The Sons of Johnny Hastings Box Set

by Patty Devlin

  He sniffed, then inhaled deeply. “Is that lavender?”

  “Yes.” She giggled. Her big manly husband smelled like a delicate flower. “If I’d known you’d be hopping in with me, I would have selected something a bit more masculine.”

  “If I’d have told you of my nefarious plans, I wouldn’t have gotten to see that delightfully shocked expression on your face right before I hopped in.”

  He always had a quick response, Em thought. She had to be on her toes around him.

  “I just hope it’s worn off by tomorrow. It smells wonderful on you, however.”

  When he bent his head toward her and began placing gentle kisses against the damp skin of her neck and shoulder, Emmalee tilted her head, readily giving his lips better access to wander as they would. She sighed.

  “Tired?”

  “Yes, why is riding on a train so exhausting? All I did was sleep, eat and read.”

  “Hm, you did one other thing, if you remember.”

  “How could I forget? You made me, um, you know—in public. I still can’t believe you did that to me with people sleeping no more than two feet away! It’s… it’s…”

  “Did you feel adventurous? Or maybe naughty?” He peppered kisses along her shoulder as he spoke, nipping her gently on the last word.

  “Mm…” She did feel naughty then, as she did now. “I think you are the naughty one, husband. You are a very bad influence.”

  He chuckled; his warm breath across her damp skin set her nipples to tightening. Instantly breathless, she shivered again as her breasts rose out of the water, the pink tips glistening prettily amidst the bubbles. Clint noticed immediately, of course.

  “Seems like I’m a very good influence, if you ask me.”

  His hands slid up her wet belly to her breasts where he cupped them, stroking and arousing them until they swelled further and she begged for sweet relief.

  “Pinch my nipples like before, Clint. They ache.”

  When he did, Emmalee’s aroused cries echoed through the bathroom. Her hands rose to cover his, pressing them harder against the painfully tight tips. This inspired new wickedness within him. He slid his hands from beneath hers and guided her fingers to the hard peaks while he whispered, “My hands will be busy elsewhere for a bit. Pinch these beautiful nipples for me. Roll them, twist or tug on them and make them ache, just like I do.”

  As she took over, working them as he usually did, she became an active participant in her own seduction. While preoccupied with the pleasant task he’d given her, his hands slid to her waist. Grasping her tightly, he lifted her out of the water long enough for him to position her just right. With intimate parts perfectly aligned, he let her glide down his shaft, her body weight sheathing her around his hardness. A shout erupted from her chest, and Emmalee climaxed immediately, her channel clutching tightly around him. He groaned, but didn’t let her precipitous response stop the pursuit of his own pleasure.

  “Too quick, Em. I want more from you,” was his growled declaration against her ear. He hefted her easily and stood, sheets of water pouring off their bodies. Stepping out on the mat, he’d no sooner set her feet beside his when he sat her on the wide edge of the tub and knelt between her thighs. Lifting her legs with a hand beneath each knee, he opened her wider. “Grab onto me and hold on tight.”

  He then slammed into her, his wet skin slapping loudly against her taut cheeks and the back of her thighs. The sound bounced off the walls of their private bath as he took her vigorously. How she loved it! Each time with him was better than the last it seemed, and always new. He hadn’t taken her the same way twice. She wondered if it would be boring when they got home, when their life was routine again, not this constant barrage of adventure. A laugh slipped out at the thought of Clinton Ryan ever being boring or routine tickled her.

  “Pay attention now, Em. I’m doing something very important here.”

  On the last word, he pushed her legs higher, lifting her bottom into the air as he withdrew. A resounding slap rang out, accompanied by a sizzling sting exploding on her bottom cheek. She gasped in startled protest as he plunged back inside. “Clint!”

  “Couldn’t help it, baby. Your pretty bottom is pure temptation for my hand. You’re all slick and glistening in the light, and your skin is milky white. I thought a little color would be a nice addition. Besides, that spank helped you regain your focus, now didn’t it?”

  “I was focused!”

