by Jade London
The Ute eyes Conrad in question.
“He’s not fully broken yet,” Conrad says in English. He moves through the crowd of horses to single out one, a stocky white mare with a single black patch on her chest. Conrad pushes her toward the warrior. “This one’s fully broken. Lots of spirit, and quick on her feet.”
The warrior nods, works his fingers into the mare’s mane, but his attention is still on the stallion. “That.” He gestures with his free hand.
Conrad shrugs. “It’s your choice, but he’s got a lot of vinegar in him. Still a bit wild.”
This gets a grin from the warrior, teeth flashing white, and he thumps his chest with his fist. “Wild.” Gestures at the horse. “Wild.” Then he fits his fingers together to form a single fist. “Is good.”
Conrad nods. “One more then.”
The Ute is silent a while, burying his fingers in the mare’s mane, gaze raking over the herd, assessing, deciding. A smirk twitches on his lips, and he gestures at the largest of the herd, the big black stallion that Conrad was riding when we…met, shall we call it.
Conrad shakes his head. “Not that one.”
The warrior glances from the black stallion to Conrad and back, and then shrugs, eyes the herd once more before approaching a small mare, all brown and white blotches. The little horse dances away, stops after a few paces, and turns back to look at the warrior, then trots away again when he tries to approach again.
Conrad laughs. “She’s not broken at all. If she’ll let you catch her, she’s yours.”
I’m surprised at the strange camaraderie between the two men, considering the thick tang of violence in the air only a few short minutes ago.
The Ute digs in his furs, comes up with a chunk of carrot. Sidles up to the little paint casually, rope dangling from one hand, carrot in the other. The paint nickers, edges closer to him, smelling the carrot. When she’s within touching distance, he puts his hand to her neck, and she dances away, but he’s kept the bit of carrot. She approaches again, and he rubs her neck with his hand, then with the rope, carefully, gently. He traces her neck and her shoulder with the rope, which he’s doubled so one end forms a loop. Then he drapes it over her neck, and lets her have the carrot. And then, while she’s munching, he fits the two ends of the rope together, creating a makeshift halter. She dances away when she feels the rope around her neck, and he lets her dance, rear up, prance on her hind legs, pawing at the him with her forehooves. She settles down again, and he pulls on the rope. She follows, and when he stops she keeps approaching, nuzzling the warrior’s furs with her nose. He lets her, holding the rope only loosely, and she noses aside the flap in his furs, nudging her nose in until she finds something, coming up with another chunk of carrot, which she crunches loudly.
While she’s eating, the warrior loosens the rope, and then in a series of knots too intricate for me to follow, makes a true halter out of the rope, complete with a set of shortened reins.
“I’ll be damned,” Conrad says. “I’ve been trying to catch her for weeks.”
The warrior flashes a cocky grin, and then, in a single lithe movement, latches onto her mane and leaps onto her back. The little paint goes crazy, whinnying, rearing, bucking, flinging in circles, dancing like mad, trying to dislodge the warrior, but no matter what she does, she can’t dislodge him, despite the fact that there’s no saddle nor even a proper bit or bridle. It goes on for longer than I’d have believed, had I not seen it with my own eyes, until the horse is blowing and exhausted, and finally settles. And that’s when he dismounts, circles to stand by her head and pats her cheek, rubs her ears, whispering to her. And then he mounts her once more, and this time she allows it, only trotting around nervously, unsure of the weight on her back. Once she stops fighting, he dismounts again and leads her to his original horse.
He glances at Conrad. “Give more rope.”
There’s a long coiled length of rope tied to Conrad’s saddle which he retrieves and tosses to the warrior, who then cuts it into two shorter sections and one long one. He fashions halters from the shorter sections, and fits those onto his new horses, and then uses the final longest piece to tie all three halters together, so he can control all three horses at once.
Mounting his original horse, he gathers his reins and the lead for the others, and then pauses with a long hard glance at Conrad. “Good horse. Very fine.”
Conrad nods. “I know.”
