The Officer's Little Rebel

by Ava Sinclair

  Royce grabbed the drunken man by the back of his collar, slinging him across the room before he could penetrate Imogen. The force of William’s slamming against the wall caused a framed picture of a horse to come crashing down on his head.

  The impact seemed to bring Royce’s brother to his senses. With remarkable agility, he jumped to his feet and rushed headlong at Royce, tackling him around the middle. Both men fell to the floor and Royce was surprised at the strength William’s hatred gave him. He could feel broad hands around his neck, choking him, and it took all his effort to bring his knee sharply into the inside of William’s thigh, momentarily unbalancing him. Royce took the advantage, throwing his attacker off, but William rolled across the floor to where his saddle hung on the chair. On the floor underneath was a holster, and William grabbed it now to wrest the gun from within. William was just climbing to his feet when Royce heard his brother scream. To his surprise, Imogen was between them, and William’s hand was covering his face where she’d thrown hot wax from a table candle into his eyes.

  “Little whore!” William hit her then, the impact of a solid backhand sending Imogen sprawling into Royce, who caught her and tossed her to the safety of the bed before launching himself at his brother. Imogen screamed again as they wrestled for the gun, which William had not had time to load. But he was reaching for his boot and Royce knew enough of combat to know what was hidden there. He grabbed his brother from behind and held him by the neck as he reached down and snatched the knife away before William could. With his brother immobilized, Royce put the blade to William’s throat.

  William, his face red from the burning wax, his nose and mouth bleeding, looked back at his brother.

  “What are you waiting for, little brother? I’m nothing to you. Go on. Do it.”

  Royce pressed the knife against the soft, pulsing hollow above William’s collarbone. He deserved to die for all that he’d done, for all he was planning to do. But a voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Major Kingsley, don’t!”

  Imogen had left the bed and was walking over. Her face was bruised where William had hit her. Royce pressed the knife into William’s skin. A bead of blood appeared on the blade.

  “Don’t!” she repeated.

  “I have to.” Royce was looking down at his brother.

  “Yes, you do,” William said. “Because if you don’t, I will kill you. I will kill you and her. It was my plan, you know, to see you die and then see her die, to stamp out you and everything you love for what you’ve made of my life.”

  “No,” Imogen said. “Don’t listen to him. It’s what he wants. He wants to die, don’t you see? If he can’t kill you, he wants his blood on your conscience. Don’t do it!”

  Royce looked up at her, but did not move his hand.

  “What then, Imogen? Show him a kindness? Let him go? Oh, would that I could. But I’d rather carry the guilt of another death all my life than have him threaten you another minute.”

  “He won’t,” she said. “Give him to the constable.” She paused. “He’s had Mr. Sutton killed. He told me.”

  “Little bitch!” William’s eyes were wild with anger. “She lies. Kill me!”

  “Papa, don’t!”

  The room was suddenly silent. Then as the door opened and the innkeeper and his wife rushed in, Royce knew it was over. That one word—papa—had broken the spell of rage long enough for him to realize the wisdom of her words. He dropped the knife, picked up the nearby pistol, and used the butt to knock William unconscious before binding his hands.

  “Thank you, my sweet Imogen,” Royce said, and then rose to turn to the proprietors of the inn. “Fear not,” he said. “I will pay you triple-fold for any damages. But first I need you to fetch the constable. This man here is guilty of murder and kidnapping.”

  The pair scurried away, leaving the trio alone once again. Royce could see that Imogen was no longer afraid; she knew he’d not let his brother go until the danger was abated. She felt safe with him, even now.

  Chapter Twelve: The Officer’s Little Wife

  The wedding was delayed a fortnight by mutual agreement. Imogen arrived home with her face so swollen and bruised that Nanny Quinn sobbed openly upon seeing it.

  Imogen never believed anyone could make such a fuss as the staff in the wake of her return. She was gently bathed and put abed, and not allowed to do a thing for herself. Even her meals were brought to her.

  But the attention of the staff was nothing compared to the solicitousness of Major Kingsley, who delegated the running of his estate entirely to a secretary while he doted on his betrothed.

  There were daily gifts—sweets, dolls, stuffed animals, books, clothing.

  “It looks like a village shop in here,” she observed to Miss Quinn the day before her wedding. “I love how kind he is, but can’t you make him stop? I feel almost guilty, getting so much.”

  “Let him fuss,” the nanny said. “He’s so very happy to have you home, and safe.” She paused. “And so very proud of you. You were very brave, Imogen.”

  “I did no more than he would have,” she said. “I never thought I would have a papa, let alone one who would also be my husband. I would have died for him.”

  “Yes, and it would have killed him if you had,” Nanny Quinn said. “But let’s not even think on that. You are here and so is he. And William… well…”

  The mood grew solemn.

  “Will they really hang him?” Imogen asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “What he did to you was bad enough. But what he had done to Mr. Sutton… your tutor may have been an opportunistic fellow, but he deserved better than a rock tied about his neck dragging him to a watery grave.” Nanny Quinn made the sign of the cross on her chest.

  “Do you think papa understands now, that everyone can’t be saved?”

