Chaning Cheyenne

by Reese Gabriel

  "I think you're misguided and in need of discipline,” he said, not skipping a beat.

  Discipline ... the word sent chills down her spine. A man like Reed would know how to discipline a woman, lovingly but firmly. Did he have a female of his own? There was no ring on his finger. Maybe he had taken it off for his mission?

  Her head swimming, Cheyenne removed her pants, leg by leg and proceeded to slide the thong down, exposing her crotch. As quickly as possible she stepped from the tiny garment and covered her sex with her hands.

  "Are you satisfied?” she demanded.

  Yet again her attempts to shame him fell on deaf ears.

  "Not yet,” he said calmly. “Turn around, hands above your head."

  "What the hell for? You think I'm concealing weapons?"

  He shook his head. “I would do a cavity search if I thought that."

  "You're a pig,” she said, raising her arms.

  The motion caused her breasts to lift, morsels for his visual ... or tactile pleasure. Her mouth went dry as she imagined his touch on her body. No woman could be the same after being caressed ... possessed by a man like Reed.

  "This is about simple obedience and trust, Cheyenne,” he told her. “You have to be able to do what I say, without hesitation."

  And if those commands should have to do with pleasing that hard cock he was having such a hard time concealing? What if he ordered her to her knees to caress him with her mouth, or onto her back, legs wide to receive him, thrusting, powerful and throbbing between her hot, dripping sex lips?

  Cheyenne thrust out her ass, turning with as much insolence as possible. “If I wanted a dictator I could have stayed at home with my father. Or taken my lumps as Mad Dog's woman."

  Reed clenched his fists, surprising intensity behind his voice. “I don't want to hear you use your name and Mad Dog's in the same sentence again. That vermin isn't fit to live on the same planet as you."

  "Am I supposed to be flattered?” She was facing him again, her breathing quick. He looked like he was ready to slay a dragon for her. What was his story anyway?

  Whatever was going on, her body was sold. Indeed, she prayed he would not smell the scent of her in the air. He had her naked, confined. If he should press his advantage, he would find her willing, powerless to resist.

  "It makes no difference to me what you think or feel,” he said, his eyes turning steely. “My job is to keep you alive."

  "I was doing just fine by myself.” Cheyenne lowered her arms.

  "Did I say you could change positions?” he said, all business.

  "Screw you,” she replied, though she lifted her arms nonetheless, not anxious to test him just yet.

  The time would come, soon enough.

  Reed nodded. “That's better. You'll find if you cooperate, I can be quite reasonable."

  "Master is generous,” she said acidly.

  He arched a brow. “Is that what you and Frankie were about? Master and slave?"

  Cheyenne's eyes darted towards the impressive looking buck over the fireplace.

  "I asked you a question,” he said.

  He cupped her chin between thumb and forefinger, compelling her to look into those infernal blue eyes. Her toes curled. “I wasn't talking about Frankie and me,” she said evasively.

  "But I am. Were you submissive to the man?"

  "It wasn't like that."

  His gaze was relentless. “He tied you, during sex?"

  She blinked, under interrogation. “Yes..."

  "And you took orders in his bed?"

  "What's it to you?” she hissed. “It's not like I will ever be in yours."

  "You offered me your body once already,” he reminded. “When you thought it would help you go free."

  "I wasn't going to submit,” she protested. “It would have been casual sex, between equals."

  Cheyenne wasn't sure why the distinction was so important, but it was. Maybe it was because she sensed a power in this man beyond that of any other she had known. With Frankie it was a game, but with Reed it might be all too real.

  His smile was thin, inscrutable. “I don't think so, Cheyenne."

  "You don't know,” she charged. “You have no idea."

  "Sure I do,” he said with that exasperating confidence of his. “I could no more let you be my equal in bed than Mad Dog could turn around and be a productive member of society."

  Cheyenne moved to slap him. He grasped her wrist in mid air.

  "Let go of me!"

  He did so, but not without a warning. “I'll always be one step ahead of you, girl, bear that in mind."

  "I'm a woman, not a girl."

  His hand moved behind her neck hauling her in. The kiss came before she could think, before she could breathe. His lips were hard and punishing, telling the story of his command, his ownership.

  She moaned in protest, but her mouth was there for his tongue, her breasts freely available to be pressed to his chest. Oh, god, her nipples felt so good against him. She dared to touch her pelvic bone to that terrific hard on.

  Her arms were still above her head. Instinctively, she crossed her wrists.

  Their mouths were talking in lover's silence, tongues fencing. This shouldn't be happening. He had taken her, by force, stolen her in cuffs to an unknown place, taken her from her life.

  Such as it was.

  She wanted him and she needed to be fucked hard.

  He could spank her first if he wanted ... if he needed.

  Their hearts were connecting, the beats coinciding. They were going to pass the point of no return. What did he want? She would do anything...

  Abruptly he stopped.

  He had been on the verge of running his hand down her back, over her hips, over her ass. Fuck, why had he quit?

  His hands were on her ribs. He pushed her back, stepping away. She regained her breath, taking hold of her conscious self once more.

  Blinking, she felt sudden embarrassment at having gotten so carried away. Damn the man for manipulating her.