“Maybe I kill you, take all.”
Conrad shrugs, that insouciant, devil-may-care gesture. “You can try.” A twitch of his hand flicks his coat back, exposing one revolver. “You won’t succeed.”
A grin from the warrior, equal parts pride and respect. “Maybe no kill.” He lifts the lead rope. “Horse make foal. I bring.”
Conrad just nods and lets his coat fall back into place. “Okay.”
The Ute glances at me. Another of those fierce, wild grins. “Strong woman. Strong medicine.”
And then he’s gone, kicking his horse into a gallop, the others following in a spray of snow and flying manes. We both stand and watch until the Ute warrior is out of sight.
The big black horse has moseyed over, standing near Conrad, nosing at his pocket. When the warrior is out of sight, Conrad lets out a long, relieved sigh, visibly relaxing, and leans against his horse.
“Shit.” He wipes at his face with both hands. “Well…that was fun.”
“I don’t know how you stayed so calm. I was scared witless.” I move to stand beside him, leaning against the horse, brushing my fingers through his thick winter coat.
“Hell, I was scared too. But you can’t let ‘em see that. Especially not one like him.” He gestures at the path the departed warrior made in the snow. “He’ll scent the fear on you as easily as a wolf might. You show that, you’re dead. They have no respect for cowards.”
“He said I was strong medicine. What did he mean?”
He glances at me, pride gleaming alongside the heat blooming in those brown eyes. “That you were brave. Strong. That you’d give me…good luck, I guess you could call it. Medicine for them isn’t luck, exactly, but similar. Good fortune might be closer, but you can earn medicine in a way you can’t good luck or fortune. Great deeds, signs from nature, prowess in battle, that kind of thing.”
“And I give you strong medicine by being strong?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” His gaze tells me he’s done talking about medicine.
“Is it odd that all that craziness has left me…” I squirm as he pivots, pinning me against the side of the horse, “—all worked up?”
He presses his lips to my cheekbone, then to my throat, and then tugs my coat open a little, exposing my skin to the cold air, and his mouth. “Not odd at all. Adrenaline will do that.”
I cling to his shoulders, tilt my face to the sky, baring my throat for him. “Does it do that to you?”
He snags one of my wrists and presses my hand to his groin. I suck in a breath at the thick hard ridge in his pants. “You tell me.”
“Seems like it does.”
He tugs down the bodice of my dress, baring my breasts to the icy air. His breath warms them, and then his mouth and his tongue set them on fire. He backs away, letting the cold air lick at my wet skin, making me shiver, making my nipples harden into diamonds, and then he returns his mouth to my breast, licking my nipple, suckling on it until I gasp, a sharp tug lancing between my breast and my core. The horse is warm behind me, radiating heat, and Conrad is in front of me, blocking the wind and exuding his own warmth. And then his hands begin to explore, causing heat to bloom inside me, and now I don’t even feel the cold, because all there is to feel is Conrad, his mouth on my tits, his hand cupping a breast to lift it to his mouth, the other gathering my dress up in front so he can dive under the layers of skirts to reach my thighs.
I relinquish the last of my balance, leaning fully back against the big black stallion, gasping as his fingers find my inner thighs and delve upward.
“N
o underwear,” Conrad notes, a lust-hot note to his voice, laced with amusement.
“I was in bed, waiting for you, when—when Charlie showed up. He made me get dressed in a hurry. Didn’t really have time for them.”
His fingers find my slit, finding me damp already. “Turned out to be…” his fingers slide in, up, curl, scissor, withdraw, squelch back in, “…rather fortuitous for me.”
I want to touch him, bare his cock, but his fingers are banishing all capacity for thought. His fingers slide in and out of me, finger-fucking me, then he presses the rough pad his thumb against my clit, and as soon as he does that I explode, fall apart into spastic release, my scream echoing off the trees and startling the birds into flight. He doesn’t stop there, though, but slows his finger-fucking and removes his thumb, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath and come back down, and then, before I’m ready, he’s smearing my juices onto my clit and using the tips of his two middle fingers to stimulate me, smearing my wetness against me and circling hard and fast, relentless, the perfect touch, just the way I need to be touched in order to—
Fuck, oooh fuck, oh fuck—
I come apart again, and again, and it seems he’s greedy for my orgasms, stringing them out of me one after another until I’m sagging and limp against the horse, knees shaky and weak.
