Claiming Coral (The Red Petticoat Saloon)

by Maddie Taylor

  As she hiked up her skirt and lifted one leg over the windowsill, the door exploded inward. She screamed and bent her head low, clearing the casing. Scrambling quickly, she was about to pull her other leg through when a hand twisted in her skirt.

  “Dammit, Coral!” he barked. “You’ll break your neck.”

  The next moment he had an arm around her waist and a hand on her head, folding her in half as he hauled her back inside. He slammed the window shut. Then, with her tucked under one arm, he carried her across the room. Without letting her go, he kicked the door closed. From her angle, pinned face down against his hip, she saw the remnants of the broken chair scattered in a hundred pieces across the floor, and heard the door latch—still intact somehow—catch with an ominous click. He was seated on the edge of her bed the next instant with her tipped on her belly over his thighs. Her skirt flipped up on her back before the sound of rending fabric echoed through the room.

  “This will be of no more use to you after tonight.” Out of the corner of her eye and through the mass of hair that had fallen into her face, she saw her scarlet red petticoat fly across the room and land in a pile of wispy lace in the corner.

  Her drawers were tugged down to her knees in a trice and her bottom ignited with fire as his hand descended at a blistering pace. She kicked and squirmed against his restraining arm as she tried to get free. “You can’t do this.”

  He didn’t stop as he drawled, “Apparently, I can. Be still and take your spanking for trying something so reckless as escaping by the roof.”

  “Ouch! Bo, stop.”

  “I’ll stop when I think you’ve had enough and are ready to listen to me calmly, without hysterics and running away like an errant child.” The swats continued to fall without pattern, up one side and down the other, landing in the same spot for several smacks in a row, the sting building and the temperature of her skin on the rise, before he moved on. He spanked down to her thighs, moving back and forth between the two before returning to her bottom and delivering a flurry of sizzling swats all over the hills of both burning globes.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, as the tears began to fall. “I promise not to run off again.”

  He paused, his hand coming to rest across her hot cheeks, the size of it so large he spanned both easily. It began to move again, slowly rubbing away the sting he had caused.

  “Why have you been running from me, Coral? I’m trying to help you.”

  She collapsed, falling limp over his legs as she dissolved into great wrenching sobs. It wasn’t because of the spanking, well, not entirely so, but mostly because she was frightened. Afraid of the decisions she’d made, so many of them that had blown up in her face. Afraid of her future that was so uncertain. Afraid of being surrounded in this big saloon with people, yet feeling utterly alone. And afraid that if she accepted Bo, as he wanted her to, she would lose him too, as she had so many other people in her life.

  Once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. Not even when he turned her over, and sat her on his lap, cradling her in his arms as he rocked her back and forth, whispering softly in her ear, both in English and words she didn’t know in his native tongue. As many times as she’d pushed him away, and despite the spanking he had just given her, she clung to him, not ever wanting to let him go.

  He held her for a long time, until her weeping had turned into an occasional sniffle, and her hitching breaths had evened out. Then he tipped her chin up and dried her cheeks with a white handkerchief. He also brushed her damp tousled hair back off her face. His lips turned up into a small smile. “That was like a damn breaking. I suspect it has been a long time coming.”

  She nodded, not trusting her sore throat to speak normally just yet.

  He nudged her face up further as he lowered his mouth to hers and gently kissed her. No man had ever been so tender with her. She lifted her lips for more kisses, opening her mouth slightly. He didn’t need any more encouragement and deepened the kiss.

  It was then that their passions exploded, for Bo, likely from wanting her to the point of exasperation, and for Coral, from weeks of denial and suppressing the desire she felt for him. In a flurry of impatience, and without breaking their kiss, they pulled at one another’s clothing. His fingers easily undid the buttons on her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders. Her hands yanked up his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and sliding her hands up his smooth muscular back.

  Breathless, her head fell back as he tugged her camisole down, baring her breasts. With both hands palming their fullness, he lowered his head and took the peaks into his mouth, suckling each taut tip in turn. Her fingers dove into his hair, pulling his head closer not wanting to risk losing the exquisite sensation of his lips and tongue upon her.

  He stood suddenly and turned, lowering her onto her back on the bed. Too anxious to wait to undress her further, he pushed up her skirt and ripped down her drawers from where they were already gathered just above her knees. She parted her thighs and welcomed him between them, writhing under him and pulling his hips closer as he paused. It took her a moment to understand that he was freeing himself.

  “Hurry, Bo, please.”

  Then he was pushing her legs farther apart as he lowered himself between them. She gasped, as in one thrust, the length of him filled her near to bursting. He moved over her, stretching her to her limits with each upward thrust, her sheath clinging to him as if to hold him forever with each down stroke. Never had she felt so much pleasure.

  His lips found hers, and as he claimed her below, his tongue possessed her as well.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” was his raspy demand as he moved faster and harder within her. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as they found the tempo that bound their bodies as one. Passion pounded the blood through her heart, chest and body, as something low in her belly began to build. It was exquisitely pleasurable, but foreign.

  “Bo, something’s happening.”