  "Get dressed,” he said. “I have work to do outside."

  She spit venom. “What the fuck is your problem?"

  "I have no problem,” he said.

  With that he spun on his heel and walked out the door.

  Weird. Hadn't he said just a minute ago he wasn't going to leave her alone until he had secured the property?

  She had half a mind to escape just to show him who was boss.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. They had gone miles into the woods. She could starve out there and die or be eaten by something.

  Her only hope was to get the keys to the SUV.

  And those he would most assuredly not give up willingly.

  Padding naked to the kitchen area she looked for a weapon.

  Cheyenne found knives in one of the drawers, but she could never hurt him for real.

  She looked in the cupboard underneath.

  A cast iron skillet sat on the shelf.

  Perfect.

  Grabbing it, she looked for a hiding place.

  How about under the pillow?

  Perfect again.

  Smiling, feeling better than she had in a long time, Cheyenne went to the bathroom to freshen up before getting dressed.

  She told herself that her feeling of satisfaction was due solely to her clever escape plan and had nothing to do with the kiss.

  So what if it had been the best kiss of her life, it meant nothing. The man was a pig and he was going to pay for his behavior.

  The thought of making love to him, just once, passed though her mind. She could always bonk him with the frying pan afterwards.

  Cheyenne pushed the idea from her mind. She couldn't risk it. He could easily find the pan.

  Besides, what if there was something to what he had said about them not being equals in bed? Suppose sex with Reed changed her? Suppose afterwards she became unable to defy him? Suppose escape was no longer something she was able to achieve.

  Suppo
se she became not just Reed's prisoner, but his slave?

  The way he spoke of domination made it seem real, very real.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Reed thought she was beautiful. She thought she had seen better days, even at twenty eight.

  A shower was what she needed. Luckily there was some decent shampoo and even conditioner. Someone, probably not Reed, had been thoughtful.

  She turned the water on and stepped in. Her skin tingled under the gentle torrent, invigorating as a spring rain. She tried to imagine herself far away, unfortunately all she could think of was Reed, joining her in the shower, his hard, naked body behind her, demanding, pulling her close.

  She wouldn't stand a chance, his hands circling her waist, holding her fast, his teeth nibbling at her earlobe.

  "Mine...” he would whisper, sliding his fingers up her rib cage to capture her swollen breasts.

  She would plead for mercy, but he would ignore her.

  "Don't fight it, Cheyenne, you want it, too..."

  Moaning, she touched herself. Her legs parted, anticipating the penetration of her fingers.

  A single finger tip grazed her clitoris. Her body leaped to attention.

  "You won't come," she heard him say. "Not without permission."

  "Yes,” she croaked aloud.

  An imaginary palm cracked against her back side, insolent and punishing. "Yes what?"

  "Yes, Sir,” she gasped, acknowledging her servitude.

  Cheyenne screamed as she came, the fastest orgasm she had had in years, if ever. The pleasure seared through her body, over taking her as if against her will. The force of it stole her strength, rendering her unable to stand.

  Whimpering, she sank to her knees, the water continuing to pelt her from above. Her teeth chattered, she was hot and cold, confused. What had happened? How could it feel so real?

  "Because I'm already in your head, that's why."

  Shaking her head, shutting out the unwanted voice, Cheyenne shut off the water and toweled herself dry.

  She was definitely letting her imagination get the best of her.

  Using the brush on top of the dresser, she combed her damp tresses. She'd be damned if she would make any effort to look nice for Reed.

  He was lucky she was cooperating at all she thought as she attached the bra behind her back, cupping her tender breasts. She was her own woman and that was that. Her body, her soul needed no man to take command of her. Frankie had used her for sex, yes, but she had used him, as well. Not only to escape her father, but her own boredom as well.

  And she would use Reed, too, if she had to.

  Cheyenne made the resolution in her head. If all else failed, she would seduce Reed and leave him broken.

  The idea intrigued her, though it frightened her, too.

  What if should backfire?

  The panties caressed her skin as she pulled them up her thighs. Had Reed chosen the silk deliberately to keep her aroused and off her game?

  She hesitated before putting on the dress.

  The symbolism was clear. A man who chose a woman's clothing had power over her. He wanted her to look a certain way ... for his pleasure.

  The wardrobe was of her father's choosing, but this particular sundress

  She told herself she was a siren, charming a snake but deep down she feared she was a mere moth, being tantalized by a fire she could no more handle than she could resist.

  Enough, arguing with myself, she thought. I'm hungry. I need to eat.

  Padding back to the kitchen she opened the fridge. There were eggs inside and bacon. Her stomach growled approvingly.

  Sighing, she went to get the frying pan.

  For now her weapon would have to double as a cooking implement.

  Chapter Three

  Reed picked up the nearest rock and threw it hard against the nearest tree. He was out of breath, some twenty feet from the cabin door, which he had just slammed shut.

  An inch of wood, separating him from near disaster.

  "Now you've done it, you son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Cheyenne had been under his protection barely a few hours and already he had made a play for her. Kissing her, hot and hard on the mouth while she stood before him, defenseless and naked.