  “I believe he does,” the nanny said. “I believe in the case of William, he has learned to let go. And to focus on you.”

  Imogen smiled.

  “I love him so,” she said.

  “And he loves you.” Nanny Quinn stood. “And here he is, the man himself.”

  Major Kingsley smiled as he came into the room. He was carrying a small box that played a pretty tune when he opened the lid.

  “I’ll see to Imogen this evening, Miss Quinn,” he said, and Imogen bid her minder a fond farewell as she left, smiling as she watched her go.

  “She reminds me more and more of my mother,” Imogen sighed, and then took his hand. “You’ve given me so much, you know. Love, a home, a family. And to think I didn’t want it.”

  “Sometimes we don’t know our heart is empty until it is filled,” he said, and pulled her onto his lap. “I’ve filled your heart, and you’ve filled mine. And come tomorrow, we’ll be man and wife. And I will claim you by taking your last virginity.”

  She blushed, looking down. “Papa,” she said. “Would you think me terribly greedy if I asked you for something?”

  He looked around the room. “Something else? Did I forget something, my darling?”

  “Oh, it’s not a thing I want. It’s a feeling.” She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. “Take me now, papa. Please. Don’t make your little girl wait.”

  She could feel the effect her words were having as underneath her bottom, Royce’s cock stiffened and nudged.

  “It’s one more day,” he said, but she could hear the weakness in his voice.

  “Please?” she asked. “We are already wed in our hearts. I’ve already given myself to you.” She breathed softly into his ear. “Please,” she said again. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

  That was all she needed to say. Royce’s mouth found hers, and Imogen’s heart soared as he kissed her with commanding passion. His hand slid under her gown and between her legs, and she parted her thighs to give him access to a pussy already slick with desire.

  He groaned as he slid first one and then two fingers inside her, pumping slowly i
n and out as she moved up and down in time to his ministrations. She was eager for his mouth, his hands, and pulled her gown over her head, sweetly offering her freshly bared breasts for him to suckle upon.

  Imogen cried out as he took first one peak, and then the other in his mouth, laving each nipple with his tongue before administering little sucking bites that sent waves of pained pleasure to the hungry core still being plumbed by his skilled fingers.

  “Papa…”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Will you…” She flushed, unable to continue.

  “Will I what?”

  “Will you… spank me?”

  “Oh, my. This is unexpected,” he chuckled. “You’ve been such a good girl, that if I spank you, it will have to be a good girl spanking.”

  “What is that?”

  Imogen quickly realized that rather than tell her, he planned to show her. Royce put her over his lap, his hand roaming over her bottom. Then he began to spank her, alternating the swats with rubs and light kneading to her bottom. Imogen could feel her pussy clenching as the swats became harder and the light sting became a burn. She closed her eyes, thinking of the times he’d spanked her for correction, and felt her excitement growing. He was the dominant force in her life, and she—despite her strengths—was choosing to give him her ultimate submission. Her own feelings of vulnerability in the face of his dominance excited her all the more. She felt her orgasm crest and then break, the waves of pleasure washing over her.

  Now he took his fingers, slick from her copious arousal, and slid his finger between her bottom cheeks to begin massaging the outer rim of her dusky rosebud. He teased her there, testing her, and when she could barely take it, he moved her from over his lap to over the edge of the bed and put his face between her nates, stabbing her posy with his tongue until he’d breached it with the tip. Imogen saw stars as he continued to run the tip of his tongue around her bottom hole, his fingers still playing with her pussy as he dragged more and more of her cream up to coat and lubricate her back passage.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, for during her recovery, she’d secretly put in the trainers in anticipation of this moment. “Please put your cock in my bottom.”

  She did not have to ask him again. He was nudging her little rosette with the head of his large cock, pressing, testing. She looked back at him, her expression a mixture of apprehension and need. Imogen wanted this, wanted the pleasure, the pain, to show the submission it would require to take all of him into her bottom.

  He pressed forward. She pressed back, relaxing her bottom against the sting of his initial entry. She felt a burn as the muscles of her virgin portal stretched to allow him to push in by degrees. He reached under her, his finger pinching and stroking the sensitive bud at the top of her slit. She pushed back involuntarily, and felt a wave of pleasure-pain as he slid in deeper. Soon, Imogen was moving with him, her body absorbing a collision of sensations—the stinging of her back entrance as it adjusted to the girth, the pleasure of his fingers on her clit, the excitement of his using her in this way. She could tell Royce was excited, too; he told her over and over how good her bottom felt to his cock, how he would take her in this manner whenever he wanted, how he would decide when and where to fuck her because she was his, only his.

  “Oh, only yours,” she said, pushing back, and he groaned and began to move steadily.

  “Oh, oh!” She’d not expected her orgasm to be so powerful, and had not expected him to reach his pleasure at the same time. It felt so perfect, her pussy clenching, the fullness in her bottom, his cock spurting into her. It was as if time had stopped and made them one body.

  After several long moments, he withdrew, but when she tried to stand, he told he her to stay where she was.

