by Zoe Blake
Soon her sobs and trembling stopped. Her whole body stilled. Her mouth opened. Her lips pressed against his skin. He could feel the delicate moisture of each slow breath.
He should have known it would be the calm before the storm.
She sank her sharp, little teeth into his flesh.
“Dammit,” Brice roared as he pushed her away while still keeping a strong grip on her upper arms.
Her small fists pounded against his chest. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Why? Why? Why couldn’t you just let me be? Why can’t you just let me leave?”
Brice knew she was angrier at herself than him. Knew she was feeling as if she’d betrayed her family’s memory by deep down no longer wanting to pursue revenge. By finally admitting she felt abandoned by them, no matter the circumstance. He had been right all along. His little feral spitfire really just wanted to be held and protected. She resented her father and brother for not protecting her. They had let her down.
He never would, no matter how much she fought him.
“I’ll never let you go,” he vowed, his expression thunderous.
At her renewed struggles, he lifted her high by the waist and tossed her face down on the bed. Before she could rise, he straddled her hips. The yellow sash was still secured to one wrist. He wrenched both arms behind her back and refastened the sash around her wrists. All the while, Michaela screamed and cursed into the quilt.
Brice gritted his teeth. He could feel her punishment warmed skin through his uniform pants as it pressed against the sensitive underside of his balls, sending a sharp spike of arousal straight to his already painfully aroused cock. Each time she bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge him, he felt the press along his shaft and balls. Brice knew if she had even an inkling that all her struggling was actually giving him more pleasure than pain, she would cease immediately.
“Get off me!” she yelled.
Michaela fought every confusing sensation. The scratchy feel of his wool pants against her sensitive skin. The press of his strong thighs into her sides. The strangely comforting feel of his weight as he held her down. The desire to give in to his strength. To allow him to master and control her. The desire was so strong, her head swam. She didn’t have the presence of mind to understand it. She only knew her body wanted to give in—give in to him—to all that he offered. Her mind wouldn’t let her.
Twisting his torso, Brice reached behind him, his long fingers seeking her secret core, confident he would find her slick and ready. His fingers grazed her mound. Pressing the tips between her lower lips, he found her liquid heat.
“You’re a liar, Michaela. You can shout and curse all you want. Your body wants this. Wants me.”
Her response was muffled by the quilt, but he was sure it was colorful. Holding firmly to the sash that bound her arms, Brice shifted off her hips and moved to kneel on the side of the bed. Pulling her body down, her legs opened around his wide shoulders. She could kick all she wanted. She would hit only air.
He had a beautiful view of her slightly pink cunt and the bright red skin of her punished bottom. Running the pad of his thumb straight up the glistening seam of her pussy, he taunted, “Tell me again how much you hate me, Michaela.”
“I’ll kill you for this.” While her words were heated, they were delivered in a soft, whisper.
“I’d welcome death if it meant I could taste this sweet pussy,” he murmured against her inner thigh.
Michaela shivered as both his words and the press of his mouth set off a storm of conflicting emotions.
Knowing her arms were secured, he released his grip on the sash. Gliding his left hand down her lower back and over her bottom, he rested it on her upper thigh. Placing both open palms against the underside curve of each rounded globe, he used his thumbs to open her lips, exposing her to his view… and tongue.
Michaela choked on a startled gasp the moment she felt the tip of his tongue lap at her most secret of places.
“Stop! You can’t,” she cried.
Brice ignored her as his tongue dipped and swirled in her sweet cream. Flicking her sensitive nub, he gloried in how her hips rose off the bed. Of their own volition, her hips were pushing her bottom up and out, pressing her cunt against his tongue. Her body was taking over.
He continued his assault on her senses. Pushing his tongue into her tight passage. Rubbing it in circles around her nub. Using his finger to breach her defenses as he slipped it into her cunny.
A moan escaped her lips. The mixture of pain and pleasure, of humiliation and ecstasy, was almost too much to bear. It was as if the punishment had focused all her attention on the area he now laved with his tongue. There was no escaping the sensations. No running from her feelings. He would allow no quarter.
Using his thumbs, he slid them between her bottom cheeks, opening her wide. He didn’t just want her to feel pleasure. He wanted her to succumb completely to it… even against her own will. He wanted her body to acknowledge him as master. He wanted to force her to accept whatever form that pleasure took. His gaze rested on her tiny, puckered hole. It trembled and clenched closed as he pulled her bottom cheeks wide. Using the tip of his tongue, he swept over the pink, slightly ruffled entrance.
Michaela tried to raise her head, a protest on her lips.
Before she could utter a reproach, he squeezed her clit between his two fingers, applying steady pressure as he dipped his tongue into her forbidden entrance again.
Michaela opened her mouth on a swallowed moan. It felt so… so… so wrong but… oh God!
Placing a kiss on the inside edge of her bottom cheek, Brice asked in a measure tone. “Where is my tongue, Michaela?”
Alarmed, she could not respond.
Moving his mouth to the right, he skimmed the edge of his teeth over her soft, plump flesh before giving her a sharp nip as a stallion would to his mare.
“Ow!” yelped Michaela as she shifted her hips in a vain attempt to move away from his mouth.