  He would like to blame it on her, but he was the responsible party, the man in charge. He was supposed to be doing the resisting for the two of them.

  The thing was, she had kissed him back.

  Just as hard if not harder.

  If he hadn't pulled away in the nick of time they would be making love right now, her luscious body underneath him on one of those thick rugs, his aching cock pumping away inside her silky sex. She would be tight and hot, he knew it, just like a virgin.

  He would pull her close, his hands clasping her buttocks, allowing him the deepest penetration possible as he released his hot, thick come.

  Oh, god, he was out of his mind with lust.

  How was he supposed to stay in the same small cabin with Cheyenne? The way she smelled, like a spring rain, mixed with the scent of female heat. And that hair, his fingers itching to intertwine the tresses, feeling the silky softness. He wanted his hands everywhere on her, driving her mad, making her moan and beg and squeal. He wanted her to come and come, but only at his command.

  He imagined her inside, getting dressed. Cheyenne had been a clock stopper in her leather, but with that sundress and the silk underwear he had picked out, how would he be able to contain himself?

  The truth was, Reed liked his women ultra-feminine, sweet, sultry and a little old fashioned. He wasn't a sexist, but he was a firm believer in emphasizing the differences between the sexes. A woman in a dress, a beautiful one, begged to have the hem lifted, a man's hand sliding up her thighs, his heart racing as he reaches her sweet bottom.

  It was all in the genetics. Women softened and yielded for penetration, men got hard.

  Personally, Reed had never been harder in his life. Not even as a teenager. So Cheyenne was a submissive ... just as he had suspected.

  She hadn't needed to say a word in response to his questions. Her eyes said it all, the way her pupils dilated, the way her sweet lower lip disappeared between her teeth.

  Frankie, her last lover, the assassinated leader of the Vipers, had treated the billionaire's daughter as his plaything. She had been taken in bondage, she had submitted to the man. Reed craved to know the details. Did Frankie like her chained or bound in rope? Did he discipline her physically? He suspected not. The mention of spanking had seemed to catch her off guard.

  What about group sex?

  He clenched his fists at the thought of Cheyenne being passed around at the gang leader's whim. Some men, weak, falsely dominant men, compelled their females to submit to others. If Cheyenne belonged to him he would never share her. Woe to the man who even looked at her with improper intent.

  Her body would be for his enjoyment alone.

  And enjoy her he would, often and with abandon.

  Reed looked glumly at his pants. His erection was not going down. The only hope was to masturbate, undignified as the proposition might be.

  Where was he supposed to do that? In the middle of the woods?

  Reed looked over his shoulder at the cabin. He should never have left Cheyenne in there by herself. There were windows in back. She could sneak out. She could also be up to something suspicious, plotting some kind of attack.

  He wouldn't put anything past her. He had to get back inside.

  Not until he cleared his head, though.

  If he were to see her now, in his current state, he would have his way with her, hard and fast. On the floor, like he had imagined, or perhaps flat against the nearest wall.

  Possibly that would get the lust out of his system, but what if Cheyenne proved addictive, her loving like a drug to his system? Worse still, he could start to care. She was so goddamn beautiful and smart and the way she kept up with him, giving him wha
t for was a turn on, too.

  In many ways, she was his equal.

  And yet he wanted to conquer her.

  No more stalling. She's up to no good and you know it.

  Reed took a deep breath and marched back to the cabin, a warrior prepared for the battle of his life.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him inside.

  For the longest time he stood in the doorway, unable to move.

  Cheyenne was in the kitchen, barefoot at the stove, cooking.

  Bacon sizzled, the smell wafting to his nostrils.

  His eyes moved up and down her lithe frame, delightfully advertised in the print dress ... with the silk underwear underneath.

  Her hair was still damp, freshly cleaned and brushed.

  Something seized inside him. For a split second he imagined he was coming home, to his kitchen ... and his woman.

  "Smells good,” he said, coming up behind her. “I'm famished."

  She didn't notice him dropping the SUV keys on the table.

  Nothing like a little test to see just how much he could trust his lovely prisoner.

  Cheyenne whirled on him, emerald eyes flashing. “Don't get used to it. I'm not your servant."

  "Who said you were?” Reed was close enough to touch her, should he stretch his hand. She tensed visibly, though she did not retreat.

  Good for her.

  "You could make yourself useful,” she snapped. “And put in some toast."

  Reed smirked. “I'll probably burn it."

  "I'm sure you'll manage."

  He found the bread on the counter. Taking out two slices, he put them in the upright toaster. “About what happened before...” he began.

  "It won't happen again,” she finished his thought. “It was a mistake, I know."

  He studied her, gauging her emotions.

  "Stop staring at me,” she complained.

  "I need to know what you are thinking,” he said, though he was not sure he could justify the desire based on his mission.

  "I'm thinking what a prick you are."

  Reed licked his lips. The urge to dominate was overwhelming. “I would prefer you not swear."

  She turned her head, hair sweeping over her shoulder. “What the fuck difference does it make to you?” she said pointedly.

  His fingers tingled as he contemplated giving her a much needed smack on the ass. “I'm telling you not to, that's all."