by Robin Gideon
Samantha turned her back to Blade but didn't take so much as a single step away. In a voice barely audible, she said, “You've been so kind to me, how will I ever repay you...?"
Blade squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as shockingly intemperate wayward thoughts of repayment by way of sexual satisfaction rocketed through his brain. For the nth time since discovering Blue Elk had a captive in his tepee, Blade had to remind himself that Samantha was a young woman who had been kidnapped, and the last thing in the world she needed was for a lusty man to turn his amorous attentions upon her.
Ignoring her feminine charms was the gentlemanly thing to do. Father McMurphy most assuredly would have agreed with Blade's decision. But then, the good Father was strong when it came to temptations of the flesh.
However, it was thoroughly and completely impossible for a man of Broken Blade's well-honed libertine sensibilities.
He waited for a moment, looking at Samantha's motionless back while his mind whirled like a tornado. Her blonde hair reflected the sparse moonlight with a golden glow, and the urge to take her into his arms was suffocating in its intensity.
With dispatch, Blade's hands did the bidding of his better judgment. He unbuckled the wide leather belt, holding his revolver and holster at one hip and a sheath and knife at the other, and dropped them to the ground. Then he unknotted the slender braided cord surrounding his waist, and instantly the soft buckskin fell to the grass at his feet. His arousal, half-formed and yet already impressive in both length and girth, sprang free and swung away from his loins.
Don't look at her! Don't! Don't! Yet his efforts were futile. Samantha represented a feminine magnetism that was much stronger than his willpower. In a vain effort to maintain some semblance of self-control, he consciously called forth bigotry. She's a yellow eyes!
This last thought was so ludicrous it nearly made him laugh. He had seduced far too many ‘yellow eyes’ to make any credible argument that he found something unseemly about the Caucasian race. The fact that his mother, who Blade adored with the devotion given only to saints, was a high-born Englishwoman was conveniently forgotten during this brief but riotous self-examination.
As his erection swelled, Broken Blade determinedly pulled the knife from his sheath, folded his breechclout in half and cut across its twelve-inch width. Taking one half of the breechclout, he pulled it up between his legs, grimacing when he discovered how little extra buckskin hung in front or back, and quickly tied the braided leather sash around his waist to hold it in place. His erection caused a portentous bulge in the soft leather.
What remained of his breechclout for Samantha to wear was not nearly long enough to provide much cushioning on horseback but enough to give some protection from the elements, as well as providing a measure of modesty. Therefore, a success, though he felt silly wearing a breechclout only marginally long enough to cover his erection, now nearly fully engorged and throbbing painfully.
It was about at this time that Blade realized the fatal flaw in his sartorial plans for his abjectly embarrassed but wildly erotic companion. Though he had a decidedly abbreviated breechclout for Samantha, he didn't have a cord to secure the buckskin in place. After a few frantic seconds, he came to the conclusion that his only option was to take a slice lengthwise from the breechclout to be used as the sash.
A few minutes later he had a finished product. It wasn't much, but something had to be better than nothing.
"Turn toward me,” Blade said, still on his knees on the bank of the stream.
She turned slowly, and when she saw him on his knees, she seemed surprised.
"I've made a breechclout for you.” He held the leather up for her to see.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled, an act that, though innocent, was wickedly arousing to Blade's rapidly overheating senses. “I've never ... I mean ... um ... how do you put it on."
"Let me help you,” Blade replied, his tone infinitely more casual than his riotous emotions. “Lift the shirt.” When she hesitated, he looked up into her troubled gaze. “I'm only trying to help you."
Samantha caught the buckskin shirt at the hips and slowly raised it. Blade watched, hardly breathing, as the leather drifted upward, revealing more and more of the pale thighs, and then finally the cleft of her sex and the triangular patch of dark blonde pubic hair. The feminine vision of beauty completed Blade's erection, which now bulged mightily inside what little remained of his straining buckskin breechclout.
