“Will I remember this?” I asked. I yearned for memories to set against those of that drunken oaf who’d snatched my virginity away and then had the discourtesy to fall off a horse and break his neck before Father could bring him to account. (But enough of that old lament, Pearl. I must speak more of the gallant Don Rafael.)
Don Rafael arched one eyebrow in surprise but smiled at me. I was so close that I could see how that dreadful scar cut into him, even denting the bone above his eye.
“Sí, you will remember this,” he granted me. “But you may only speak of this night’s events once. And do not worry about Ethan. He is my servant and will do only what I command. ¿Comprende, señorita?”
I nodded eagerly. You have so often yearned for adventure, Pearl, that I knew you would enjoy a tale of dashing men if I could but tell it.
Don Rafael kissed my cheek and then rubbed his against mine. It was a gesture of the most amazing gentleness and, yes, even friendship! I purred under it, enjoying the touch. He smelled like the finest of gentlemen’s soap, sandalwood, I think. His teeth were excellent and his breath fresh and sweet. I thought suddenly that his kisses would be more pleasant than those from any of Father’s guests downstairs.
“Ethan, convey the young lady to the chaise longue. Arrange her so that she may comfortably rest for the remainder of the night.”
Ethan nodded in obedience and stood up. He carried Cordelia to the chaise and arranged her as directed. All the while, Don Rafael kept me on his lap, murmuring into my ear. I am not entirely sure of what he said but some of it sounded familiar. Do you remember that Latin book your older brother had? The one that your parents refused to let us see but we spent an afternoon poring over? Don Rafael’s words reminded me of those phrases, sweet nothings that a lover might whisper. My body softened at the liquid syllables and the light caresses of his fingers on my hands.
Ethan returned to stand in front of us, eyes lowered. I watched him idly while preening under my gentleman’s touch.
“Curious, mi paloma?” Don Rafael whispered in my ear. “Would you like to see a man’s secrets?”
My indolence fell away in a rush. As you well know, Pearl, curiosity is my besetting sin. I sat up straight and watched eagerly as Ethan slowly began to unbutton his gray jacket.
Ethan took his time removing his garments. I may be mistaken but it seemed that his every gesture was calculated to tempt a woman. I was almost shaking with excitement when he finally stood revealed in the lamp-light. He was a splendid sight as he posed there, white as marble and clean muscled. His golden hair shone only as demure accents on his torso, not as a heavy pelt concealing his charms. My mouth watered at the sight of him, all ivory and gold. A tracery of thin silver lines covered his backside with one line crossing his breasts just above his nipples. (Perhaps they were scars from a whip or a knife. They did not seem to hinder him in any way.) I studied him, comparing him to what little I knew of men’s bodies.
“What do you think now?” Don Rafael’s warm breath caressed my ear.
“He is a fine figure of a man,” I remarked, striving for savoir faire. “But he seems a bit,” I hunted for words, “soft perhaps, between the legs. Your body doesn’t feel soft there to me.”
Don Rafael rocked with laughter. I blushed at my own words but chuckled with him. Ethan blushed too but continued to wait.
“Ah, mi paloma, what shall I do with you? So inexperienced and yet so observant! You are a delight! Ethan is very new to the feel of a woman’s ardor as it flows through her blood over his tongue. He so far lost command of himself that he followed your sister into passion’s release. Please accept our regrets that Ethan cannot yet offer you the full use of his manhood. He will take some time yet to regain himself after tasting your sister.”
Am I mistaken, Pearl, or did Ethan’s blush deepen at Don Rafael’s words? But I did not dwell on Ethan’s experience or lack thereof as Don Rafael continued speaking.
“Would you care to study another man’s body? Mine is not so elegant as Ethan’s but I can assure you that I am not soft between the legs.”
I agreed quickly and soon was deposited on the bed. Ethan dropped to his knees next to the chair, watching Don Rafael but leaving him space to move about in.
