by Patty Devlin
Impatient with her clothing, he broke the kiss, spun her around and pinned her hands against the door to immobilize her so he could undo her buttons.
“Now that you are my wife, I will make a rule: do not wear clothing that takes me more than five minutes to remove.”
She giggled.
“I’m dead serious, young lady,” he said, his fingers fumbling over the tiny buttons. “I don’t even know how you managed to dress yourself alone.”
“I had assistance,” she said, her voice bubbling with mirth.
He scooped up the long curls that fell down her back and rubbed his fingers in them, feeling the silky strands. Pulling her hair to the side he pressed his lips to her nape.
“It had better have been in the female variety,” he murmured in her ear.
She pressed backward against him, her bustle compressing between their bodies.
“Naturally. If your performance is any indication, men are no good at tiny buttons.” She started to reach back to help him, but he took her wrists and pinned them against the door again.
“No—my wife. Mine to undress.”
He returned his focus to the little buttons, kissing and nibbling at her neck as he moved down the row. At last he reached the end, which he celebrated by parting the halves of the dress to reveal her camisole. She shimmied out of it along with the dress and he untied her bustled petticoat, which fell to her feet like a froth of meringue. She stood in her corset, stockings and pantalets, devastating him with the sheer eroticism of her underclothing.
He could sense her excitement in the shortness of her breath and the trembling in her limbs. He attempted to control his own enthusiasm to make sure her first time exceeded her expectations.
Reaching a hand around the front of her, he trailed a fingertip across her collarbone. “Lovely girl,” he murmured in her ear. “You smell so sweet.”
She did not answer, just stood, panting, seeming alert to his every move.
“Sweet Mabelle,” he said as he untied the laces to her corset. When it dropped, he slid both hands over her breasts, cupping their perfect form, rubbing his thumbs over the pert nipples. “Beautiful,” he whispered. One hand trailed down her taut belly to slip inside her drawers, over her silky curls and into her moist heat.
She gasped. “Sam!”
“Mmm hmm,” he purred. He untied her drawers and tugged them down over her hips until they, too, fell to the floor. She stood in only her garters and stockings, the perfect frame to her glorious backside. He turned her around and kissed her full on the mouth, licking into her lips. She responded eagerly, twining her arms around his neck and lifting her body to press against his.
He caught the leg she wrapped around his waist, lifting until both her feet left the ground and she straddled him. Carrying her to the bed without breaking their kiss, he lowered her to her back and tore off his own formal clothing, the layers of discomfort a shell he did not ever need with his bride.
Climbing over her, he grasped her thighs and spread her legs, settling between them. She squealed when he licked into her hot core, her leg kicking near his ear as she squirmed against his mouth. He pressed her pelvis down to hold her in place, torturing her with his tongue, teasing her little nub of pleasure until it lengthened and swelled, her juices flowing freely.
She wrapped her fingers in his hair and tugged, desperation in the keening sounds she made.
Chuckling, he stopped before she reached climax and crawled up to position himself over her. She threw her head back and arched to meet him, showing no signs of shame or embarrassment at their first coupling.
“Sam,” she gasped again, her eyes glassy.
He rubbed the head of his cock over her plump folds.
“Yes!” she encouraged, pushing up at him.
He thrust into her without giving warning, and stilled to allow her to get used to the feeling. “Does it hurt?” he asked as she sucked in her breath.
She rolled her head from side to side wantonly. “No...no. Go on, Sam.”
Needing no further encouragement, he began to move slowly inside her, pushing in and out, losing himself in the delirium of her delicious wet heat.
“Mabelle,” he choked.
She grasped his arms, her fingernails digging into his muscles. “Sam!”
Picking up speed as the pleasure rolled over him in waves, he rode to a tempo she matched, her hips undulating under his, her body encouraging his plundering until he could not wait any longer.
“Mabelle, now!” he said.
Though it was her first time, she seemed to understand, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in to her full depths, her muscles spasming around his cock, milking it for its seed.
He shuddered on and on, his climax continuing longer than he believed possible. When at last it had ended, he withdrew and lowered himself to settle beside her. “You are incredible, Mabelle Pride.”
“Mabelle Pride,” she repeated softly. “I cannot believe I married you tonight.”
“You did, indeed. I hope you never regret it.”
“I shall not.” She sat up and looked down at him. The pins had come loose from her hair and it fell in a soft curtain around her face. “I suppose I should write home to my parents to tell them.” Her face grew serious. “And of my sister’s death.”
He pulled her down to settle her head on his chest. “I know you’ve had a hard time of it, darling. I only hope I can make the rest of your life easier.”
If I can just live through the next few days.
“When I shot those men back on my property, I didn’t have much to live for. Oh, I had the ranch—the deed to sixty three acres and a flock of sheep, but my life held little meaning.” He traced the line of her spine with his finger. “I hardly minded running from the law—almost as if I dared fate to end my life. But since I met you…” His throat closed. “Well, now I have a reason to go on. I want to live to be a real husband to you, to build a life together, no matter what it holds for us.”
