Outlaw Rose

by Celeste Rupert

  “What’s that?”

  He pulsed up against her and she grinned. “That’s all well and good, but how do I know I can trust you?” Rose asked.

  The look on his face was positively evil. “Because there’s no downside for me. I get to live off that gold and the possibility of this”—he rocked his hips again—“on a regular basis. Why would I give that up?”

  She laughed and leant back, bracing herself on the ground between his knees with one hand and extending the other in his direction. “You’ve got a deal.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she giggled. “Oh yeah, you’re a little tied up right now.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “about that.”

  She lifted herself slowly off him, watching as his eyes closed and his head fell back. She untied the rope with shaky fingers then stood back to watch as he got to his feet, stepping out of his boots and trousers. He rubbed his wrists, rolled his shoulders, and turned to reach for her.

  She met him halfway, twining her arms around his neck. He folded her in his arms, crushing her against him. Tucker dropped his head and took her mouth, kissing her for the very first time and taking her breath away. He invaded her mouth with his tongue and her own tangled with it eagerly as he slid his hands down to knead her ass, holding her tight against him. She could feel the length of his erection against her belly and by the time he had broken the kiss she was weak with wanting him. He kissed her again, slower this time, taking her lower lip into his mouth and sucking gently as he tugged her towards the ground. She fell to her knees, and he rolled on top of her, feathering kisses over her face and down her neck.

  “Now,” she gasped. “I need you inside me now.” She spread her legs wide and arched her hips to meet his thrust, taking him in entirely in one smooth stroke.

  He stopped as soon as he was deep inside her, and brought his hands up to brush her hair away from her face. He ran his thumb over her lower lip and kissed her so gently that her stomach clenched. “You’re beautiful.” His forehead creased. “What is your name, Miss Bank Teller?”

  “I’m Rose,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling pleasantly. “My pleasure.” He started to move against her. “Really.”

  She started to laugh, then gasped instead as he increased the tempo. She met him thrust for thrust, roaming her hands over his broad back, clutching at his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin. His kissed her over and over again, his tongue matching the rhythm of his body. She loved his hands on her, his mouth. He said her name, low and husky, and that was all it took to send her over the edge. Her cries mingled with his until they lay entangled in each other’s arms, the sun beating down on them.

  Tucker looked up at her. “You up for a dip?” He stood and took her hand to help her to her feet.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be headed for California?”

  He grinned and pulled her towards the water. “I think we can afford a few more minutes.”

  Epilogue

  Rose stretched as she awoke, until she realised she couldn’t pull her hands down again. They were tied to the wrought iron headboard that had been specially ordered for her by Tucker. She opened her eyes to see Tucker grinning down at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  In answer, he bent down and kissed her until she was breathless. “For old times’ sake,” he said. “That time with the tree was the best I ever had. Thought I’d return the favour.”

  She twisted against the bonds. “I don’t have time this morning, Tuck, I’m meeting the ladies for breakfast.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, you’ve had to send your apologies because you’ve been ill all night.”

  She stopped struggling. “Oh. Am I going to be sick for long?”

  “All day at least.” He gave her a crooked grin, sliding his hand underneath her nightdress.

  She drew in a shuddery breath as he ran a thumb over her breast. She twitched away from him as well as she could while bound to the headboard. He turned his attention to the buttons down the front of her nightdress.

  “That sounds fun, Tuck, but this was the day I was supposed to find out the details about that mine payroll. I just gained Mrs Layton’s trust. She was going to…” She trailed off as he bent over her, smoothing his tongue around her nipple.

  “I don’t care about Mrs Layton right now, do you?” He blew on the wet nipple and it tightened to a hard point.

  “No, but the gold…”

  He bit the nipple hard enough that she yelped.

  “Tuck!”

  He licked over the bite mark and moved his attention to the other peak.

