by Zoe Blake
Standing so close, she could feel the edge of the brass buttons from his uniform press along her back. Michaela shivered from the contact. His towering presence surrounded her like a force of nature.
Keeping one restraining hand on her lower back, Brice ushered Michaela past the warm-hearted older woman into the cabin. With a tip of his hat, he said, “Much obliged for your help this afternoon, Mrs. Hastings. Please send Captain Hastings my thanks.”
“It was nothing at all, Major. Mrs. Toppins came round to set the cabin to rights. There is some cornbread and a roasted chicken with parsnips waiting for you.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Hastings and her husband would like to join us for dinner?” offered Michaela. The prospect of once again being alone in the cabin with the enigmatic major both thrilled and scared her.
“Another time, Michaela. I am sure Mrs. Hastings’ has her own home to attend to,” responded Brice, his gaze shuttered.
“Oh, dear! That is sweet of you, but Major Brice is correct. Another time.” The woman toddled off with a brief wave over her shoulder.
Michaela stood and watched her leave.
“Enter the cabin, Michaela.” His voice was dark and low, filled with even darker promise.
She risked a glimpse over her shoulder. His blue eyes had darkened to almost black in the fast approaching dusk. The harsh angles of his jaw rigid and set. His shoulders pulled back emphasizing the broad expanse of his chest. This was not a man to cross… again.
With a resigned sigh, she stepped over the threshold. As with the night before, they were greeted by a warm fire and the scents of roasted meat and spices.
A quick step brought her to the fireplace. Stretching her thin arms out, she tried to warm her shaking hands.
Behind her there was the sound of the planked door closing with a resounding thud, followed by the scraping sound of a heavy, wooden beam being lowered into its brass brackets on either side of the door frame.
She was effectively locked in.
They were effectively locked in.
The sound of his booted footfalls echoed off the bare wood plank walls as he crossed to her.
Michaela held her breath. The silence stretched. Feeling him behind her, she refused to turn around, keeping her steady gaze on the licking orange and red flames. Giving a start from the feel of his large hands settling heavily on her hips, Michaela bit her lower lip to keep from crying out further. She didn’t want to let on how affected she was by his touch.
Forcing her body to remain still, a small whimper escaped her lips when his palms caressed her sides as they moved to encircle her from behind. She felt a tug, then heard a metallic click.
He was unbuckling her gun belt!
She jerked backwards, but the movement only brought her lower back in contact with the feel of his hard shaft as it pressed through the heavy wool of his uniform. Unwarranted, her nipples peaked, the tight nubs rubbing against the restrictive press of her cotton corset.
“Shhh… steady, little one. You won’t be needing this tonight,” he murmured close to her ear.
Michaela felt bereft… vulnerable… without the comforting weight of the belt and its Colt.
Wrapping the heavy, leather strap around the Colt and holster, his arm stretched over her shoulder, his body leaning in, to place it on the mantle. The movement forcing her to shift forward slightly, closer to the fire. The heat from the flame washed over her. Still it did not compare to the heat radiating from his tall form.
Running the back of his knuckles down the soft, exposed column of her neck, he spoke. His voice a seductive purr. “You know what is about to happen.”
It wasn’t a question.
Michaela swallowed. Licking her dry lips, she murmured, “What if I say no?”
“I won’t listen.”
Startled by his straightforward tone, she turned, raising worried eyes to his own determined ones.
Sliding the tip of his finger along the plump flesh of her lower lip, he continued, almost absentmindedly as he focused on her mouth. “Never have I seen a woman more in need of a man to take her in hand. I intend to be that man, Michaela. Tonight, I claim what is mine. Any protest will only spur me on.”
His possessive tone sent a shiver of awareness down her spine as much as it rankled her independent nature.
“It would be by force,” she warned through clenched teeth.
Wrapping his large hand behind her slim neck, Brice pulled her body forward, crushing her breasts against his chest, throwing her head back. Leaning in close, his lips barely brushing her own, he ground out. “So be it.”
