, like boiling fireworks. When he stopped, her swollen pussy pulsed, burning with heat.

  His hot, wet tongue circled her clit, making her tense at the amazing sensation.

  He chuckled…and slid something with ridges into her vagina. It filled her, cool and hard, and together with his teasing tongue on her clit, sent her to the precipice.

  And over.

  Her insides convulsed around the hard objects in her pussy and anus, and staggering pleasure ricocheted through her system. His tongue slid over her clit, and with every stroke, she spasmed again. “Uuunh!”

  As his tongue slowed and lightened, he slid the dildo in and out, then removed it.

  Ohhhh. Her heart was thumping hard, her skin damp with—

  Smack, smack, smack.

  The shocking slaps hit right on her pussy and clit, and the appalling—exquisite—pain exploded through her. Her back arched in protest and delight.

  Suddenly the plug in her anus was vibrating. The dildo slid in, hard and fast. A mouth closed around her clit—sucking.

  She came again—so very hard—and all she could hear was the roar of blood in her ears. Her entire pussy was huge, swollen, and her heart was hammering like a wild thing.

  He didn’t turn the anal vibrator off.

  The vibrations shook her sensitive backside, and she squirmed.

  He pulled back on the anal plug, and each rounded section stretched her rim between the narrower sections. So many bumps. He pushed it back, slowly running it in and out, driving her crazy with the unfamiliar sensations in such a sensitive—private—place.

  She made a sound, some sort of sound, and he laughed. Laughed. “I’m not through with you, nymph.”

  The anal plug went back in, still steadily vibrating. She heard his jeans zipper.

  “I want to feel you around me. Come hard, this time.” He must have been standing at the foot of the bed as his hands ran up and down the insides of her legs. Then his shaft touched her entrance.

  Her head moved back and forth as his cock pressed in. She had that thing in her butt—and he was so large—and she couldn’t move away.

  Mercilessly, he entered her. So thick, yet the heat and smoothness were glorious. Nothing had ever felt as good as he did.

  Still sensitive from her climax, her vagina clamped down on the intrusion—and he gave a hum of enjoyment. “You feel fucking amazing.”

  When he was deeply inside her, he paused.

  Needing more, more, more, she tried to move, to make him move, but her legs were restrained, and she had no leverage. The frustrated sound she gave made him chuckle.

  When she wiggled, his balls bumped against her ass cheeks…against the anal vibrator. Oh, the feel.

  His fingers ran over her clit, and she sucked in air so hard she almost choked.

  Something new buzzed.

  “Come for me, Mallory. Let me feel your cunt squeeze me.” A vibrator came down on her clit, hammering the nub hard and fast. As the other vibrator in her ass buzzed away, his cock started moving, driving in, long and deep.

  Within one second—just one—the pressure inside her built, coalesced, and ignited into a deep internal pulsing release. A tidal wave of pleasure hit her so hard that, behind the blindfold, her world went white.

  Gasping, whimpering, and drenched in sweat, she tried to recover her senses, but the entire world was swathed in gauze. Her body had gone limp and boneless, even as little twitches made her quiver.

  The vibrator lifted from her clit. “Hang onto your ropes, nymph. I’m going to take you now.” His cock slammed into her.

  She moaned. The slapping had made her folds fat and sensitive and tightened her entrance around him, so every thrust pulled on her clit. Her very, very sensitive clit. This time, the need grew from inside her, steadily increasing like a hand tightening around her center. The pleasure increased with each hard plunge of his shaft.

  “One more time, nymph.”

  She shook her head, pulled out of her foggy clouds, realizing she was teetering at the edge again, not as much in need as just…inevitability. He felt so, so good.

  One hand was under her ass, lifting her for each stroke. The vibrator pressed against her clit again, and this time, the vibrations were erratic. Rrr-rrr-RRRRRRRR. Somehow, he timed his thrusts to the pattern, gliding in with each short rrr, pounding her during the long wave.

  And she was coming again. Again! The climax filled her center with hot waves of pleasure, overflowing and pouring through her nerves and veins and cells to every finger and toe. Her anchor snapped, and she drifted free in the warm ocean.

  His heavy shaft was inside her, pressing deep, and filling her with even more heat. The vibrator was gone, and he’d curved both hands under her bottom; his strong fingers were holding her up and tightly against him.

  Possessing her. Using her to take his own pleasure.

  As she drifted away completely, she wished he’d removed the gag so she could tell him how much she loved him.

  The little nymph had gone deep. Sawyer smiled as he removed everything and released her. After cleaning up, he rolled her tightly in a fuzzy blanket to continue giving her the sense of being restrained.

  Once Achilles had a quick break outside, Sawyer tossed the pup onto the foot of the bed and pulled his cocooned submissive into his arms.

  She roused enough to look at him with glazed, utterly beautiful eyes. Realizing he was holding her, she didn’t even try to struggle. Instead, she sighed, rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, and was out.

  Trust. Even though she couldn’t move her arms, she’d seen him—and known she was safe.

  He’d never been given a finer gift.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‡

  The next morning, Mallory had dragged Sawyer back to her house and made them both breakfast. As expected, Aslan had complained vociferously about being abandoned overnight…until Sawyer had sacrificed a piece of his bacon.