  “You were giggling.”

  He changed angles and began driving up into her, hard and deliberate. A guttural groan emanated from her lips, a sound she’d never made before, carnal in nature, but these slower thrusts were different. They were forceful but measured and caused his hardness to drag against the front of her channel each time, awakening an intense new sensation. The quickening started inside her again, building rapidly and more powerful than before, it seemed.

  “What was funny, baby?”

  “Making love—” she groaned, as he nudged that newfound place, which sent waves of pressure and delight through her center.

  “Making love is funny? Not from where I stand.”

  His hands slid down her thighs squeezing and his thumbs came to rest on her mound where he held her open for him. Glittering eyes followed his hands and he watched their joining. Imagining the sight she made, legs over her head and spread before him, she was utterly exposed, which made her feel oh so wicked. He began rocking hard up into her, the force stealing her breath so that she grunted with each plunge of his hard length inside her.

  “How is it funny?” His persistent questions made her want to scream; how could he think, let alone speak at a time like this?

  “I wasn’t—it was—Boston,” she groaned louder and threw out her hands as he surged deeper. She connected with his thigh, her fingers curling as her nails sank into his skin.

  He pulled out again and another slap landed, this time on her other cheek. She cried out, wild with need upon his return plunge.

  “Focus, baby, you’re not making sense. What about Boston?”

  “You boring,” she gasped. “That’s what was funny.”

  He snorted—half laugh and an exclamation of surprise—it was an exhalation of air, really, and his voice was full of amusement when he spoke a moment later, letting her off the hook. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it seems like I’ve finally done it. I’ve loved you ‘til you’re senseless. We’ll sort it out in a bit.”

  She cried out as his next thrust came into her faster, his hands at her hips steadying her and keeping her from sliding as each powerful thrust pushed her backward. She barely registered his words as she shattered again, his growl of release telling her he’d found his own bliss as well.

  A moment later, he lifted her gently and lowered her to the thick mat where they lay side by side, spent and panting for breath. Em lifted a hand to rub at his thigh. “I’m sorry for my nails.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, baby. I barely noticed a little pain in the heat of the moment. Speaking of which, you liked when I spanked you, didn’t you?”

  Her mouth fell open, speechless. How could she admit to such a thing?

  “It okay, baby, I could tell. You got really wet.”

  Her hands flew to her face, covering it out of mortification.

  “Sweetheart, it’s not unusual to like a little bite of pain with your passion. And if a few spanks are the price for such passion, then I’ll gladly pay—even ten times over.”

  She moved a hand to her backside, rubbing. Is that why she didn’t mind his spankings? Possibly, the pain was overshadowed by the passion. That odd logic required more thought, but sometime later when her mind was less muddled and hazy from Clint.

  “Em, what was all that about me being boring in Boston?”

  Managing to drag her face from where it was buried in his neck, she cupped his beard-roughened cheek. The black stubble gave him a rugged appearance combined with his tousled black overly long hair; he appeared a little
wild to boot. She brushed the wavy strands off his forehead and finger combed it back from his face, smiling as he closed his eyes and relaxed into her touch.

  “It was simply an errant thought. I wondered if our lovemaking in Boston would be boring and routine once we no longer had all the excitement of our Wild West adventure. I quickly realized that boring and routine are not words that would ever be used to describe you. That’s what I thought was funny.”

  “Hm, I’ll have to make sure I meet your high expectations and keep the level of excitement and adventure up when we get home. Although, making love to you in my bed for once, sounds beyond wonderful. But I wouldn’t want you to be bored, or for us to become mundane. So, we can get creative.”

  He opened his eyes, which gleamed with mischief, and Emmalee knew she was in trouble.

  “After we thoroughly explore my bed, I think I’ll start by having you over the balustrade in the foyer, your breasts and hair hanging free as I take you from behind. Surely that’s not routine. And on my desk in my office, naked as the day you were born while I lick the honey from between your thighs, that wouldn’t be dull I should think. Oh, and before the full length mirror in my dressing room, like we did at the hotel. Or would that be too repetitive, to revisit the same scenario or position so soon? Hm… I’ll need to give this more thought and maybe make some notes. The possibilities are endless.”