Running his hand over her collar bone and down her arm, his long fingers wrapped around her small wrist. Pivoting, he propelled her forward… toward the bedroom.
Michaela twisted her arm and tried to shift her body while dragging her feet. Nothing would break his vise-like grip. Slinging a string of colorful curses at his back, she tried in vain to claw at his fingers, to pound her fists on his back, to pull on the heavy wool of his coat. Nothing deterred his steady march.
A primal need to master merged with his rigid military training. He would conquer her. They both knew her resistance to him was pure spite and stubbornness. She fought any emotion toward him just as she fought the world. Her thirst for revenge had blinded her to everything, cutting her off as effectively as if she stood behind a solid wall. Well, if he had learned anything during his time with the cavalry, it was how to breach a strong defense, Brice thought with a grim smirk.
Once they were in the bedroom, Brice swung her around till the back of her knees collided with the feather-tick mattress on the bed.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered as he began to remove his own gun belt.
“You’re crazy!” she charged.
“Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”
“I’ll scream,” she threatened as her eyes darted fitfully around the small room, looking for another way out or a weapon.
“Go ahead. No man would dare breach this cabin,” he responded arrogantly.
Brice took a step forward. Michaela leaned her elbows back on the mattress as she shifted her hips forward. Lifting her right leg, she viciously kicked out at him.
He easily captured her booted foot by the heel. “Good idea. Let’s start with your boots,” he quipped as he pulled the riding boot off her calf.
Letting out a shriek of outrage, she tried to dislodge his grip by kicking out with her other leg.
Tossing her boot aside, he captured her left foot just as effortlessly. Sliding her boot off, he tossed it aside.
The moment he released his grip, Michaela scrambled backwards. Flipping over, her feet landing on the opposite side of the bed. Her short, honey-brown hair bounced about her ears in waves and curls framing her pinkened cheeks and large, bright eyes. She glowed with anger… and excitement. The thrill of the chase pounded in her veins. Whether she liked it or not, he affected her.
Brice inhaled deeply through his nostrils. A beast scenting its prey. Pulling on the brass buttons of his uniform coat, he yanked it off his shoulders. The thin, white linen shirt swiftly following.
Michaela bit her lip as the tanned expanse of his magnificent chest was exposed. The corded muscles in his neck flexed as the ridges of his flat abdomen shifted with his every move. Her gaze shifted lower. The unmistakable outline of his member pressed against his wool trousers as it rested along his right thigh. Thick, engorged… threatening. Everything about him screamed arrogant confidence. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, even if he had to take it by force. Hell, taking things by force was what he had been trained to do his whole life!
Brice stilled under her feminine inspection. He wanted her to look her fill. Gloried in it. It was only fair the little minx knew what she was up against. For all her bravado and skill with a gun, she was no match for his sheer size and power.
Gripping the soft, worn fabric of the quilt covering the bed, Michaela tried to quell the shaking in her hands. Inhaling a trem
bling breath to steady herself, she said, “I’ll not let you punish me… or… or…t-t-take me!”
It was an empty threat and they both knew it.
Retrieving the yellow silk waist sash he had used to tie her up the night before, he slowly wrapped its long length around both fists. Just the memory of having to lie next to her warm body all night without touching her brought a low, rumbling growl from deep within his chest. All night he’d struggled with his conscience and his hard cock. Images of spreading those soft thighs wide as he pounded into her tight passage had tortured him till the early dawn. It was not his sense of duty nor his honor as a gentleman which had kept him at bay, but rather her weakened state. However, her little jaunt into town had proven she was fully rested and recovered. He would no longer fight the need to restrain and control both her body and mind.
“You’re mine, Michaela. To do with as I please. This punishment is long overdue.”
“I am not yours! I am no man’s,” she desperately shouted back as her small fists pounded the bed mattress.
His vision clouded with red at her impassioned words. The more she fought his dominance, the more she denied him—denied them—the stronger his need became to bind her to him through submission.