  Felines were wonderfully bribable.

  Mallory smiled toward the back of the house where Aslan was undoubtedly taking advantage of having an extra lap available again. Her cat had missed Sawyer.

  So had she.

  Finished filling a new stoneware jar with dog biscuits, Mallory put it next to her cookie jar. She smiled down at Achilles who was watching her with hopeful eyes. “You don’t think Sawyer will get this confused with the cookie jar, do you?”

  Imagining Sawyer chomping down on a beefy dog snack—and what horrific language would follow—made her grin. She picked up a biscuit. “Achilles, sit.”

  A little butt hit the floor.

  “Perfect. You’re a very smart dog.”

  Achilles fielded the treat she tossed him and spun in a circle, delighted with himself.

  Mallory laughed, leaned on the counter, and savored the peaceful start of the day.

  She might have taught Sawyer to meditate—which, to her amazement, he had continued—but he’d taught her to love Sunday mornings. Sleeping in was nice. When it was followed by long, lazy lovemaking? Even better.

  Feel
ing relaxed and happy, Mallory made her tea, poured coffee, and carried the tray into the sunroom where Sawyer was reading the paper.

  The early sun streamed in through the windows, warming the room after the icy November night. Around the valley, all the mountains were now capped with snow. Soon the snow would extend to the foothills and valleys. Would blanket her garden and the pastures.

  “Here, Ware. Have some caffeine to go with your news.” After handing him a cup, she set her tea tray on the coffee table and joined him.

  “Thanks, nymph.” Smiling, he pulled her closer.

  Having followed her in, Achilles considered the empty spot beside them, and then curled up next to Aslan on the sun-warmed tiles.

  “Anything interesting?” Mallory asked. Bear Flat’s weekly didn’t usually contain anything exciting.

  Sawyer set down the paper. “The usual social events. Some places to donate food for Thanksgiving deliveries to shut-ins. Some unhappy shit—like the housing market is still depressed, and unemployment is bad, especially now the seasonal logging and tourist jobs have dried up. Robberies, pickpocketing, car thefts, and burglaries are all up. Graffiti has gotten worse, too.”

  Wasn’t it amazing how his strong body next to hers could relieve unhappy news? “Hopefully the Town Watch will have an effect on the crime.” She tensed, thinking of how Sawyer had almost been killed when he took on the gang alone. “Are you going to slow down? Or maybe help with the Town Watch?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand what she was asking. “Babe, I’m not comfortable with civilians putting themselves in danger. Protecting them is my job.”

  She understood his need to protect—and knew there was no way to keep him safe.

  He looked down at her, his blue eyes unusually sharp. “I won’t be slowing down, either. Not since everyone knows you were the one to start the Town Watch. Killing off the leader of the resistance is a time-honored tradition, especially for gangs. If Animal gets to you, he wipes out the Town Watch—and me.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure how I’d react if you were hurt, Mallory.”

  The idea of the gang coming after her was terrifying. And fully as frightening was the thought of them getting their hands on Sawyer. She frowned. “Who exactly is Animal?” Just the name evoked a primitive fear response.

  “He took over the Hammers when the previous boss, Slash, was imprisoned.”

  Atticus had killed Slash. Now she knew what had goaded Sawyer into taking on the vigilante role. With a frown, Mallory took his hand. “If they’re after Atticus, isn’t Gin in danger, too?”

  “Att warned her. Jacob always walks her to her car when she leaves the counseling offices. She’s vigilant about staying safe.” Sawyer ran his hand over her hair. “I know you promised me you would be, too. Maybe now you understand the danger better?”

  “I do.” However, knowing how frightened she was wouldn’t help Sawyer worry less. On the contrary. She drank her tea to wash away the tang of fear. “I promise I’ll be extra careful.”

  “Thank you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Stay around other people at all times. Be aware of who is near you, even in busy places, and also when you’re driving. Keep your phone easily at hand. And…do you have any firearms?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  The way his brows went up was rather nice. “My New-Ager has weapons?”

  “Gramps owned a couple of rifles and an old revolver.”

  “Where are they?”

  “There’s a hidden panel in the closet.”

  He looked impressed. “I didn’t notice. Must be a pretty fine job.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned. “It was one of my first woodworking projects. The one that taught me to measure twice and cut once.”

  He chuckled. “Screwed it up a time or two?”

  “At least.”

  “When’s the last time you shot any of those weapons?”

  “Uh…maybe high school.” She gave him a level look. “Back when I decided I wasn’t the type of person to ever want to hurt or shoot anyone. Or even own a gun.”

  “What I thought.” Sawyer pulled the phone from his pocket. “Masterson, any chance you could talk Hunt into letting us use his range? I want to see how well Mallory can shoot.”

  Sipping her tea, Mallory eyed him as he totally arranged her day. Without asking her. Her bossy, overprotective, demanding lover.

  How in the world had she ended up with a real-life version of Éomer, the horse lord?

  No wonder his sister, Éowyn, had so often looked as if she wanted to kick him in the family jewels.