Don Rafael divested himself of his garb, the typical attire for a Mexican gentleman here in Texas, without any seductive tricks. His short jacket and tight pants emphasized his intense masculinity. His movements’ directness fired my blood so that my breath came faster and faster as his clothes fell away. He was a strongly built man, a veritable warhorse to Ethan’s racehorse. Every muscle and sinew spoke of power while his hardness reared up between his legs with a stallion’s vigor. (I must confess, Pearl, that I trembled at the size of his staff!) He had more than one brutal scar to emphasize a puissance that had been well tested by life. I was utterly conquered, as eager as any mare in season, before he even touched me.
He lifted my chin up with one finger and his mouth claimed mine. I was an eager pupil and our tongues soon twined and danced. . . .
I have few words for what passed next, Pearl. My very senses were so dazzled that memory fails me. We kissed, oh how we kissed! And he caressed me with those magical hands, quickly freeing me of my few remaining items of clothing.
What more can I tell you? The feel of his mouth on my breast as he taught each nipple to beg for him? The slide of his long black hair across my hip as his lips moved below my breasts? Or the feel of his shoulders under my grasp, the muscles rippling as he moved? (His back was deeply scarred, like the former slave we saw at the abolitionists’ rally. You would weep, Pearl, to see flesh and blood ruined so! And yet in that instant, I cared more for the raptures that body could bring me than its past torments.)
And his fingers, Pearl, oh such marvels they taught me! More than once I fell off the precipice of delight as his fingers and then his tongue played between my legs. Then his mouth traveled back up to my breasts and I clutched his head in my frenzy, twisting against him like a demented woman as we lay side by side.
Don Rafael said something softly, an order perhaps, but I paid little attention, too lost in passion to listen.
A gentle hand stroked my legs and I instinctively bent my leg to allow it freer access. The hand insinuated itself to where my desire raged hottest. I groaned in an ecstasy beyond all words as Don Rafael’s hands and mouth ravished my breasts while Ethan stoked the fires below. Oh, Pearl, it was bliss beyond compare to have two men compelling me onward! I hope that one day you may feel the like of it!
My leg was urged upward until it at last clasped Don Rafael’s hip. I rubbed him urgently, the prickle of his leg’s hair a pleasant sensation for my sweaty thigh. We moved closer still and I felt his hardness pressing against me. This caused me to grow more excited yet. I gripped him fiercely with hands to his head, leg wrapped around his, and my head thrown back.
I begged him for more and he gave it to me. He entered me easily, sliding home on the liquid welcome my body rolled out for him. I felt utterly enveloped by him and yet marvelously free at the same time. Ethan caressed and licked us both, encouraging us to find our zenith. I sobbed my pleasure, my voice breaking slightly with each breath. My sounds were low and sweet, quavering like a dove’s voice.
Don Rafael’s lips sought my throat. I yielded instinctively and he rewarded me quickly. A fire blazed in my neck and I flew off my pinnacle into a storm of delight. Tremors racked my body as my blood flowed into his mouth on matching waves.
I must have lost consciousness then. I stirred once when horses went past under the window, perchance the end of Father’s dinner party. But slumber returned quickly, held as I was in Don Rafael’s strong arms, with Ethan lying on the other side of him. . . .
And that is the end of the tale, at least as much of it as I can now speak of. Cordelia and I both slept deeply on the following day, awakening to a few bruises and some lassitude. Cordelia remembers nothing of that evening’s events, although I dare not speak of it d
irectly to her. The small red marks on our necks were gone within a few days.
I hope to see Don Rafael again, perhaps in a few months when my body has recreated all of the blood he enjoyed so fiercely. But Father’s business dealings have gone uncommonly well since that night. He speaks often now of permitting us to return to Boston soon. Cordelia greets such talk with open delight while I strive to hide my uncertainties.
And so I conclude this letter, my dearest Pearl, in the hope that we will soon be reunited. Boston is my home and my future hopes are centered there. But I trust that you will understand if sometimes my fingers linger on my throat as I watch a full moon.