“Enough!” he snarled as he advanced on her.
With a startled scream, Michaela crawled back up on the bed trying to scurry to the other side.
She was not quick enough.
Brice grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back, dragging her across the quilt. Her skirts rode high on her hips as they bunched underneath her body. Grasping her ankles to stop her feverish kicks, he spread her legs wide and wedged his narrow hips between. The contact of his wool covered shaft with her most intimate place stilled her struggles.
Drawing in several ragged breaths, she tried to tamp down the illicit thrill that shot through her body the moment his slammed against her soft flesh. Dear God! The sight of his powerful form towering over her as his cock pressed against her thigh was positively scandalous.
His dark eyes blazed with determination. “Stop fighting this.”
“Never.”
Raising her torso up, she tried to pummel him with her fists.
Using the yellow sash still stretched between his own fists, Brice captured her flailing hands and swiftly secured them. He then used her tied hands to drag her off the bed. Stretching her arms up high, he tied the thin sash around the upper post of the bed. Never before had he been so happy the previous commander’s wife had left such an impractical, heavy, four-poster bed behind when her husband moved on to another position. It would serve his purpose nicely.
Michaela twisted and turned, pulling on her wrists, but each movement only seemed to tighten the silken knot.
Brice reached down and pulled out the small Bowie knife he kept hidden in his boot.
Michaela’s violet eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Watch me.”
“This isn’t even my dress! You would ruin a borrowed dress?” she exclaimed in a pitiful attempt to stay his hand.
“Yes.”
Before she could utter another word of protest, she could feel the point of the knife at her collar as it pressed through the thin fabric of the calico dress, cutting a small tear. She could feel the press of his knuckles as he fisted the worn material and roughly pulled it apart, tearing straight down to the hem. The awful wrenching sound of the fabric giving way sliced through the room. The dress hung limply from her shoulders, sagging in the front, exposing the top of her breasts as well as her entire back. Her corset was a simple cotton one with no whalebone or rigid stays. Although it fastened in the front with eye-hooks, Brice decided to make swift work of it with his knife from behind.
All protest died in her throat when she felt the cool press of metal against the vulnerable skin of her back. Inhaling sharply, she stilled… and waited. The knife did no more than press into her skin, never leaving a mark. The sharp blade sliced through the spun cotton. The corset fell uselessly to her feet. The ribboned waist of her petticoat swiftly followed. Only the thin, white linen of her bloomers saved her modesty. Brice did not even pause, slicing the pantalets to ribbons as he cut them off her body.
Taking a step back, he admired his handiwork. Her entire back, buttocks and shapely legs were exposed to his gaze.
As he had done with her belt spanking earlier, he reveled in the soft, rounded curve of her pert bottom. The elegant expanse of creamy white skin of her back. Her beautiful legs, shaped from hours of horseback riding, so trim and coltish.
Pivoting, he moved across the room to a large chest. Opening the heavy lid, he extracted a long metal object from its dark depths. Michaela jumped at the sound of the lid slamming closed. Twisting round, she tried to see what he held. Letting out a shocked gasp, she renewed her struggles.
“You’re going to kill me! You coward! Unleash my hands! Make it a fair fight!” she called out.
Pressing his tall form along her naked back, Brice reached one strong arm around and clasped her about the throat. Pressing the tips of his fingers into her soft flesh, he whispered huskily into her ear. “Trust me, the very last thing I am going to do to you is kill you, little one. Unless you count the little death,” he said with a dark chuckle.
Grasping the thick brass handle with his right hand, he gripped the steel scabbard with his left and unsheathed over forty inches of cold, polished steel. The filigree etchings along its length still visible in the candlelight as Brice turned it to and fro, testing its weight in his hand. Like many officers in the cavalry, he preferred to carry a Henry rifle with him as opposed to the saber since hand to hand skirmishes were rare, even with the Apache. A gun was far more useful. He still kept the sword polished and ready for more ceremonial purposes… and now for his little rebel’s punishment. There would be no real danger of cutting her. He no longer sharpened the blade.
