Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7)

by Lee Savino

  “Francesca?” Diego asked without pulling his eyes away from the towering Brit.

  “I think it is best. Go sleep on what I said, Diego.”

  The man’s skin flushed.

  “I will see you out, Señor Montoya.” Ana stepped into the room.

  Diego looked from one to the other, vibrating with anger. His gaze rested on the slender señora. “Whoring yourself out to a British lord for help—Your father would be ashamed of you.”

  Francesca flinched, and Sebastian started to move, but Ana pushed between him and Diego.

  “Enough,” the matron snapped. “Señor Montoya, it is late. You should be getting home anyway.”

  With a final glare around the room, Diego left, herded by Ana’s small round body. They could hear her scolding Diego all the way to the door.

  “Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.

  Her cheeks flushed and breath coming fast, Francesca put her hands to her cheeks and nodded.

  Ana came back, clucking. “Ay Dios mio, that man. Still a boy with a temper. Do not listen to him, Francesca. Your father would be very proud of you.”

  Francesca still hadn’t moved. She nodded, and let Ana hug her. Sebastian thought she looked distraught.

  “Right,” Ana said briskly, releasing her mistress and fixing Sebastian with a stare. It’s up to you now, Englishman. “I’m going to bed.”

  Sebastian held the door for the matron, then crossed to the bar to pour Francesca a drink. She still stood with her head downcast, rousing only a little when he offered her the glass. She shook her head, and he drained it, but poured another and brought it to her.

  “Drink this. You need it.” He pressed the shot into her hand. She felt cold, so he went and closed the great doors overlooking the patio, and then stoked up the fire. It was a cooler night for summer.

  When he rose from the fireplace, she still hadn’t moved.

  “I’m serious, Francesca.” He moved closer. “Are you all right? That was very intense.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “You know it all. You heard. My father said Ana always knew everything because she listened behind doors.”

  “Smart woman.” He let a smile surface then said more seriously. “I wasn’t about to leave you alone with him.”

  “Diego is harmless. Hot headed, but…” She shook her head.

  “You don’t believe his insult?”

  “No,” she huffed. “Of course, my father was careful about the men I was around. You know he chose my husband for me. He respected the Montoya family. He would not want to see me dishonored.” But she looked so sad, he knew it bothered her.

  He searched for something to say.

  “Do you feel that you have done something dishonorable?”

  “Dios,” she swore and turned her back on him.

  “Is it me?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s not you.”

  He didn’t quite believe her.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “Yes, and no.”

  He felt he couldn’t move closer though he wanted to. He backed away and studied her. He chose my husband for me. Steady Cyro, Diego’s older brother.

  And then it made sense.

  “You were attracted to him, weren’t you? Diego.”

  “Madonna. Madre,” she whispered. “Dios forgive me. I was.”

  He stepped forward, longing to touch her, but he refrained when he saw how she trembled. “Did you lie with him?”

  “No. I was faithful to my husband.”

  He heard her sniff, and he put a hand on her shoulder, turning her. The firelight shone on the tears tracking down her face.

  “Francesca. It’s all right.” He fumbled with his handkerchief. “It’s understandable.”

  She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, but more tears fell.

  He felt helpless in the face of them. Any other woman could cry and he’d run for the hills, but not this one. Wild horses couldn’t pry him from her side.

  “You were young,” he tried to reason. “Married to a man twenty years older. Of course you had desires.”

  “I am a wicked woman. I betrayed my husband.”

  “No.” He pulled her into his arms, unable to bear her sobs. His arms slid around her slender waist, his cheek rested against her fragrant hair.

  To have so much passion, to contain it for so long. As much as she would’ve wanted to please her father and husband, Francesca lived in the grip of passion. It would be torture for her to wrestle with her feelings, and feel guilty year after year.

  And he had stupidly mentioned it while belting her. As she cried into his shirt, body shaking in his arms, he’d do anything to take those words back.

  “Shh, Francesca, it’s all right. You did the right thing. You did the best you could with the man your father chose. You were young.”

  “I tried to be a good wife to my husband. I wanted to love him.”

  “In your own way, you did. Did you lie with him often?”

  She shook her head.

  “He was your guardian, then. Not your lover. You were faithful, you gave him your love and respect. From what I’ve heard of him, he was wise. He would’ve understood. What would he say, if he was here now?”

  “He would want me to be happy.” She slipped a hand between her body and his to wipe at her face. “He was a good man. He would understand.” She started shaking and crying again. “But my husband has not been dead more than a few months, and already I am thinking of another. What sort of woman am I? What is wrong with me?”

  “You’re all passion and fire. It is who you are, and there is nothing wrong with you.”

  His hands squeezed her arms. She was so small and slight, really, all her beautiful energy contained in a delicate vessel. He hesitated and then asked what he really wanted to. He hated himself, but he had to hear her answer. He had to know. “Is it Diego? Are you still attracted to him?”

  It was only a few seconds before she answered, but it felt like an eternity. The crickets outside creaked through her silence.

  “No,” her voice came muffled by his shirt, “there is another one I want.”