  The whole time he had spoken, flames burned Emmalee’s cheeks, but not because of his improper words or unseemly descriptions, no, more so due to her wicked mind conjuring up stunning images of every abandoned scene in spectacular vibrant color. Her body’s response was a wave of heat shooting straight between her thighs, even though they had finished not too many minutes ago. Already she wanted him again, wanted to do all of those naughty things with him, especially the part on his desk. My, oh my! She had no idea she could be so very naughty.

  “I concede, dear husband. Never will the words boring or routine ever cross my mind when it comes to you, I promise. Nor will I think of you as humdrum, dull, tedious or dreary. You are all that is exciting, stirring and stimulating.”

  “Hm, stimulating... I like that one. What else? My pride has been bruised by being labeled as boring. I need more stirring words from you to soothe away the sting.” He nipped at one upturned breast. Laving away the sting, he put actions to words as he spoke. Without pause, he then began licking over the slope of her breast, over her collar and into the hollow at her throat.

  “Thrilling, arousing and amazing come to mind.” Emmalee loved this playful side of him. Although with his lips and tongue constantly teasing her skin, it was difficult to think. “Or there is lively… or breathtaking and rousing.”

  “You already said rousing,” he said, between kisses along her neck and shoulder.

  “No, I said arousing, there is a subtle difference, believe me.”

  Her words were breathy and barely audible, which caused him to lift his head for a glance. He grinned down at her just as his hand slipped between her thighs where she was still swollen and achingly sensitive. He stroked her gently, reigniting the fire.

  “Ah, arousing, now I see the difference. I stand corrected.”

  How she maintained the ability to speak with his fingers working their magic was inexplicable, but she managed somehow. “That is quite alright.”

  “No, I think I need to apologize much more thoroughly.”

  Rising to his feet in a fluid motion, he scooped her up and carried her briskly to the desk in the main bedroom. He laid her out exactly as he’d said earlier, as naked as the day she was born.

  “I saw your eyes gleam when I mentioned my desk at home. Let me give you a foretaste.” At his inadvertent jest, he chuckled. “No pun intended.”

  He then delighted in licking the honey from between her spread thighs as he’d promised. When she’d found her pleasure, he’d stood her up and taken her from behind, except this time with her front pressed to the full length mirror on the wall. When he had wrung every ounce of energy from her body and she was left weak-kneed and utterly sated, he’d carried her to bed and joined her.

  Before she fell asleep in his arms, in a satiated state of exhaustion, she murmured, “Will you want to do this once a day at home, honey?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “No?” Even Emmalee heard the disappointment in that one word.

  “No, sometimes we will do it two or three times, four if I’m feeling particularly energetic.”

  “Four! I’ll never survive.”

  He laughed. “Of course you will, baby, but we’ll have to work on your stamina and endurance. It’s like training for a race. You’ve got to keep pushing yourself.”

  He made her sound like a horse, but she was too worn out to protest. She did, however, groan at the thought of doing this four times in a day. He had to be joking.

  “I’ve thought of some new words.”

  “Yeah? Give them to me.”

  “Voracious, ravenous, and insatiable,” she breathed, huffing a little laugh. It was all she could muster since he robbed her of strength.

  “Ah, yes, good words all. Now it’s my turn: temptation, desire and undying love and adoration.”

  “Mm, I like your words better than anything. I love you, Clint.”

  “I love you, too, baby. Now sleep.”

  No more words for that were required, so she closed her eyes and did just that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clint stood patiently by the window, looking out at the bustling town below while Emmalee put on her new hat. They had arrived in Denver at mid-day on Sunday, after an uneventful and surprisingly short ride from Cheyenne. The track around the eastern ridge of the mountains treated them to spectacular views of the Rockies in the distance as they made their hundred-mile trek south, across the rolling high plains toward Denver. Upon arrival, they were greeted by a long row of cabs with horses standing at the ready, waiting to carry the new arrivals anywhere in the city. Clint handed Emmalee into their hired cab and gave the driver the direction of the attorney’s office where the meeting would be held the next day. Afterward, their driver had taken them to a local hotel on Willow Street two blocks up, well within walking distance, the cabbie explained.