“Since the warm leather of my belt did nothing to deter your wild ways, perhaps the cold kiss of my sword will make an impression.” His voice was rough with suppressed angry desire.
“You cannot think to beat me with a sword!” she exclaimed. “You’re mad!”
Her words gave him pause. Perhaps he was mad. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he had been a man possessed. There was one, sole driving need that seemed to pound a cadence in his chest… conquer, control, own. This primitive need to master her. It was for her own protection, but he knew his motives were not completely altruistic. The need to hold her down and sink his cock deep into her body, to claim her, was as strong as the need to breathe.
“You’re going to want to keep very still,” he warned softly.
“Please. Don’t!” she choked out as if the effort to beg for leniency caught in her throat.
With animal grace, he circled around to face her. Grasping her chin, he forced her to meet his intense, dark gaze. “Relinquish this foolish quest for revenge that will surely result in your death. Swear to obey me in this and I will release you.”
Her eyelids fluttered. For one brief moment, Brice thought he saw capitulation flit across her expressive amethyst eyes. Then her gaze hardened as her lips thinned. “No,” she whispered roughly.
“Very well.”
Brice took a step back. Gripping the brass handle firmly with his right hand, he pulled his arm back. Aiming for the soft, full part of her bottom, he whipped his wrist forward. The cold steel struck low across each cheek. Unlike the belt which molded to her curves, the rigid steel was unrelenting. The flat of the blade pressed into her flesh with biting precision. A slash of bright red instantly marred her pale skin.
Michaela howled in pain as she went up on her toes in a futile attempt to escape the bite of the blade. Although the blade was narrow, it felt as if her entire bottom was on fire with little pinpricks and stings.
Brice repeated the gesture, careful not to land on the same spot. The blade sliced through the air with a whoosh before making contact. The resounding slap as metal kis
sed skin rent the air, followed quickly by Michaela’s scream of pain.
“Stop! It hurts! Oh God! Stop!”
Aiming for the fair skin of her upper thighs, Brice ruthlessly slapped the flat of the blade against her flesh. Again. And again.
At first the blade felt cool, but as it continued to torture and bruise her vulnerable body, it warmed. The heat of the metal matched the hot heat radiating off her punished skin. The stinging agony came in rushing waves. The moment one crested, another built. Her body seemed to pulse with feverish misery. She could focus on nothing but the pain. Yet, with the pain, came clarity. It was as if for the first time since the death of her father and brother, her mind was focused on something other than the unrelenting cry for revenge. She fought the euphoria the pain promised.
“I hate you,” she seethed with anger and humiliation.
“Say it again,” he commanded as the blade landed on her sit spot.
“I hate you!” she cried out.
“Again!” he shouted.
Her bottom was now a bright pink with slashes of red from where the blade struck particularly hard. He watched as her cheeks would clench, anticipating the kiss of the sword, only to relent when she realized clenching only increased the pulsing pain. It was that moment of release when he would strike with the blade, watching as her cheeks bounced and trembled with each spank. A bright sheen of sweat glistened on her smooth back. He could tell she was nearing her breaking point.
When she didn’t respond to his last request, he shouted again. The dark, rich tenor of his voice reverberating around the room. “Michaela, who do you hate?”
“You!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No,” he snarled, slapping her bottom with the blade once more. “Who are you really angry with?”
Michaela sobbed. Years of hatred and anger and resentment welled up in her breast, clamoring for release. “My father! Damn him for getting killed! And damn Brandon for going off to war when I needed him! Damn him for dying! Damn them both for leaving me!”
Brice held his arm back as her whole body sagged against her binds. The saber clattered to the floor as his strong arms reached around her waist. Pulling her up, he released the silk sash. Turning her around, he wrapped her in his embrace. Pressing her tear-stained cheek to his naked chest, he stroked her hair and whispered nothing platitudes close to her ear as she cried.