He felt the drip of her tears on his chest. “You had better live, Sam Pride,” she said, her throat sounding choked.
He stroked her back and kissed her head. “Tomorrow I’ll settle with Mick Malone and we can be free of this cloud following me everywhere I go.”
“Promise me you won’t get killed?”
A chill settled between them.
“I promise,” he said, though he only felt three-quarters certain he could keep it.
#
She woke with pure dread in the pit of her stomach. All the passion of the night before only made her anxiety about the meeting with Malone greater. She did not want to lose her new husband.
Fear clamped steel bands around her heart.
She found Sam lying awake beside her, staring at the ceiling with his fingers laced behind his head.
“I want to come to the meeting with you today,” she said.
His eyes slid sideways to look at her. “No.” His tone brooked no disagreement.
Still, she tried. “You said yourself I am lucky to you. Surely my presence could only help. Malone wouldn’t kill you in front of your own wife, would he?”
A muscle in Sam’s jaw jumped. “There is no telling what a man like Malone would or would not do.”
“Then, I need to be there,” she insisted.
He rolled to face her. “I said no. Do not ask me again.”
She frowned. “I was not asking.”
Sam turned away from her and rolled out of the bed. “Today is not the day to try my patience,” he said as he pulled on his pants. “I have enough to worry about without fearing for your safety, too. You will wait here until I return. End of discussion.”
She flounced out of bed and scowled at him, her stress over his safety turning into anger. Turning her back to him, she stepped hastily into her pantalets and chemise. The feel of his large hands on her shoulders stilled her.
“I apologize for snapping,” he said, running his palms lightly over her sk
in.
All the fight left her body and she sagged against him.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. “Forgive me?”
She nodded, silly emotion momentarily blurring her vision. She drew in her breath, shoving her foolish emotions down and turning to give Sam a brave face. “You just make sure you walk out of there in one piece, you hear?”
He smiled, though his eyes looked haunted. “Yes ma’am.”
They finished dressing and went downstairs for a silent breakfast. She had little appetite and noticed Sam picking at his beans. When they finished, he stood.
“Well, I suppose I should saddle up and find my way to Malone’s office.”
She nodded, the knot in the pit of her stomach tightening.
He leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back this afternoon. If I’m not, you send Huff to find out what happened. Do not come yourself, understand? If I die, you are rightful owner of the deed to my property, and Malone may come looking for you as well.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Do not die, Sam Pride.”
He nodded soberly and tipped his cowboy hat to her. “I’ll do my best.”
She threw her arms around his neck, blinking rapidly and gave him a hard kiss on the mouth. “I love you and I am proud to be your wife.”
He held her shoulders and gazed down at her with some unidentifiable emotion before he turned and headed to the stables without a word.
Not wanting to be stuck at the boarding house with her nerves, she set out on a walk to explore the city of Denver.
For a long time, she walked without seeing much of anything, her thoughts about Sam’s meeting with Mick Malone swirling about her head. By the time her feet grew sore and she thought she ought to turn back, she had arrived at a conclusion: she needed to join him at the meeting. If Mick Malone thought he could push her husband around, he needed to be straightened out. She walked the distance back to the boarding house, changed out of her fine dress and into her calico, which she had washed at the bathhouse. She slung the belt and gun holster around her waist, and plopped her brother-in-law’s hat on her head. She asked for directions to the address Huff had given them for the meeting, saddled one of the horses and rode off.
When she arrived at the address, she stepped in, taking in the lavish furnishings—fine wood furniture and a Persian rug on the floor. A skinny, anxious-looking man sitting behind a desk, greeted her. “May I help you?” he asked, standing and removing his spectacles.
“I’m here to join a meeting between Mr. Malone and Sam Pride.”
“Yes, Mr. Pride is in with Mr. Malone right now,” he told her, nodding toward a thick door. “But Mr. Malone informed me not to disturb—”
“Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin and marching past the man. She threw open the door to make a grand entrance but stopped short when Sam sprang to his feet at the disturbance, drawing both pistols at once and aiming one at her and one at Malone.
She stifled the scream in her throat, freezing.
Sam’s eyes rolled back in relief when he recognized her and he replaced the guns in their holsters.
“Who is she?” Malone demanded.
She drew herself up, trying to regain the courage she’d had the moment before. “I am Mabelle Pride and I came to tell you if you tangle with Sam, you tangle with me.”
Malone shot a glance at Sam, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.
Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Do not underestimate this little lady. She’s tougher than two men put together.”
He drew out a chair and indicated for her to sit beside him.
The opulence of Malone’s office shone in over-sized mahogany furniture, oil paintings on the walls and a beautiful woven rug. She ignored her sweaty palms and rapid breath, trying to look dignified as she settled in the velvet-cushioned chair. The room smelled of leather, tobacco and cigar smoke.