  “Tuck, really, this breakfast will give us the last bit of info we need. If you want the gold—”

  He bit the other nipple and she shrieked and reared up off the mattress as far as the rope around her wrists allowed, only to keep her back arched as he sucked hard, sending electricity straight to her cunt.

  “Now,” Tuck said, moving up to kiss her neck, “are you finished talking about the gold, or haven’t you got the message yet?” He grinned down at her, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

  “This is definitely more enjoyable than breakfast with the ladies.” Rose sucked in her breath as he trailed wet kisses down her front, peeling back the nightdress as he went. He moved her legs apart and slid a finger into her slippery folds.

  “So wet.” He laved her with his tongue and slid his finger deep inside her.

  Rose bit her lip and squirmed. “Not that I’m complaining,” she said, breathless, “but we’ve planned this for weeks. I don’t understand why you’re not worried about the gold.”

  Tucker landed a sharp, stinging slap on her pussy and she screamed, trying to flip away, her cunt burning from the impact. He held her still, hands clamped on her thighs, and buried his face between her legs, his mouth soothing away the sting, inflaming the hyper-sensitised tissue until Rose’s hips pumped of their own accord and she struggled to get enough air as she heaved and twitched under the onslaught. She fought her bonds until her wrists stung, then grabbed hold of the wrought iron bars for support.

  Just as she was teetering on the brink of the biggest explosion of her life, Tuck stopped. Rose craned her neck, panting, to see him move over her and she arched her hips in his direction.

  “Please,” she said, meeting his lips as soon as they were in reach. “Please, I need you inside me now. Hard.” She felt the head of his cock probing at her entrance and tried to arch high enough to take him in, but he moved just out of reach. She groaned in frustration. “Why?”

  He grinned, his own heaving chest betraying that he wasn’t quite as cool as he let on. “You know the gold, from the payroll?”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Now you want to talk about that?” She tried again to rear up and envelope his cock, growling when he dodged. “You’re lucky my hands are tied.”

  He chuckled, and she was thrilled at the familiar warm rumble. “I know everything we need. The train comes through late tonight. All I need is a little distraction for the guards”—he leant down and nipped at her ear—“and it’s ours. You ready for another heist?” He moved as he asked the question, sheathing himself to the hilt, filling her completely.

  “Yes,” she cried, as she met his thrust. She panted, matching his rhythm. “I’m always ready for another heist.”

  “Was I right, Miss Bank Teller?”

  Rose tried to keep track of the conversation, while her body was singing from his strokes, hard and fast, just as she’d requested. “It’s Mrs Tucker… Right about what?”

  “It is good to have a partner in crime.”

  Rose would’ve answered, but her orgasm swept over her, and instead she screamed and thrashed beneath him, pulling him with her over the edge so that he pounded into her and stiffened with a shout of his own.

  “Yes,” Rose answered, when she could speak again. “It’s definitely good to have a partner in crime…and in the bedroom.”

  Also avail
able from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  A Gentleman’s Harlot

  Natalie Dae

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Pearl Lewis looked up from her sewing, needle poised above the small square of white fabric. “What did you just say?” She stared at Frances, one of two childhood friends who had come for afternoon tea, taking in her flushed cheeks and devilish smile. Frances’s words had held such a hint of daring, of non-conformation, that Pearl wanted her to repeat them just so she could revel in them again.

  Sitting on Pearl’s left, Frances smiled and shook her riot of blonde curls back from her face, the corn colour enhanced by the sunlight streaming through the two windows behind their wing chairs. “I said, would you not just love to visit the new men’s club and become one of their women?”

  Pearl tried to hide a smile. Frances’s shocking statements never failed to amuse her. She dropped her needle to her lap and covered her mouth with one hand. Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts Frances’s suggestion brought, and she closed her eyes for a moment to sift through the images. Men fondling women—Oh God, how…naughty!—women touching men there, and several people at once, all naked, all having…sex.