While holding the leather, he reached between Samantha's thighs. Without having to be told, she spread her feet wider apart. Though putting the breechclout in place and securing it with the strips of leather only took a few seconds, they were the most trying seconds of Blade's life.
The spirits are giving me a test. This is punishment for something I have done wrong.
The instant he finished knotting the makeshift sash at Samantha's hip, Blade rose to his feet. She released the buckskin shirt, a faint smile of gratitude touching her full-lipped mouth.
"I can't thank you enough.” Something caught her gaze, and she looked down at the enormous length of his erection fighting to be freed from its prison of soft leather. She put a hand to her mouth and whispered, “Oh, my! Did I cause that?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Three
A hundred distinctly separate emotions went through Samantha in a heartbeat. She thought of her ex-fiancé and how he always said if she got him aroused, then it was her responsibility to see that he was given satisfaction.
She thought, too, with great bitterness, how when she told Jimmy she was pregnant and that they should move up their wedding date, he had ridden out of town the following day and never come back. The fact that Samantha miscarried a week later kept the secret of her pregnancy from the town gossips, but there were still those wagging tongues who speculated on why he left town so suddenly.
But that was Jimmy, and though he had taught Samantha that making love could be a pleasurable experience, his erection now seemed to Samantha like a miniature version of what Blade possessed.
"Oh,” Samantha said softly and amended it with, “oh, my!"
Blade just stood there as her gaze stayed for long seconds on the angry-looking bulge in the soft buckskin before finally, very slowly, crawling up the dark abdomen and hairless chest corded with muscles ... and lastly up to Blade's face. He was starkly handsome with high cheekbones, a wide mouth that faintly mocked, and dark eyes that glittered like wet onyx jewels.
He's so beautiful. It was a wayward thought, one she wished she hadn't had, but once it was there, she couldn't deny its existence. And when the thought, He's dark as sin itself went through her mind, she flinched. Young women of Samantha's education and social class were never supposed to think of an Indian man as being at all beautiful and certainly not sexually arousing. But what her socially-reinforced prejudices yelled at her and what her own body whispered were polar opposites.
Her tongue slipped nervously out between her lips for only a moment before her hand, somehow disembodied, as though it was another woman's hand, trembled as it crossed the small expanse that separated her from Blade.
Why am I doing this?
On a breath-held moment, she caught one end of the braided leather sash at his waist and gave a slow, steady pull. The leather unknotted, and a moment later the straining buckskin fell to the ground and Blade's erection, very long and fiercely rigid, angling upward and visibly pulsing, sprang free.
Blade sighed with relief, and Samantha gasped softly, a hand rising to her mouth.
"Oh ... my...” she whispered.
A plethora of conflicting emotions were at work within Samantha. The marrow-deep fear she'd experienced when Blue Elk had taken her hostage after killing everyone else on the train was greater than anything she had previously experienced. But then Blue Elk and Dog tied her to the stakes and cut off her clothes, and her fear-level had reached new heights. Worst of all was looking into Blue Elk's eyes
as he casually touched her, her body and soul naked and vulnerable in his tepee, listening to his demeaning and vile words.
But Blade represented something else. Something exotic ... and more than just a little dangerous but in all the right ways ... erotic ... indefinably sexy ... a taboo temptation ... a promise of fulfillment that Jimmy's caresses hinted at but never really satisfied.
Samantha had never acted so rashly before, at least not when it involved sex. She wasn't what the preachers called ‘easy.’ Even so, Blade was somehow the embodiment of sex, the epitome of carnal temptation.
Kiss me. Please, kiss me!
Samantha moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, searching for the courage to put her longings into words just as Blade took a half-step closer. Her heart seemed to seize up in her chest. Though she began to literally tremble from head to toe, she did not take a step back from the tall, powerful man standing so close she could feel the heat and virility of his body in the marrow of her bones.