“Where is my tongue?” he ordered.
“Please! Don’t make me,” she pleaded.
He gave her left cheek a quick bite.
“Your tongue is in my secret place!” she called out desperately.
“Not good enough,” he ground out. His breath causing her bottom hole to twitch and tremble.
Brice forced a second finger into her tight, wet passage. Stretching her.
Michaela moaned as her hips lifted off the bed.
“Michaela?” His dark tone held a hint of warning. He needed her to admit it. Needed her to submit.
“It’s on my bottom hole,” she whispered in defeat.
“Tell me to press my thumb inside your bottom,” he commanded roughly, his voice hoarse with desire.
“What? No!” cried Michaela, both horrified and titillated by the very thought.
Brice gave her bottom a quick, open palm spank. “Do as you are told, little one.”
Running his thumb up and down along the pink skin of her exposed pussy, he swept it closer and closer to her forbidden hole. She was too inexperienced to understand, but he knew what she needed. Knew she needed a kiss of pain to truly let go of her warring emotions and thoughts of revenge. Knew she needed the supplication and touch of humiliation to allow her body to take over for her mind.
Smarting from the unexpected stinging slap on her already sore bottom, Michaela relented. “Please… please… put it in my… my bottom,” she said hesitantly.
The pad of his thumb caressed the ridges of her little puckered hole, smoothing the soft pink skin as his fingers thrust inside of her cunny. Applying gentle steady pressure, his thumb slipped inside to the first knuckle.
Michaela gasped and arched her back.
Placing a restraining hand on her lower back, he pushed in further, reveling in how her body gripped his thumb tightly.
“Ow! It hurts! It feels… wrong!” whined Michaela. “Take it out!”
“Hush. Keep still and do as you’re told.” He knew it would
not be long before he demanded she accept his far larger cock up this same tight hole.
Pulsing this thumb in and out of her back passage, he leaned down between her open thighs. Shifting his hand from her lower back to the rounded curve of her bottom, he spread his long fingers wide as he kneaded her sore flesh, opening her, glorying in the red blush put there by his own sword. Pulling his fingers free, he swirled his tongue over her sensitive nub in an increasing rhythm to match the thrust of his thumb.
Michaela’s mind went blank. All her energy was focused on the intoxicating mix of torturous pleasure. The feel of his hand on her punished bottom. The feel of his tongue and the possessive feel of his thumb as it painfully pierced her bottom hole. Her body was no longer hers to command. She felt owned. Dominated. The sensation both foreign and welcome, yet despised.
“I can’t. I can’t,” she cried as her fingers flexed against her wrist binds.
His little spitfire. He knew she would fight him… even if it meant denying her own pleasure.
He responded with actions rather than words. Pulling his thumb free, he paused, waiting for her tiny hole to close before he ruthlessly thrust it back in to the hilt as his sharp teeth bit down on her clit.
Michaela let out a scream of agony as pleasure stabbed through her body like a blow. This wasn’t the soft waves of euphoria like when he touched her after her spanking. This was more intense as if it had been ripped from her body. Stars burst behind her closed eye lids. She struggled to draw breath into her lungs. Her hips rose and pushed back, forcing more pain on her body as his thick thumb pulled and stretched her sore back entrance.
Brice rose with a growl. The scent of her arousal. The site of his mark on her skin. The knowledge he had coerced an orgasm out of her unwilling body. A primal heat thrummed in his chest.
Grabbing the yellow sash, he released Michaela’s hands only to flip her violently onto her back, pushing his hips between her open legs before she had a chance to close them. Fisting his thick shaft, he placed the large head at her tight entrance. Knowing she was slick from her own release, he prepared to take her innocence in one masterful thrust. There was no thought of gentleness. No concern for her virginal state. He instinctively knew she would pounce on any gentleness as a sign of weakness.
No. He needed to take her as he planned to keep her… with force if necessary.
He thrust forward. Pushing past her body’s natural resistance, impaling her on his nine-inch, lust hardened cock.
The sharp, stabbing pain broke through Michaela’s disorienting haze. With a scream, she lurched upwards, trying to shift her hips backwards, away from him. Brice captured her wrists and held them down on either side of her head, restraining her with the weight of his body and the strength of his grip.
He pulled back and thrust forward again to the hilt.
It was too much. The burning, aching pain. As if she were being pulled apart. As if he was taking over her body with his own flesh. Michaela fought. Sinking her teeth into the taut muscle of his upper arm. Tasting the sweet, metallic tang of his blood on her tongue. It only spurred her on. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him in tighter. Her fingers gripped his strong upper arms so tightly she would leave more than a bite mark on his body.
Brice let out a guttural shout as he released one of her wrists, only to sink his fingers into her hair, fisting the soft, curling locks. Ruthlessly yanking down, he forced her head back. The motion arching her back, thrusting her glorious breasts upward. He took only a moment to appreciate their heavy fullness before clamping his mouth on one dusky nipple. Using his teeth, he bit down… hard.
Michaela cried out, hating him for how much she loved the feel of his mouth torturing her own nipple. The stinging pull of his fist in her hair. The feel of his cock as it forced her body to submit.