  Pearl opened her eyes to find her other friend’s face directly in front of hers, Elizabeth’s black hair hanging rod straight as she hunkered down and placed her hands on her knees. Her dark blue eyes were hooded due to the unsightly frown she wore, and Pearl started, slapping her hand over her heart.

  “Oh, you scared me, Beth! I did not expect to see you there like that.”

  Elizabeth leaned closer, head tilted, the ornately carved mahogany mantelpiece behind her framing her as though she were a painting. Elizabeth regarded her with such scrutiny Pearl grew uncomfortable.

  “What did you see just then?” Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet, a hint of reproach in her tone. The case clock beside the crackling fire ticked for several seconds, and her mouth formed a tight pink line that did not become her. She whispered, “With your eyes closed. What did you see?”

  Pearl cleared her throat and looked away from Elizabeth to Frances, who smothered a giggle behind her long, slender fingers. Pearl tried to convey that she needed help by widening her eyes, but Frances made much ado about continuing with her sewing, pursing her lips in concentration.

  “I…I really do not think,” Pearl turned back to Elizabeth, “it is proper for me to say.”

  Elizabeth widened her eyes and reared back, as though in shock that Pearl had refused to share her thoughts.

  Pearl rushed on. “Oh, it is not because I do not want to share. I do, but you are so…sensitive about certain things that I would hate for you to leave here somewhat…disturbed.”

  “Disturbed?” Elizabeth stood abruptly and paced up and down the cream and blue patterned rug before the fireplace, her dark green dress swishing with each step. “Whatever do you mean?” She paused, staring first at Frances, then at Pearl. “Oh! You were not thinking…you did not…?”

  Pearl clamped her lips closed, nodded and looked down at her lap, picking up her sewing. “I thought things I perhaps should not have, Beth.” She jabbed the needle through the material—a handkerchief she was embroidering on each corner—and pricked her finger. “Ouch!” She jumped up, placed her sewing on the chair seat and popped her finger into her mouth. The taste of copper flooded her tongue.

  “Really, Pearl! You are almost as bad as Frances.” Elizabeth paced again, throwing an appalled glance at the blonde. “I wish you two would hurry along and get married like me. Then perhaps you would not wish to discuss such a thing as being a gentleman’s harlot. Pearl, your mother and father would spin in their graves if they heard even a snippet of the conversations you two have, and it is a blessing your aunt is old and easily fooled. If she were to walk past this door she would never let you leave this house!”

  Pearl chanced a peek at Frances, who eyed her from beneath lowered lashes, her lack of control obvious as her cheeks reddened and her mouth curved. Frances released a peal of laughter, throwing her head back.

  Pearl giggled, unable to remain chastised. “Oh, Beth, please! Surely you know Frances was only talking. It is not as though she intends to do such a thing.” Pearl looked at Elizabeth.

  She stalked back to her seat and sat with dignity and grace. “One never knows with Frances,” she muttered, lifting her reticule on to her lap and dropping her sewing inside. “And, much as I love you both, I really do not feel I can visit for afternoon tea once a week if the conversation is going to revolve around things like…that. The gentleman’s club of which you speak is situated in a terrible part of the city, so I heard. Frances, how you could even contemplate visiting such an establishment, even if it were in a respectable part of London, is beyond me.” She glared at Frances, then stood and hung her bag over her forearm. “And to think only an hour ago we were discussing the terrible murders that have been occurring,” she paused for her usual dramatic effect, “in the very same area!” Sharp lines marred her forehead. “I shall wait out in the foyer. Gerald will be here shortly to collect me.” She flounced from the room, shutting the door loudly behind her.

  Pearl stared at the door, her mouth hanging slightly open. Frances’s laughter filled the room again, and Pearl turned to look at her, ready to admonish the young woman, but she failed. Her own laughter spilled, loud and hearty, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh, we should not laugh at her, Frances.”

  Frances composed herself and adjusted the neckline of her rose-pink dress, patting it once satisfied it lay in place. “She has become so priggish since she married Gerald that I cannot stand it. I say these things to rile her, you know.”