  A thrill went through him, but he hid it. She sounded lost and forlorn, as if her feelings tormented her. It wasn’t time to celebrate just yet.

  Sebastian shifted, freeing an arm. “Look at me.” His hand tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.

  Her dark eyes were so sad.

  “You are a widow now, and grieving.” He searched for words to reassure her, even though all he wanted to do was take her to his bed and comfort her there. “You have many emotions. You feel confused.”

  “You are not helping my confusion.” A little furrow had appeared between her dark brows.

  “Francesca.” He swallowed. “I’d do anything to help you. Just tell me. I’m yours to command.”

  “My ignoble noble.” She tried to joke, then sighed. “Padre Bernardo is right. I deserve hellfire, but I am already perishing there, because I burn day and night. I deserve punishment.”

  Her comment triggered a cascade of desires he’d been holding back. Birching and belting her hadn’t been enough; he needed to take her in hand. She needed it too. His whole life seemed to rest upon this moment, and lead up to it.

  He couldn’t stop his hand from pushing into her hair. With a swift, sharp pull, he drew her head back, exposing the smooth line of her neck. He was just the right height to look down on her and dominate her. His cock hardened as he watched the pulse flutter in her throat, her body relaxing into submission and desire.

  “Now that, my lady, I can provide.”

  She whimpered, and heat leaped between them. The world fell away, leaving them in a cocoon of summer breeze and singing crickets, a wild space where anything was possible.

  *

  Francesca stared up into her fair knight’s face. He’d taken control, but she was ready to give herself over without a fuss. “Sebastian.”

  He kissed he
r, and her senses came roaring back. All the numbness Diego’s words inspired fled as Sebastian’s lips left her blood singing.

  She tried to touch him and he caught her hands.

  “You want to finish what we started this afternoon?”

  She nodded and he stepped away. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t want to stop now. She couldn’t.

  “Strip.”

  Her chest heaving, she let her clothes fall into a heap. She undid her corset with trembling fingers, needing to be naked before him, to show him how far she’d go for his pleasure. When she was done, she stretched her lithe form, basking in the firelight and shadow.

  Her knight leaned against a divan’s arm, hands at his pockets, waiting in a casual slouch while she bared herself for him.

  “Now on your knees.”

  Her eyes widened. She tossed her head nervously, not quite shaking no.

  “You come for penance? You will kneel.” He pointed to the floor. There was no trace of levity in him. “You want to play a little game, Francesca? There’s a price you will pay. Submission, total and absolute, to me.” He spoke in a deadly whisper. “I can give you forgiveness. I can give you release. But in return, for the next hour, I own you. And I’ll take your very soul.” He stood. “Give yourself to me. The pain will strip you bare, wash your guilt. But only if it’s what you really want.”

  “I want it.”

  She swallowed, and knelt.

  “This is how you come to atone for your sins.” He left the divan and stalked in a slow circle around her. With careful movements, he drew her hair pins out, letting her dark locks fall over her bare shoulders. Somehow, she felt more naked.

  He reseated himself on the chaise.

  “Crawl to me.”

  Her pussy clenched with the order, but she was too far gone to care. Every time he hurt her, she felt release and now she craved it. She’d do anything to feel clean again.

  Even crawl.

  Panting hard, she put her hands on the rug and started moving forward on hands and knees. She couldn’t help moving her body sinuously over the floor, wanting him to watch her. She met his eyes, and suddenly couldn’t bear it. She let her head fall to the floor.

  “That’s right, eyes down. Crawl to your master.”

  She whimpered again, an animal sound, calling out from deep inside her.

  It seemed right, so she followed her instincts. When she reached him, she dipped and kissed the tip of his boot before settling back on her haunches. A slight crinkle appeared at the corner of his eyes, telling her he was pleased. He studied her a long while, until she was afraid he’d changed his mind.

  “You’re the only woman I know who can look haughty on her knees.” He almost chuckled. “Now, come up here.” As he helped her over his knees, her vulnerable position hit her and she shook. His hands stroked down the curve of her back, soothing her even as he reminded her she was totally bare before him. Again, she felt the sharp prickle of need down between her legs.

  “Give yourself over to this, Francesca,” he breathed, cupping one buttock in the palm of his hand. After her belting, she’d soothed her skin with balm. The pain had gone, and as soon as it left, she’d craved it again. She relished his touch on her bruised bottom—savoring and dreading it. He’d beaten her with sticks and a belt, but for some reason getting spanked with his palm on her flesh was the worst. She could handle the ache, but not the heat of his hand, more intimate than any implement.

  His fingers dipped between her legs and she bucked involuntarily.

  “Still,” he ordered. “Right now, this belongs to me.”

  His reminder lifted a weight off of her and she relaxed. She’d given herself over to him; there was no going back.

  “Part your legs.”

  With a whimper, she obeyed.

  He stroked her with the lightest touch, swirling around her lower lips. Her hips shifted to meet his fingers. All too soon he took them away, and held the sopping digits to her lips.

  “Lick.”

  Her insides clenched with humiliation, but she obeyed, tasting herself. Her musk and sweetness. His finger fucked her face, and she let him, her cheeks burning in shame.