He raised a large hand, his fingers long and bronzed. When he touched her lightly to smooth an errant lock of hair away from her eye and behind her ear, it seemed as though she had been given the most sensual caress of her life. Her eyelashes batted briefly against cheeks that had heated with excitement and embarrassment.
The finger that had smoothed the tresses behind her ear eased beneath the heavy fall of her hair until it rested at the base of her neck.
He moistened his lips with his tongue, and it seemed a devilishly erotic thing to do. When he spoke, his voice was deep, low, unmistakably masculine, and ringing clearly with a formal education that Samantha could only speculate at. “You've had a very difficult time of it. If ... if you don't want me to kiss you, I won't."
Samantha closed her eyes. It was glaringly obvious that she had sexually aroused Blade, and even though she had done that, he was gentlemanly enough to understand she was vulnerable—and didn't want to take advantage of her weakened physical and emotional state.
Samantha whispered, “Please, kiss me."
She opened her eyes and looked up into his dark, glittering, jewel-like eyes. Her limited experience with men made her feel terribly insecure. “I'm not a virgin, but I've never before asked a man to kiss me.” She parceled out the truth very carefully. When Jimmy made love with her, he'd make her say things like ‘fuck me’ while they were doing it. She wondered if Blade wanted her to speak so coarsely, or if it was just Jimmy who got excited by such words.
Jimmy had taught her all the slang words for body parts and sex acts and continually prodded her to use them, particularly when she was masturbating him. She hadn't liked using the coarse language when she was with Jimmy, but there was something about Blade that pushed her toward temptation.
A half-smile toyed with Blade's mouth as he bent toward her. He hesitated a moment, his lips an inch from Samantha's. Impatient and needy, she leaned into him, tilting her head further back on her shoulders. He slanted his mouth over hers.
With infinite precision, Samantha was aware of all the different tactile sensations evoked by Blade. She tasted his lips, felt the firm, confident pressure of his mouth sealing hers, moving slowly, almost leisurely, in stark contrast to the enormously swollen and glaringly impatient erection she had seen. When he pulled her in closer, she felt that erection touch her, its solid length a barrier between their bodies, burning her through the borrowed buckskin shirt.
She had been kissed before, of course, but she had never before responded so quickly nor so completely to a kiss. And when the tip of his slithering tongue touched her lips, she opened her mouth willingly, wantonly hinting that a deeper exploration, a more intimate kiss, would be to her liking. As Blade's tongue slipped between her lips, the tremulous sigh of pleasure that drifted to her ears was unprecedented for Samantha—because the lustful moan was hers.
His hands landed on her shoulders briefly before the broad palms began making their way slowly down her arms. She literally swayed as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers. When his hands reached her wrists, long, strong fingers curled around them.
By the time he ended that first kiss, she was incapable of denying him anything. Slick, feminine honey lubricated her entrance, her clit was erect and tingling, and her pussy ached for Blade's touch.
Samantha looked down just in time to watch him wrap her fingers around the thick, heavily-veined shaft of his cock.
"Oh ... my,” she whispered as she felt the heat of Blade's erection seep into her blood stream. It surprised her that he didn't have so much as a single strand of pubic hair.
She discovered that, with his erection in her hands, she could not touch her fingertips to her thumbs. Nervously clearing her throat, she worked both hands up and down over the length of his cock, and across the surface of her imagination came the question of whether his size was such that taking him into her body would only cause her pain, or if some pleasure might be possible despite his being so extravagantly endowed.
Fear colored her tone when she said, “You're so big that..."
"I know what to do,” Blade replied in answer to the half-formed statement, his hands once more on Samantha's shoulders as she stroked him. She suspected he had heard similar trepidation from his lovers many times before. As though reading her mind, he added, “Trust me. I'll make it magical."
As she stroked him, she watched her hands, mesmerized by their movement. She studied their progress with a certain detached objectivity, as though they belonged to someone else. When a pearl of liquid formed at the slitted tip, Samantha resisted the urge to bend over to lick the drop off. The fact that she had even considered doing such a thing surprised her since she'd never before willingly performed that intimacy. She had on occasion been wheedled and cajoled and bullied into doing it by Jimmy.