He began to violently pound into her soft flesh in earnest, each powerful thrust shifting her body backwards.
Goddammit! She was fucking tight. How her body clenched and clamped down on his shaft almost unmanned him.
He could feel his balls tighten. Knew his own release was eminent. He should pull out and release his seed on her belly as he had done with any woman he had taken in the past. A deep, clawing need in his belly would not let him. Michaela was nothing like those other women. He had never felt such an all-consuming need to possess and dominate with any other woman. The thought of capturing all her fire and energy for his own obsessed him. They were past the point of no return. She was his.
Feeling a gnawing, growing sensation, Michaela tried to turn her head away. Not wanting him to see the vulnerability in her eyes at what his body was doing to her senses.
“No,” Brice growled as he gave a tug on her hair. “Keep your eyes open and on me, Michaela. I want to see those beautiful eyes turn deep purple as my cock makes you cum.”
She was helpless to disobey.
Giving one final, aching thrust, his cock swelled before he released his seed deep inside of her with a roar. He collapsed on the bed, careful not to crush her with his weight. The tremors of her release, fast behind his own, caressing his now sensitive cock.
CHAPTER 8
M ichaela awoke the next day to the sound of muffled voices in the next room. Wrapping the quilt securely about her shoulders, she crept to the slightly ajar bedroom door and listened.
“I want this bastard found and brought to justice. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Brice must be having a conversation with one of his soldiers.
“His Christian name is Parcels Showalter and he may be traveling with a woman by the name of Beulah Armistead. From what I understand, he may be running whiskey to the Indians.”
Michaela gave a start. He was talking about her father’s murderer!
“A pine tar trader? Sir, those are the lowest of the low. Scum. They trade their poisonous brew to the injuns calling it whiskey in exchange for furs and beads worth hundreds more on the market,” responded the corporal.
“I’m aware, Corporal. He is also guilty of murder although I fear there is no evidence to support the claim. Nevertheless, if we can nail the son-of-a-bitch for selling whiskey to the Indians, we’ll get him on a serious federal charge.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Sims and Palo with you. No uniforms. I don’t want to warn him.”
The corporal gave Brice a salute, then pivoted on his heels to leave the cabin.
Michaela scrambled to get back in the bed as she heard his booted footfall march toward the bedroom then pause.
“Corporal?” Brice called him back.
“Has the chaplain returned from Washington?”
“No, sir, but we expect him any day now.”
Brice nodded his head. “Dismissed.”
The corporal quickly left.
Opening the bedroom door, Brice smiled as he took in the sleeping form of Michaela. She looked innocent and fragile lying in his bed. He knew better.
“Little busybodies who eavesdrop earn spankings,” he mused as he stepped further into the room.
Michaela couldn’t control the furious blush which crept up her cheeks, but she did remain still, feigning sleep.
Brice chuckled. She was so wonderfully stubborn, even after last night. He didn’t mind. It gave him more reasons to punish that gorgeous bottom of hers.
Grasping the edge of the quilt, he slowly pulled it downward, exposing her creamy, pale skin. First her slim shoulders. Then her high and full breasts, tipped with soft pink nipples. Her flat stomach framed by slightly protruding hipbones. A few nights’ rest and several hot meals had dispelled that wan, fragile appearance she’d had the first time he saw her, but she was still too thin for his comfort. He would have to see about heartier meals with richer sauces to plump her up a bit. The blanket continued its slow descent over her beautiful body. Just as there was the merest glimpse of golden curls, her hand appeared to snatch the blanket higher.
Bright, big eyes the color of ameth
ysts stared back at him, the light of accusation in their depths.
“I was sleeping,” she pouted.
“You weren’t,” he countered with a smile.
Michaela lowered her gaze awkwardly. Memories of last night washed over her. Him punishing her with the flat of his cavalry sword. The feel of his tongue… there. His hand exploring her body. The way he mounted and impaled her with his member, as if he had a right, as if she were his possession. Even the very thought should have set her blood to boil with anger, but strangely enough, it didn’t. For all his roughness, there was tenderness. A need to see to her pleasure. A sense of protection found only within the embrace of his strong arms.
And now, she’d awakened to overhear him making plans to capture her father’s killer! Sure his method of justice was not her own. His insistence on following the rule of law to bring the man in properly grated a bit, but at least she would see some form of revenge. After years of simmering hatred, vengeance could have finally been hers yesterday. Yet, she realized now, not without undue chagrin, that had Brice not found her in time, she may not have had the gumption to kill Parcels outright. The idea rankled. Perhaps she should have taken the offer of help from her brother’s friends, Mason and Horn. Mason understood her thirst for revenge like no other and Horn was a ruthless gunfighter. Either would have been more than pleased to shoot Parcels where he stood just because she asked. Yet, she’d refused their help. Ignoring their letters of concern, she had stubbornly set out after the low-down, thieving murderer and her complicit mother on her own.
But what had it gotten her? Months spent lonely and hungry on the trail. Bone-deep weariness from having to be constantly on her guard for all sorts of prey; human and beast. A longing for the days when she was surrounded by love and affection… safe in her world of Southern tradition and chivalry.