  “Go with it, sweetheart. Give yourself up to the feeling and let go.”

  She did, riding the swells until the peak of desire was within reach. Then something released inside her as waves of ecstasy throbbed through her. She cried his name as she shuddered beneath him. With her arms and legs wrapped around him, she felt him shudder too as he thrust with defined purpose until he too called her name, growling it against her neck as he stiffened and held still inside her briefly while the flood of his warmth filled her. Then he pumped again, slowly, his body relaxing incrementally in her arms. He continued to move, easing in and out until both of their pulses and rapid breathing had slowed to normal. He stilled, propping himself on his hands as he gazed down at her.

  “That was your first climax.” It wasn’t posed as a question; he knew from her reaction. How could he not?

  She flushed, recalling how she’d cried out his name. “I’m not sure what happened.”

  “You found a woman’s pleasure, raring.”

  “Ah…” perhaps that is what the girls gushed about when one of the gentlemen had unexpected skill and prowess. And maybe, it was why many didn’t mind all that much doing what they did. Yet in three husbands, none had made her quiver and cry out, or made her body feel like it was flying apart before it soared with pleasure. She smiled. “I guess so.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, certainly. Disbelief, maybe. It passed quickly, replaced by a grin, before he dipped his head and took her lips in a soft, tender kiss.

  “Thank you, älskling, for saving that gift for me.” He dropped to her side and gathered her close. Coral snuggled against him, basking in the warmth, strength and safety of his arms around her.

  * * *

  The sun was dipping low in the west and shining through her window when he stirred.

  “We’ll move you out of here tonight and get you settled at my place. Tomorrow, we’ll find Reverend Black.”

  “The reverend? Whatever for?”

  He tensed noticeably, propping himself on one elbow as
he gazed down on her, the relaxed look on his face replaced with a frown. “To marry us, of course.”

  Despite the heat of his large body, that one word sent a shiver coursing through her, leaving her cold. Her eyes caressed his face, so handsome and endearing, she couldn’t bear it if he was taken from her. It would be better for both of them, if she ended it now.

  “No. I can’t marry you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  She shook her head, sitting up. But he pushed her back down startling the breath from her as he did so. “I won’t get married again. Ever.”

  “Then what was this all about?”

  “Passion?” she suggested foolishly. His face turned red and this time, he was the one who sat up. He also moved off the bed, adjusting his trousers as he towered over her. She pulled the sheet over her nakedness.

  “Passion,” he repeated harshly, his stare drilling into her. “Are you trying to make my head explode?”

  “No, Bo. But you are on the second floor of the Red Petticoat Saloon, passion abounds, so I hear.”

  Her flippant response was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched tight.

  “That’s all this was to you? Business?”

  With short jerky movements he bent and retrieved his shirt from the floor pulling it on but not buttoning it. Then he dug into his pocket. With a clink, coins hit the mattress. One… two… three ten-dollar gold pieces.

  “You tell me. Is that the going rate for an afternoon fuck?”

  She gasped, although she was deliberately pushing him away, his words stung, as did the tears that pricked her eyes. “There is no rate, going or otherwise. You aren’t a customer, Bo.”

  “Funny, because you damn sure made me feel like one just now.” He scooped his hat off the floor and was out the door. Slamming it so hard behind him, it bounced off the frame and swung back against the wall. As she stared through the opening out into the hallway and listened to the sound of his boots thudding down the stairs, she knew in that instant she’d finally driven him away. She’d also taken the most joyous experience of her life and ruined it, forever, for both of them.

  Not caring who could hear or see in, she fell back on the bed and turned onto her side. Facing the wall, she curled into a tight little ball of misery and cried, yet again.

  Chapter Eight

  The week dragged as did her mood. The girls gave her worried looks, not believing her assurances that everything was “just fine.” Amy getting angry when she wouldn’t tell her what was wrong or accept her help.

  She wanted to, badly. But she couldn’t ask her for the kind of help she needed. None of the girls had the money to spare for her to leave Culpepper Cove in the dust and make a fresh start. They worked hard and deserved every cent of their earnings. Jewel would have offered her assistance, although that wasn’t right either. She wasn’t making a mint keeping less than a third of the profits, not to mention taking care of the house, feeding them, clothing them, and rescuing girls who were more in need than her.

  Coral had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and a job, as long as she needed it. So, if the judge couldn’t tell her what to do, she’d continue as is. Scrimping and saving all of her dance money and Emory’s generous weekly gratuity until she had enough.

  An image of Bo wavered before her misty eyes. He was the only thing that occupied her mind more than her money situation. She remembered their argument vividly and the anger her heartless words had caused him. What she wanted to do was race to the livery and admit it was all a lie. That she cherished their time together and if things were different, if every man who hitched their wagon to her star hadn’t wound up dead, they could be together. But that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t risk going to him and trying to calm the waters, because she didn’t trust herself not to throw herself into his arms. She’d fallen for him, hard. No question. Besides, she’d rejected him three times, running from him repeatedly. Why would he want to hear what she had to say?