  “During the day, you and the missus should have nary a problem with the scallywags in town. Their day doesn’t start until nigh onto supper.”

  They translated that to mean the rough crowd and criminal element didn’t come out until the evening. Clint had tipped him generously, and he’d left them in front of the newly built Ford Hotel before going off in search of his next fare.

  The four-story, white-washed, wood-sided building was clean and comfortable, but a far cry from the luxury they had enjoyed in Cheyenne and Council Bluffs. There was no elevator, so they climbed the stairs to their second-floor room, a porter toting their bags up behind them. The room was of modest size but contained a wide comfortable bed, two chairs, a table by the unused fireplace and an armoire for their belongings. The communal bathroom and water closet were a disappointment and situated at the far end of the hall.

  After the porter left with tip in hand, Emmalee had said with relief, “Thank mercy we aren’t reduced to an outhouse.” She walked to the bed and pushed on the mattress with both hands. Evidently, finding it lacking, she stood with a weary sigh. “I’m really beginning to miss the comforts of home.”

  “Road weary are you? I have to confess I’m going to miss that tub from Cheyenne,” Clint said as he gave her a hug from behind.

  “And the steam elevator. Good thing we’re not on the fourth floor. I think we’re spoiled.”

  He kissed her neck above her ruffled collar and murmured, “Wealth does have its privileges.”

  “Indeed. Speaking of wealth, what do you suppose John Hastings has bequeathed you in his will?”

  “I really don’t care. I’m just curious about the other men.”

  “I know, but I was thinking… We don’t need it, so if there
is money, you should give it to Delia.”

  He straightened in surprise. He’d thought to turn it down out of hand, but Emmalee had a splendid idea. As she glanced up at him over her shoulder, he grinned at her selfless generosity and gave her a resounding smack on the lips.

  “I take it you agree?” she asked with a smile.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Do you think she’ll accept a monetary award, Clint? She seemed to want nothing to do with your fath—” She stopped abruptly, clearing her throat before correcting herself. “She doesn’t want anything to do with John Hastings.”

  Her little slip and correction was noted and appreciated by Clint. As far as he was concerned, the man had contributed his seed to the conception, nothing more. To call him his father was an insult to Jerome Ryan, the man who had raised him.

  “Your idea is a generous one, Em, and from the sound of things, Delia could use the money. Her fiancé, with his new shop only just opening in Omaha, could benefit from the money or the sale of any property from this bequest. Still, I too worry about her pride.”

  “What about an anonymous gift?” Emmalee had suggested.

  “I’m sure she would see straight through a mysterious gift arriving shortly after her brother attends the reading of John Hastings’ will. I will talk to Mr. St. James after the meeting tomorrow and see what he recommends. Maybe we could put it in trust for their future children. If it’s for them, such a gift might be hard to turn down.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea.”

  With a kiss to his cheek, she moved away to begin unpacking their bags. He observed her pensively as she shook and hung up or re-folded their few clothes. His new bride was as generous as she was beautiful. He wondered with all seriousness how that had come about. Emmalee had lost her mother from a fever at a young age. Edward Gray, a well-to-do banker, had since remarried twice. Although Clint never met her, he’d been told his second wife was a beauty, but also an overindulged, willful young woman. Demanding to enjoy her new life of wealth and privilege while she was still young, she’d put off starting a family for a few years. When she had eventually conceived, she had a troubled pregnancy and died during childbirth. The child, a son, had come too early and died a few days after his mother. His latest wife, who was also young, only a year or two older than Emmalee, was also spoiled and, according to Em, jealous and spiteful. With these subpar exemplars of womanhood as role models, he marveled that she had turned out so well-adjusted.