“Mr. Malone has just offered to drop all charges against me in exchange for the deed to my land,” Sam said.
Her eyes flew to his, trying to hide her excitement, as Sam wore the most blank poker face she had ever seen.
“I do not see how it is a fair offer, since his men were in the wrong and my property has a certain value.”
Malone picked up a cigar burning in a dish and took a long puff. “You may have the law in Central City wrapped around your finger, but you do not have Denver. If I turn you into the marshal here, I can make sure you hang.”
Sam did not flinch, as if he fully expected this line of arguments.
“That will not get you the deed to my property or access to water for your cattle. My wife comes from a powerful family back east, and I guarantee they will not sell the deed for less than it is worth.”
She resisted the fidget his lie invoked in her.
Malone’s eyes narrowed. “But you would?”
Sam nodded, once.
“How much?”
“Ten dollars an acre.”
Malone made a snorting sound and pulled on his cigar again. He looked from one to the other of them, scrutinizing them, perhaps for weakness.
She mimicked Sam’s poker face, showing nothing.
The cattle baron slapped his hand on the desk. “Done.”
It took a full second for the word to sink in, since his gesture had not seemed at all conciliatory.
“You accept?” she asked.
“Hollinger!” he bellowed and the skinny man in the front office opened the door and bustled in.
“Yes sir?”
“Draw me up some papers. Bill of sale for the deed to Pride’s property, and a release of all charges against Pride. And a check for $6300 made out to Pride, as well.”
“Right away, sir.”
“We will wait.”
The secretary or lawyer—she could not be sure which—bobbed his head and disappeared again.
Silence settled between them as they waited. Sam still appeared tense, as if he did not entirely believe Malone would deal honestly. Yet within the hour, Hollinger appeared with the requested documents and a check for the ranch. Sam and Malone signed and exchanged the papers and stood to shake hands.
She could scarcely believe it, still waiting for something bad to happen. They walked out in the sunlight, not speaking or celebrating simply mounting their horses and riding back to the boarding house.
In the stable there, Sam helped her down from her mare.
“You did it!” she beamed.
He smiled and kissed her. “Yes, I did.”
“We should celebrate!”
He nodded, but took hold of her arms and peered down into her face. “You and I need to have a little discussion first. This marriage is going to be difficult for both of us if you refuse to obey.”
She tried to step back, but he held her fast. She had considered Sam might punish her for going to the meeting, but when he had introduced her to Malone so glibly, she thought perhaps he had not minded. Now it appeared he had.
“Go up to our room and take off your clothes. I want to find you with your nose in the corner.”
Her face flushed with a defensive anger, but she dared not defy him. Picking up her skirts, she left the stable, her legs trembling. She knew she had no right to be resentful. Sam was her husband and he had the right to chastise her for disobedience. Still, she hated being wrong and it more than stung her pride to humble herself in the way he ordered—she found it downright humiliating.
She stripped out of her clothing shucking a piece of dignity with each item she removed until she stood completely nude. She went to the corner to wait, butterflies flitting in her stomach, her knees weak, her defensiveness dissolving into shame the longer she waited.
She did not turn to look when she heard the door open and close, keeping her face pressed in the corner, her back turned.
Sam grasped her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “Thank you for your obedience.”
She had not expe
cted thanks from him and hunger for his approval struck with full force. She could not meet his eye so she stared at his necktie, instead. “I am sorry, Sam.”
“You know I almost shot you. Again.”
She nodded, miserably. “I know.”
He sighed. “I am your husband. You will abide by my decisions or you will feel my belt.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered.
He took her chin in his hand and lifted it. “Look at me.”
She raised her eyes, reluctantly.
“Who makes the decisions?”
“You do.”
“Who has the final say?”
“You do.”
“Did I have your best interest at heart today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What should I do now?”
She could not believe he wanted her to say it. She drew her brows together and scowled. Putting her hands on her hips, she suggested, “Kiss me?”
She felt fortunate when he laughed, because she knew she pushed her luck.
“I will be doing that, too. After our reckoning.”
She shivered.
He unbuttoned his jacket and removed it, tossing it on the chair with her clothing. The vest followed, and he rolled up his sleeves. Unfastening his belt, he slid the gun holsters off and wound the buckle end around his fist until a length just over a foot remained.
She watched, her heart beating erratically, her mouth dry.
“Lie over the pillows so your bottom is lifted in the air.”
#
Mabelle’s face had gone pale, but she remained ever brave, resolutely turning to arrange the pillows in the middle of the bed and lie across them.
“Good girl,” he praised. “Except I need you to slide close to the edge, here.”
She scrambled to comply, the tips of her ears red. She made a beautiful sight spread out on the bed, her backside elevated for his strap, her little sex peeking between her legs. Though he kept his demeanor stern, he felt no real ire. While disobedience required consequences, he had far more interest in what might come after the spanking.