  *

  Halfway around a mountain, the Hunts’ gun range was a good hike away from Serenity Lodge—probably to buffer the noise of firearms. Despite the cold mountain air, Mallory was toasty warm by the time she, Sawyer, Morgan, and Logan Hunt arrived.

  As Mallory stepped through the fence gate and into the clearing, she tried one more protest. “You know, Ware, shooting isn’t my thing.”

  “You don’t have to like it, nymph.” Carrying Gramps’s range bag, Sawyer glanced at her. “I just want you to be able to hit anything you aim at.”

  Joining him at the line of stumps topped with seasoned wood that served as shooting benches, Logan and Morgan grinned. Their expressions of agreement said she was outnumbered.

  “I suppose the way things are in town, it’s wise to be able to shoot.” Her mouth firmed. If any of those Aryan Hammers came to her house looking for Sawyer, she’d pull the trigger.

  Probably.

  Logan strolled out to attach paper to the various wood-backed torso targets.

  Morgan set three rifle cases down on a T-shaped bench and started to unpack. “I brought my baby this time, Ware. You said you wanted to see it.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Mallory pulled Gramps’s revolver out of the range bag and laid it on the bench she’d be using.

  Logan walked over, and his eyebrows went up. “Nice piece. Colt .45’s are popular with the older ranchers around here.”

  Sawyer grinned. “That old Peacemaker might not be fast to fire, but if the nymph shoots someone in the chest, he’ll be pushing up daisies.”

  Mallory flinched. “I don’t want to kill anyone. How about I aim for the arm or leg?”

  “Unless you’re a damn good shot—and not in a hurry—you aim for the center of the biggest mass.” Logan slapped his chest.

  “Load, pet.” Sawyer handed her the box of 45s.

  Well, it was what she was here for. Silently, Mallory loaded the six chambers.

  “Weapons are live, Masterson,” Logan called, alerting Morgan to stay behind the firing line of benches.

  The range had a variety of targets, from stumps with mounted head-size metal plates, to tall arches with dangling metal targets.

  After putting on ear protection and safety glasses, Mallory took the two-handed stance Gramps had taught, picked a close paper target, cocked the hammer, and emptied the revolver.

  Sheesh, she’d forgotten how loud the gun was, even when muffled.

  Sawyer put his arm around her shoulders and studied the bullet holes. All were in the chest area. “You’re better than I thought you’d be. Let’s try for more distance. I want you to work your way, target by target, to 25 yards.” He pointed to a man-sized target way too far away.

  “Seriously? I won’t even be able to see the holes.” Mallory reloaded the revolver.

  Helping Morgan set up, Logan looked over. “That’s why the distant targets are metal and mounted on springs. You’ll hear a hit and see the target rock.”

  Picking a metal disk farther away and taking her time, she took another six shots. Not too bad, considering how long it had been.

  Sawyer nodded. “Your grandfather taught you well—you have excellent form; just need more practice. Keeping going, nymph. I want to know you’ll nail anything you aim at.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds rather dirty.”

  He grinned. “Do it anyway
.”

  “Sir, yes, Sir.”

  At his silence, she looked up…and saw the hunger in his eyes. He ran his finger over her lower lip. “Right now, I have the damndest urge to haul you off to bed.” He glanced around. “Or fuck you against a tree.”

  She flushed as heat lit in her core. “Bad Ware. Go play with Morgan’s toys.”

  When Sawyer snorted, she flushed. “Okay, that sounded bad, too.” She made a brushing-off motion. “Shoo.”

  As he walked away, she could only think how she’d never, ever grow tired of hearing him laugh.

  Over in the “guy” section, Logan was using one of Morgan’s rifles and aiming at something a long, long, long way off. The ring of metal sounded once out of five shots. “Damn.”

  “Nah, you’re getting better,” Morgan said. He was flat on his belly in the scrub grass, a rifle balanced on some two-legged mount. Sawyer stood nearby with binoculars. Morgan aimed and went utterly still.

  A shot. Clang. A shot. Clang. A shot. Clang.

  As Mallory reloaded her revolver, she eyed Morgan’s rifle, something he was calling a Gladius. The weapon reminded her of a photographer’s super-deluxe camera—huge with all the bells and whistles—except this was a rifle. And as with fancy cameras, the other men were drooling.

  Men and their technological envy.

  “That’s a hell of a weapon,” Sawyer said. “And you’re a damn good shot, Masterson. Better than most of the snipers I worked with in the sandbox.”

  “Target shooting is a fun hobby.” Morgan’s lips curved. “If I’m actually hunting, I use a bow.”

  “You and Wyatt are a pair.” Logan glanced at Sawyer. “Wyatt loves black-powder rifles. And throwing hatchets.”

  Sawyer grinned. “I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Ah, right, speaking of my brother’s continued absence…” Morgan rolled up on an elbow. “We’ll take you up on your offer to buy our stock and lease it back.”

  Sawyer went still. “I thought Wyatt made those decisions.”

  “He did, and might well again.” Morgan’s mouth went flat. “But it seems my brother wants to stay in Africa another few months. While he’s there, someone has to tend the business.”