“Conrad,” I gasp, leaning my forehead against his hard shoulder. “Enough, I can’t stand up after all that.”
He tugs my skirt up around my hips, baring my wet pussy to the cold air. “Can’t stand up, huh?”
I shake my head, fumbling for the fly of his pants, tugging at it until it loosens enough for me to shove those stupid pants down, freeing his massive cock. “I can barely think or breathe, let alone stand up.”
He grasps me by the backs of my thighs and lifts me up, tilts me against the horse, wedging me between his hips and the huge animal. “Then I’d better hold you up.”
He flexes his hips, nudging his cock against my slit. I shift my hips, and the head slips in, splitting my cunt open bit by bit, sliding in ever so slowly. And then his mouth covers mine, and his tongue flits against mine, and the fires of my lust, already blazing, flare to new levels of intensity, so hot I don’t know what to do with it…the insane need this man incites within me, from just a touch, just a kiss.
“You can breathe for me too, if you want,” I whisper.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper into my mouth. “I think I will.”
And then he resumes kissing me, as if kissing me is the end of everything, the start of everything, the meaning of everything. He kisses me as if—
My thoughts are broken as Conrad plunges fully into me, spearing his tongue into my mouth as he thrusts his cock into my cunt. Fully penetrated, split open to an aching burn, held aloft by his strong hands, I can’t think for a few seconds, can’t form any thoughts. I can only feel, and revel in it, drown myself in the delirious euphoria of this man’s primal sexual power and prowess.
God, oh god.
He’s not even thrusting, just holding still and letting my pussy adjust to his size. Letting the sensations rifle through me and boil up within me.
Forehead to forehead, lips mere centimeters apart, I can taste his breath, still feel his lips on mine, though he’s not kissing me, only breathing against my lips and starting to roll his hips in tiny teasing flutters.
“Hannah—” There’s a strange, vulnerable note in his voice.
“What, Conrad? Say it. Say anything.”
He thrusts, then. One full wet sliding withdrawal, hands cupping my ass cheeks, spreading me apart and slamming up and in. I scream, startling one of the horses, but not the big stallion that is currently my warmth and my wall.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
My gut twists. “Why—oh god, Conrad—why not?”
He slants his lips across mine, not quite kissing, teasing. “Because I can’t stop now.”
I close the distance between his mouth and mine. I take this kiss, demand it from him, suck his tongue into my mouth and breathe in his breath and caress his lips with my own, kissing him for all I’m worth, with everything I have, until neither of us can breathe, until he’s thrusting desperately against me. I kiss him as he fucks me, and I keep kissing him.
He tries to break away, but I refuse to let him. I allow him the briefest of breaths, and then I kiss him again, slamming my mouth over his and clutching his head with both of my hands, burying my fingers in his hair and jerking him closer, handling him roughly, fiercely.
I kiss him until fucking becomes something else.
Until it becomes something…more.
Finally, I allow the kiss to pause and I speak into his mouth, words clashing with his gasps. “So don’t, Conrad. Don’t ever stop.”
And he doesn’t, he doesn’t—his tongue mimics the motion of his cock, thrusting in and out of my mouth. “Hannah, Jesus—Hannah.”
“Come inside me, Conrad.” I pant the words. “Give me all your cum. All of it. Fuck me hard and don’t ever stop, Conrad.”
He pounds into me, and I feel his hands on my ass squeezing roughly, and a fingertip nudges my asshole, working against the knot of muscle gently but insistently. I exhale, and relax to let him in. I wiggle my ass against his hand, and whimper as his finger slides into me, bit by bit, until I’m pierced by him everywhere—mouth and cunt and asshole.