Your truest friend,
A—
sweet punishment a tale of don rafael perez and ethan templeton
Tomorrow I’ll be wed for the second time. It’s time to put away the past and look toward the future. So I’ll write this story out, then burn it so I can find peace with the good man who returns my love.
My family was Irish, who fled to this country in hopes of finding easy money building the transcontinental railroad. Father could charm a bear from a honeycomb when he chose and my brothers inherited his knack. Unfortunately, they gained none of Mother’s strong sense of honor and always avoided honest work. So all too soon after our parents died, they were tricking folks out of their money.
To my young mind it seemed better than starving and I soon made a place for myself in their campaigns, as the specialist in entering dwellings by stealth to remove the more interesting contents.
It was simple enough for me to do back then. I was just as slender as I am now and could easily pass as a boy if I dressed in breeches, making it easy to pick a lock or climb up to an attic.
Then I met a young man in a similar line of work, Daniel Moynihan, a charming fellow whose knack with words was surpassed only by his brilliant blue eyes and deftness with the cards. Soon enough, we were married and traveling together. He died all too shortly: shot dead over a faro game.
I returned to my brothers and found them changed from my memory. They’d grown far too fond of the bottle and the dinner table, thus gaining bellies that strained every button. Their tempers had also increased, and I quickly learned to avoid crossing them at any cost.
It was a pleasant enough life otherwise. I met some interesting men who were more than willing to console a grieving widow for a night or a lifetime. I refused them all, still mourning for my beloved Daniel.
Only once did he not visit my thoughts when I studied a man. It was at an afternoon musicale where I found myself watching a big Spaniard with an aquiline nose and broad shoulders. And eyes like melted chocolate as he listened to the violins’ song. A single glance from him would have coaxed me into the garden for a kiss without a second thought. But the invitation never came and I tried to forget my spell of womanly hunger.
My brothers now lived in Austin, a plain town with little to recommend it except its role as the capital of Texas. That made it the perfect locale for my brothers’ current goal, which was to obtain a large piece of land as quickly as possible. Great tracts could be had then for a few forged bits of paper or a little gold handed to a judge. My brothers resented paying gold so they started hunting for land with a single owner. They reasoned it’d require fewer forgeries if only one person was named.
Soon enough they settled on the Santiago Trust as their target. A great mass of land did that trust hold, to say nothing of rich cedar forests, iron ores, and interests in much of the state’s commerce. But try as they might, they couldn’t discover who was the owner; only that many of the most respected men, and most feared too, were connected to the trust.
Finally, in anger and frustration, they demanded that I bring them the name of the real owner. I reminded them of the powerful men connected to the trust. My brothers took my warnings poorly and set about changing my mind. I agreed before more than bruises marked my body but resolved privately to leave them and Texas as quickly as possible.
So it was that I entered the First Bank of L—one evening. It had been solidly built to withstand Comanches and bank thieves and furnished in a rather stolid but luxurious style. A woman could have screamed herself hoarse without a soul noticing, once the iron shutters were closed. The arrangement of rooms was nothing remarkable but the large meeting room on the top floor offered a more elegant style than the other rooms.
I searched quickly but thoroughly, careful to leave no sign of my presence. While the bank was definitely linked to the Santiago Trust, it offered no clue as to the mysterious owner. Truth to tell, I was piqued that I couldn’t answer that riddle since I’d always before managed to obtain whatever I wished. I did find an invitation to an evening meeting of the trust’s friends.
My brothers weren’t pleased by my lack of success but relaxed somewhat when I promised to spy on the meeting. In fact, they mellowed so much that they accepted an invitation to spend time in San Antonio drinking and whoring.
I dressed with great care that evening: black shirt, black wool trousers, and black boots. I braided my hair and pinned it tightly up under a black cap, such as a scruffy boy would wear. I didn’t bother to bind my breasts; even my fond husband had called them “small and neat.”
I arrived at the bank and soon gained entry through an upper window, which had been conveniently left open to gather cool breezes. A minute more saw me ensconced between rolled maps inside a large armoire placed in a corner of the big meeting room. I settled down to wait, certain that I could hear every word but couldn’t be seen.