Samantha looked up into Blade's eyes again, and he slanted his mouth once more over hers. When he kissed her, she was incapable of coherent, rational thought. As his tongue traced the circumference of her lips and entered her mouth, all she was capable of was feeling. She had been reduced to nothing more than responsive nerve endings by the sensuality conjured by Blade. She was incapable of inhibition or prejudice. She couldn't think.
He caught the bottom of the buckskin shirt and began raising it. She had to release the hold on his erection, and for several seconds, as the shirt was pulled over her head, she had the eerie sensation of drowning or suffocating, of being helpless against a man who could make her feel things more powerfully than she had thought possible.
But then the shirt was over her head and seconds later, when the half-length breechclout fell to the ground at her feet, Samantha stood completely naked—and it wasn't a feeling she was at all comfortable with. She started to cross her arms over her naked breasts, but he caught her once again by the wrists.
"Don't hide,” he said, extending her arms outward. “You are so beautiful. You mustn't hide.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then on the neck. “You're much too precious to hide."
Samantha had never before had the word ‘precious’ used in conjunction with herself, and most certainly never when she was naked. To hear it now, from a man who fascinated her in a thousand different ways, made her nipples tighten and the feminine nectar flow more freely to her pussy. Sharing her passion with Blade, an Indian, was taboo. But the man was irresistible, his charm an unspoken promise of forbidden pleasure, his sensual expertise dispensed with the casual ease of a man who had proven his skill too often already.
He bared his teeth and nipped at the delicate flesh of her throat. Samantha uttered a short, high-pitched gasp, her head spinning, all her thoughts in a chaotic jumble. She tried to pull her wrists from his grasp, but her efforts were easily thwarted. His physical strength was countless times greater than hers. She felt submissive ... and the awareness of his masculine dominance made the nectar lubricate the entrance to her feminine temple, preparing her for his invasion.
"B-Blade ... wait ... I don't think you realize...” Sama
ntha began, a small but still rational part of her brain suddenly found its voice. But then his mouth, warm and moist, captured the crest of her left breast. He drew a firm suction upon her nipple, his cheeks caving inward as his tongue flicked across the throbbing tip. Her protests died in a whimper. “Oh, God! Blade, that's so..."
It was the strangest experience for Samantha, both fearful and exciting simultaneously and in equal measures. When she had been tied up by Blue Elk, the helplessness she felt against his greater power—especially with those rawhide cords wrapped around her wrists and ankles—made her feel defiled, even when he wasn't touching her.
With her wrists trapped within Blade's hands, she similarly felt in bondage. But the sensation this gave her, of being utterly overwhelmed by his masculine presence, dominated by his size and strength, did not make her feel defiled. It made her feel small, though she was by any measure a woman of generous dimensions and by comparison to his stark masculinity, distinctly feminine.
And then there was his heritage, which couldn't be ignored. The man was Blade, and he was a Northern Comanche, tall and proud and too damn handsome for her own good. Since Samantha was a proper school teacher—a second generation school teacher, in fact—and of Swedish-Irish descent, her options in men were limited to Scandinavians and the Irish. Perhaps out of necessity, a suitor of English or Welsh descent might do. But a Northern Comanche? A half-naked savage from the Plains? Not in a thousand years.
Or, perhaps, somewhat less than a thousand years, Samantha thought in a moment of intellectual clarity as Blade kissed his way across the front of her body, moving without haste from one thoroughly-tantalized nipple to one thus-far-neglected.
It was worth the wait. By the time Blade finally sucked her right nipple between his lips, Samantha was on the verge of begging for relief. She did not need to sink to such abject levels of carnal surrender because, obviously an aficionado of seduction, Blade knew exactly how to heighten expectation by increasing delay and precisely when fulfillment was necessary.