I explode again, biting down on his lip with an involuntary shout of ecstasy, slicing release blasting through me in spasming waves. I scream so loud the whole valley echoes with my voice. I come, and come, and come.
Clamping down with my cunt, I grip his thrusting cock with my vaginal muscles until he grunts in surprise, and then I feel him prepare to come, feel his thrusts falter. He fucks into me once, hard, and remains pushed deep, his hips slapping against my ass, cock filling me until he can’t go any deeper, and he begins to grind there, deep as he can go, shouting against my tits as he comes.
“Yes, Conrad, fuck me! Fuck me so hard, Conrad—” I shout with him, shout “YESYESYESYES” to the sky as he fucks me so hard it hurts, and I love it, can’t get enough of it, writhe on him and tell him to fuck me harder, harder, harder.
I feel his cum gush into me, a flood of hot wet seed filling me and overflowing, and god, fuck, yes, I love it, love the way his cum spurts out around his cock and drips down my taint and he’s still orgasming, grunting and snarling and thrusting so hard his balls slap against my ass.
I cling to him as he stills, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, face buried in his hair, inhaling his scent.
When he sets me down, finally, my legs quiver and nearly give out. Cum slides wet and warm down my thighs.
It’s several minutes before either of us can walk, and then we take our time meandering back to the cabin in perfect silence.
**
My eyes are glued to his broad shoulders and tight ass as he clomps up the porch steps, kicking his toes one after the other against the front of the steps to knock the snow off his boots. I climb up behind him, and then stop beside him.
He’s motionless on the porch, silent.
Finally, he swivels his head to look at me. “Hannah, I—” he stops, sighs. Glances at the door. “You have to go.”
Confusion and sadness war within me. I shake my head. “No, Conrad. I’m staying. I’ll stay.”
His head moves from side to side. “You can’t.”
I rip my eyes away from him.
The whole world narrows down to an octagon of glass, delicate, fragile, gleaming in the glow of the fading sunset.
The doorknob blocks out everything: him, me, the valley behind us, and the horses. I sob, once. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”
His bearded cheek nuzzles against mine. “I know. But that’s not how it works, honey.”
“I know.” My voice is faint.
I feel my feet carry me forward. My hand—bare, cold—grasps the doorknob. The frigid glass turns
in my hand. Twists. I hear the latch click. Feel the creak of the hinges. Feel the door open.
I feel him behind me; feel his heat, feel his solid presence.
Perhaps I only imagine it, his voice is whispering—
Hannah…Hannah.
Without looking back I step through into darkness, into the familiar nothingness…leaving it all behind.
***
Silence.
Perfect, utter silence.
A drowning quiet.
A memory of cold, visions of a thick black beard and piercing brown eyes, and the feel of strong hands on my bare skin; the feeling of belonging, however briefly—the first sensation.
My lips sting from a recent kiss, throb from raking, biting teeth; the second sensation.
I open my eyes, and hate the silence and the loneliness; the third sensation.
I’m in the black room. Alone.
White cot under me. A small square black table to my left, on it a thick white candle, flickering merrily, rivulets of melted wax dripping down the sides to pool and harden on the silver candlestick.
Five torches flicker and cast pools of orange light on five doors: three black, one silver, one green.
I don’t want to be alone.
I hate the silence, but I have no words, no voice to speak, and there is no one to hear me, so I remain silent.
I close my eyes to block out the darkness, and to pretend there are no doors. All I want is warmth, a warm body next to mine.
I float in nothingness, and try to remember.
Black hair soft against my cheek.
Tan skin, hard muscles. Flesh sliding against mine. Rough hands that were somehow exquisitely tender.
Is he a boxer, all hard edges and alpha male power and dominance? An elegant, urbane, yet brawny and masculine sophisticate—with a lithe and muscular blonde friend? Or is he a reclusive gunfighter, tall on his horse, hands faster than lightning, utterly at ease in the wilderness?
All of them, and none of them.