  That didn’t mean she didn’t watch for him every evening as she danced. Each ending in disappointment when he didn’t show up. It was difficult, plastering on a smile and making small talk with men she didn’t care to know while nursing a broken heart. When she went about town, her eyes scanned the streets for a glimpse of him, around every corner, on every wagon seat, and down each aisle in the mercantile. In the days that followed their fiery afternoon, she saw him once, talking to a young woman outside his livery. Yes, his business was at the far end of town, and a street over, and she had no business at the nearby mill or any of the other establishments near it. Still, she found her feet leading her in that direction just to see his handsome face again, no matter how briefly, or to hear the deep rumble of his voice, even better, his full throated laugh.

  When she caught sight of him from across the street, she ducked behind a copse of trees. Hiding like an idiot while eating him up with her eyes. In the middle of his workday, he wore a leather apron tied around his neck and hips, his sleeves pushed up exposing his brawny arms. His hair, overlong and curling on his collar and around his ears, looked damp, likely from the heat of his forge. It had to be oppressive and difficult to work around the fires, especially in the soaring summer temperatures.

  Yet, as she studied him, smiling at the pretty brunette in the back of the wagon, he didn’t seem uncomfortable. The opposite, in fact, propping his arm on the side of the wagon bed and laughing. The glorious sound carried easily across the street to her hiding spot where she watched his interaction with the other woman. Younger than Coral by several years, she appeared sweetly innocent, until she laid her hand upon his forearm. Then she saw the practiced flirtation of her movements, the batting of her lashes, and the clever way she leaned in. She’d seen each ploy at the saloon every night.

  As anger and jealousy battled within her, Coral wanted nothing more than to fly across the street and smack the coquettish look off her pretty face. But she had no right. She’d closed that door with Bo, resoundingly slammed it, locked it, and quite effectively thrown away the key.

  She couldn’t bear another minute of the nauseatingly happy scene and did what she did best, she fled. Picking through the trees so he wouldn’t see her, briars snagged at her skirt and branches tugged at her hair, entangling it. She did this until she was certain she was well up the street and far out of sight, then made her way out of the trees and back onto the street, rushing the rest of the way home.

  Friday couldn’t come soon enough when she could ask Emory for his advice.

  * * *

  The sharp thwack of leather against bare skin echoed in the small bedroom. In response, the quivering bottom, red from a series of blistering swats, clenched, while a shiver radiated outward, making both hips jerk and buck against the bed, and the long spine arch upward. The restraints, leather straps with brass buckles binding both wrists and ankles, held the willing victim in place as a low groan of pleasure broke free of lips parched from the prolonged punishment session.

  “Another, please,” came the impassioned groan.

  “Please, who?” the disciplinarian asked. This game had been played before, so the answer came quickly.

  “Another, please, Madame Coral!”

  Immediately, another swat fell, then another as Judge Stone’s bare behind rose, anxiously awaiting more of what he craved. Coral tried to keep her lip from curling as she brought the leather strap down again and again. It’s not that she was disgusted by the act itself, she’d heard about all kinds of sexual desires from the other gems, odd requests from food, to odd positions, to bondage since coming to the Red Petticoat Saloon. That didn’t bother her. To each his own, or hers as the case may be, was her motto. She certainly didn’t want to be judged for her own desires, or for her actions in the past, but doling out pain was not her cup of tea. Even if it was what her best and only second floor customer wanted.

  Still, it was her job and he tipped exceptionally well. He also didn’t expect more. He�
��d explained at the onset, that the stress of his work, always on the road as a traveling district judge, handing out justice, sometimes severe punishments, capital crimes being the worst, took its toll. He said he needed an outlet, and this is what helped him continue on. Far be it for her to say it was right or wrong.

  She threw back her arm and brought the supple leather strap down with a resounding crack. At first she’d been tentative, all those weeks ago, but he’d urged her to be more severe, and to get into her role, like a troupe player. As she drew back and gave him another, he moaned with satisfaction.

  “Thank you, Madame Coral,” he growled in a husky, passion-filled tone.

  “Have you had enough, bad boy? Is your conscience clear to go on for another week until you’ve earned more of my leather?” Surprisingly, she’d fallen easily into the part, as if she were the finest actor on the New York stage. Like the one she’d seen last year…

  No, she chided herself. You walked away from that life.

  Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, she lashed him again, harder, knowing she was giving him what he needed by the way his body shuddered and his back arched. She’d deliberately put off the discussion she planned with Emory until after their session. Once relaxed, he’d be more willing to help. Of course, she expected him to give her whatever assistance he could. He was really a very nice man, just slightly unusual with his needs.

  First things first, spanking his ass thoroughly. To distract herself from the other things weighing on her mind, she approached the judge and ran her hand over his red cheeks. “Hm, warm, but not hot. You can take more, I think. Ask for it nicely and I might reward your pretty manners with a stinging welt or two.”

  He started to speak when from the hall, came thuds and shouts. They both turned toward the door. It was a rare occurrence that things got rowdy at the Red Petticoat. Mistress Jewel ran a fine establishment and Gabriel a tight ship when it came to rules and the gems’ safety.

  A gunshot rang out. She stifled a scream.