I watched some of the most important men in Austin, both Mexicans and Anglos, gather for the meeting. They chatted a little of trivialities, like the weather and the latest horse races, and avoided any taste of alcoholic spirits as they waited. Suddenly they fell silent as a carriage drew up outside and the new arrivals were greeted. I leaned forward, eager to see who could bring these powerful men to heel.
Two men entered, a tall Spaniard whose broad shoulders filled the doorway and a slender blond man, possessed of incredible beauty and the coldest eyes I have ever seen, following him. The Spaniard was striking, rather than handsome, with a brutally scarred face and eagle beak of a nose. I knew him immediately: Don Rafael Perez.
The same blaze of lust lashed through me as it had before. I cursed silently as I felt my nipples tighten. It would be difficult enough to eavesdrop without day-dreaming about the bedroom potential of that big body.
Then I realized that the blond was Ethan Templeton, Perez’s ramrod. A man whose name was spoken with fear and respect throughout Texas, a rough-hewn state that honored few. A chill brushed my excitement; if he found me, there was no telling what penalty he’d exact.
Templeton strolled around the room as Perez greeted the other guests. I quickly pulled away from the door so he wouldn’t see me. My mouth was dry as a western river in the summer, and my heart pounded in my ears. But his footsteps moved away from the armoire as calmly as they had approached it, and I dared to look out again.
Suddenly a man’s back blocked my view of the room. I bit my lip, swearing silently, as I recognized Templeton’s fair hair. Surely he didn’t know I was there. I was certain that I’d left no sign since I’d touched nothing in the room except the armoire.
When he didn’t move, I relaxed slightly and strained to listen to the conversation beyond. Rustling papers and scraping chairs told me that the men had finally settled down.
Then the door flew open and a ruthless hand yanked me from the armoire and into the room. I gasped in surprise and fought, using all the tricks from a lifetime outside the law, but to no avail. Templeton soon had me trapped in front of him, where none of my struggles loosened his tight grip.
Thankfully my cap remained on my head and I decided to continue my masquerade. Pretending to be a sexless boy seemed safer than considering the hard male body pressed against me and the growing ridge of masculinity that nudged the small of my back so relentlessly.
The guests surged to their feet
at my abrupt arrival, startled and irritated.
“What the hell is that boy doing here?” demanded one.
“I’m afraid, gentlemen, that we seem to have discovered a spy,” Perez drawled, strolling forward to stand in front of me. My heart beat triple time at the sight of that slow saunter, which reminded me of a mountain lion circling a deer.
“I’m sorry, Don Rafael,” one man began but stopped when Perez lifted his hand.
“Enough said, Benjamin. I’m sure you checked this room most thoroughly. But sometimes mice can creep through the smallest cracks.” His hand came down and lifted my chin. I glared at him fiercely, determined not to yield an inch. His eyebrow lifted slightly and his finger caressed my jaw contemplatively.
I caught my breath, startled by the contact, and looked into his eyes for the first time. His eyes were dark and cold and ancient, and held a considering spark deep within. I shivered involuntarily and heard Templeton chuckle quietly. He pulled me tighter against him so that his shaft nestled even closer. I tried to squirm away and his grip became brutally hard. I desisted with a gasp of pain and waited.
Mr. Perez’s mouth quirked and he patted me on the shoulder before turning away.
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry but I’m afraid we must postpone this until we can be sure of being uninterrupted. I trust you won’t mind joining your wives earlier than expected at the concert? Bien. My secretary will be in touch to reschedule our meeting.” The men assented reluctantly and began to leave the room, most of them casting angry glances at me. No help there, not that I’d ever expected any.
Perez closed the door behind them then returned to stand in front of me. I swallowed, overwhelmingly conscious of being trapped between two big male animals.
“Was this your idea or your family’s?” Perez asked.
“What are you talking about, Mr. Perez? Just let me go! I didn’t hear anything,” I protested.
The Hunter's Prey Page 2