  “I am well aware of that.” Pearl smiled. She took her sewing from her seat and put it on the round occasional table between their chairs. She glanced out the window at the front lawn, spying Gerald’s coach trundling up the curved driveway. “He is here. Should I see her out?”

  Frances snorted. “Oh, leave Mrs Prissy to see herself out. If she sets eyes on us any more today she is likely to explode. Besides, your aunt might have waylaid her. I hear someone talking.”

  Pearl smoothed her hands along her thighs, the skirt of her dark red dress rustling beneath her touch. She caught sight of a wisp of her wavy russet hair hanging loose from the bun she’d laboriously put it in this morning, and tucked it behind her ear. Who would want a redhead for a wife? Certainly no one she had encountered lately. Aunt Edith had asked men to call on Pearl’s behalf, trying to marry her off and make her appear decent, but no man had appealed. Also, each man had commented on her hair, declaring that she must be foul-tempered, a woman he would not care to try and tame.

  Pearl sighed, went to the window, and watched Elizabeth, now swaddled in a long thick coat, walk down the stone steps and on to the drive. She took Gerald’s hand, and he kissed hers before helping her up into the carriage.

  Do I want that? The touch of a man’s lips on my skin?

  Yes, she did. With another sigh, she turned from the window to stare at the bookcases either side of the door. She had read every book, some twice. Her life since her parents had died had become so tedious, each day the same, melting into the next without anything of import happening.

  Unless I count these afternoon teas.

  “Frances, I am bored with my life. Since Mother and Father…” She turned to face her friend. “What about you?”

  Frances smiled brightly over her shoulder. “Well, you know me. Always smiling. Always happy. Good old Frances.” She sighed and a touch of sadness flitted across her face. “Actually, I am bored, but I do not want to get married. Not yet. I want…something else first. Something so frowned upon, so deliciously naughty that if anyone were to find out I would be banished from their circles.” She stood and twirled across the rug. “Oh, I want to live, Pearl. To have a secret, something to look forward to.” Clutching her hands to her chest, she stared at Pearl, eyes over-bright and cheeks flushed. “Do you understand?
”

  Pearl sat in her chair, propped her elbow on the wooden chair arm and cradled her chin. Frances’s inference struck her, and Pearl rose abruptly, rushing towards her friend. “Did you mean what you said earlier? Is that what you are saying?”

  Frances nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. “Yes! Oh, the drama of being in the thick of it, the terror of being in a place of ill repute, murders being committed right outside the very door. Would it not be such fun?”

  They stared at one another, Frances clearly waiting for an answer, Pearl unsure which one to give. Should she admit the idea of visiting the men’s club intrigued her? Should she tell her friend that she lay awake at night, tormented by visions of men making love to her, touching her in places only she had touched? She trusted Frances without question, so to admit such things would not be so bad, but to actually go to the club in a place of squalor and debauchery?

  “How would we do that?” Pearl asked, heat flooding her cheeks. “How would we get inside?”

  “Oh, I have already looked into that. I applied for us to be waitresses.” Frances jigged up and down, clapping and smiling. “We start tonight!”

  “What? Oh my goodness!” Pearl gripped Frances’s upper arms. Her stomach tightened, and her heart raced. “Tell me you did not. Tell me you are playing one of your silly jokes.”

  Frances laughed. “For our secret life, your name is Lily and mine is Violet. Is that not a scream?”

  “Oh, Lord. You are serious.” Staggering backward, Pearl plopped into her chair and gaped at Frances, her breaths coming hard and fast. She clutched the chair arms, fingers curling over the edges. “What on earth possessed you? How did you know I would agree?”

  Frances floated towards her, kneeling on the polished floorboards to take Pearl’s hands in hers. “Because, dear friend, underneath it all we are both very naughty girls! Besides,” she stood again and danced in a circle, arms out by her sides, “it is not as though we will be doing anything remotely like the other women there. Is it?”