  “Oh my darling,” he murmured. “The things I’d do to you, if you were truly mine.” His cock pressed into her belly and he shifted.

  “Now point your toes in, so you can’t clench your bottom as I spank you. You’re going to feel everything I give you.” He kneaded her cheeks, speaking in a soothing tone. “Let go, Francesca. Everything’s going to be all right.” One hand closed on the back of her neck, holding her. “I’m going to give what you need.”

  He started spanking her, pausing after a minute to remind her to breathe. She sucked in air, her everything focused on the hand crashing onto one cheek, then the other. His palm beat into her bottom to the rhythm of her heart.

  “Let go, Francesca,” he repeated. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be all right.”

  It started as a little cry within her, barely audible. The swats continued, one stinging blow blending into another, until her whole bottom felt hot and abused. The spanking went on and on and she heard a low keening, a wild, broken sound. It filled her ears before she realized it was coming from her.

  The slaps rained down harder, and her arms jerked back to protect her poor backside. He stopped only to catch her wrists and pin them in the small of her back, and throw his leg over hers so she was held fast. Unable to struggle, she could only focus on the sting. There was nothing in the world besides his hand and her throbbing bottom. No worries or cares, his control locked everything else out, and after a lifetime of struggle, the relief was sweet.

  The spanking continued, relentless, pushing her further and further to the edge of pain and release, and, at last, she cried. The tears came all at once, and in a torrent. Sebastian kept spanking her, but she only felt the pain in her heart as something inside her broke and poured out of her. All her sorrow and secret shame, the feelings she’d locked up for years. She cried as she hadn’t at her mother’s funeral, at her father’s, at her husband’s. They’d all been taken from her, and she’d had to stay strong. She howled at the unfairness of it all. Deep down, she’d believed that they’d been taken from her because of her many sins.

  Her sobs stretched her mouth until her jaw ached. When they stopped, she sagged over Sebastian’s lap. The spanking had stopped, but he was still touching her, not punishing but stroking the curve of her back and buttocks.

  “It’s all right, my darling. You did well. You’re going to be all right.” His fingertips sent goosebumps from the back of her neck to her knee, and back again.

  Her bottom stung, but her heart felt easy and light, as if the pain and tears had washed it clean.

  She hiccupped, and he helped her into a sitting position. Huddling in his lap, she relished the curve of his body around hers. He’d been so strong, so harsh, and yet so caring. He’d given her what she needed.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” With no worries in the way, wrapped in that perfect calm, she did the first thing that came to mind. Twining her arms around Sebastian’s shoulders, she kissed him.

  He tasted delicious. His lips pressed against hers, soft and strong, and she felt she’d never get enough of him. Her body started to shift over his, ready to straddle his hips and bear down to satisfy her aching need…

  He jerked his head back so his blue eyes could catch hers.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “I think it’s for the best.”

  Pain stabbed through her heart, but she managed to nod. She pushed off of him, still naked.

  He was clothed, neatly groomed, and in control. Her bottom throbbed, reminding her of the past hour. The warm glow of the spanking receded, leaving her with the harsh pain. He’d said he’d give her what she needed, and he did. But she’d given her all. She’d even crawled for him.

  A coldness settled over her from her unbound hair to her achi
ng bum. Normally she would reach for her anger, but it was not there. As long as she lived, she would never forget the gift he’d given her. And she’d never forgive him.

  She spoke in a flat voice she didn’t recognize as her own. “Thank you. I wish you well.” Scooping up her clothes, she left.

  *

  An hour after spanking his hostess, Sebastian sat staring into the fire, taking stock of his sins. There were many, and since meeting Francesca, he’d only seemed to add to them, despite his best intentions.

  His father wouldn’t be surprised.

  He realized he’d spent the last two years hating his father for sending him to America. What little hopes he’d had of impressing his sire disappeared when he was clearly told “you are not good enough to have in my company.” The worst part of it was the relief. Even he didn’t expect much of himself, and at least now he could squander his life in peace.

  Something inside him cried out for more, and then came the little widow, armed with nothing but a revolver and her own passionate pride, blowing a hole in his daily goal to be drunk by noon. And she was intelligent, and strong, and beautiful, and came with a whole slew of problems, enemies and friends.

  Oh, and she liked to be whipped.

  With Francesca, he had a chance to redeem himself. He’d taken the first steps to using his resources to help a woman he’d come to care for. But if he was going to really help her, he’d have to commit.

  What would it be like to build a life with someone? To work by their side every day, and grow old in their company? He wanted her, but that wasn’t enough. He’d have to do it right—he’d have to marry her.

  Would she have him? The princess marry a court jester? She saw him as a gangly fool, who played white knight only when it suited him. Of course, he’d never had anything to fight for.

  He did now. Hell, half the time they were fighting each other. Could their marriage survive their passion?

  His fingers pricked and he stabbed out his cigarette before it burned him further. Ridiculous to sit here wondering about his worthless life, and whether he could make something of himself by marrying her. She probably wouldn’t have him. In the morning, he would ask. Her face when he told her he was leaving…her stricken expression would haunt him forever if he didn’t bare his heart.