  “I want to watch your little rosebud close back up,” he said. “I want to watch it weep with my cream until it does. Do you know how beautiful you are, my little one-time rebel?”

  “Your love made me beautiful,” she said. “My world was so gray before you. Now it’s alive and sparkly and perfect.” He reached down and stroked her hair. “Tomorrow, it will be more perfect,” he replied. “We’ll be man and wife, and every day will be like today. I promise.”

  Imogen smiled, believing in him completely. Major Kingsley, her papa, her husband, would always be a man of his word.

  The End

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  More Stormy Night Books by Ava Sinclair

  The Marshal’s Little Girl

  When a young woman calling herself Wilhelmina James shows up at his town’s horse auction unescorted with a lot of sass and a lot of cash, Gage Chandler instantly gets a bad feeling about her. He’s about to blow the small town of Red Horse Gulch to join the US Marshal’s office, and this mysterious visitor is a headache he doesn’t need. After he agrees to check out the pretty blonde stranger to appease a local rancher left angry at being outbid, what Gage finds out about Wilhelmina quickly confirms that she is up to no good. But when she gives him the slip and goes on the run it changes both of their lives forever.

  Once he catches up with the little firebrand, it isn’t long before she is over his knee for a hard spanking. As the sexual tension between marshal and outlaw reaches a fever pitch, Gage finds that Wilhelmina’s deep need for submission meshes with his own buried desire to completely dominate a woman, and soon enough he has taken her as much more than just his prisoner.

  But Gage soon learns that his captive has a secret. Wilhelmina doesn’t just want to be his woman; she wants to be his little girl. She needs his love, his care, and his firm hand applied to her bare bottom when she is naughty. Though Gage is ready to oblige, the west is a harsh and dangerous place for a woman, even with a hardened lawman like him by her side. Can he keep Wilhelmina safe, or will the shadow of her past prove impossible to escape?

  The Highlander’s Little Lass

  As the daughter of a powerful highland laird, Glynis McLeod should have made a fine wife for any Scotsman. Having been deprived of discipline by her mother’s untimely passing, however, Glynis grew up wild and unchecked. As a lass of twenty, she has precious little respect for any man, let alone a husband her father might choose for her.

  But even a doting father must obey his king, and when the king demands a marriage to ensure lasting peace between rival clans, Glynis finds herself the very reluctant bride of Bran McKinnon. Known as Bran the Bull—both for his size and his fearsome sexual appetites—he is a man accustomed to being obeyed, a fact which is quickly impressed upon Glynis when her lack of decorum earns her a bare-bottom spanking from her future husband in the great hall of her father’s castle.

  As soon as Bran lays eyes on Glynis, he knows the fiery redhead is exactly what he's been seeking: a woman who needs both the firm hand of a father figure and the dominant lovemaking of a husband. With the help of her childhood nanny, Bran sets about training his feisty highland lass to be the obedient wife he expects. Blushing cheeks and a sore bottom quickly help Glynis become the good little girl her husband desires, but when danger threatens the king's peace, will Bran recognize in time that there's more to his young bride than meets the eye?

  The Doctor’s Little Ward

  After the death of her deeply indebted father, nineteen-year-old Abigail Barrow faces a hard future in the workhouses of nineteenth-century London.
Her only hope lies in a marriage to Dr. Simon Abbott, a man whose life her father once saved while they both served in Her Majesty’s Navy. But with no education and no dowry, she can hardly expect the esteemed doctor to agree to the match, especially when her sharp tongue earns her a trip over his knee for a humiliating bare-bottom spanking during their very first meeting.

  The reserved Dr. Abbott has long avoided marriage, knowing that what he seeks in a wife is not easy to find. Abigail’s response to his firm chastisement convinces him that she is just the woman he needs, but she will require training to be a properly submissive wife, and thus before he makes her his bride he decides to bring her into his home as his ward.

  On her first day in Simon’s home, Abigail finds herself stripped naked, bathed like a child, and then dressed in clothing befitting a little girl. Worse still, her failure to obey her new guardian promptly results in a swift and painful punishment applied to her bare backside. Yet Simon’s strict discipline is accompanied by gentle, loving care, and as the days pass his intimate attentions awaken a powerful need within her. When she lies on the doctor’s exam table, exposed, vulnerable, and blushing crimson, Abigail cannot help aching for him to claim her. But can there be a permanent place for her in Simon’s life as both his wife and his little ward?

  Her Highland Guardian

  As a modern-minded woman in the year 2657, Dr. Mary Malone is less than thrilled with the task of documenting the domestic life of a married couple in the eighteenth-century Scottish Highlands. But though she is appalled by the fact that men in that barely civilized era were known to take it upon themselves to discipline their wives—with a firm hand or a leather strap applied to the bare bottom, no less—she is a historian who takes her duties seriously, even when they involve travelling through time to a bygone age.

  Unfortunately for her, something goes horribly wrong on what was to be her final visit, and Mary is left stranded in the highlands with no way to return home. Worse still, she is no longer merely an invisible, untouchable observer of this world. She is there in the flesh, helpless and alone, and to top it all off, she is accosted and accused of witchcraft almost instantly upon being seen.