Kept by the Bull Rider

by Sasha Gold

  Need surges through my body. My blood heats. I adjust my cock because suddenly my jeans are way too fucking tight.

  “I don’t have any way to pay my ship passage, Captain.”

  I shake my head. “What?”

  Her smile widens. “I’ve stowed away on your ship and have no money. I’m at your mercy.”

  “That a fact?” I pull my shirt over my head, not bothering with the buttons. I kick off my boots and strip off my jeans. I crawl across the bed and look down at her. “Damn, you’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

  The lace clings to her breasts. I cup her breast and stroke her nipple. Her breath catches and she lets out a soft moan.

  “I need you naked,” I growl, running my finger under the lacy trim.

  “Don’t rip it, Ben!”

  I scowl. “I’m the captain of this ship, girl. You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I mean, please don’t rip it, sir.”

  I return my attention to her delicious curves. “That’s better.” I give her nipple a slight squeeze.

  She draws a sharp breath.

  “You’re a pretty wench. I think you’ll warm my bed nicely.”

  A giggle escapes her mouth. “Ben…”

  I lower to kiss her and skim my hands along her sexy as fuck outfit. I’d like to tear it from her, but I’d also like to see her in it again. Soon. So I resist the urge to shred the lace. I’ll have to get at her the usual way, strip her down. But she pulls my hand between her thighs and I find the material’s opening.

  I growl. “If you’ve been walking around my ship like this, I’ll turn you over my knee.”

  She laughs, but her laughter vanishes when I trace my fingers along her pussy. She’s wet. When she closes her eyes, she parts her thighs, inviting me. My cock, already steel-hard, throbs, releasing a few drops of pre-cum. I swipe my thumb across and raise my fingers to her mouth.

  “Taste what you do to me,” I whisper.

  Her eyes widen. She licks her lips.

  “Now I’m going to taste you.”

  I lift her and turn her towards the head board. “Grab it and hold tight.”

  She lets out a soft moan. “Ben, you know I can’t take too much of this.”

  I smack her ass. “Should have thought of that before you snuck onto my ship.”

  Immediately, she starts trembling because she knows what’s coming. I push her knees apart and settle beneath her. When I coax her lower, she’s panting even before I’ve started. Small little noises that are part arousal and part worry about how much I’ll make her beg.

  Her scent makes my self-control slip. I imagine forgoing this, gripping her hips and taking her hard from behind. She’s so wet, I know she’s ready. But I’m going to take my time with her, even if it means holding off.

  I lick her slowly, teasing her with my tongue. Her pussy is swollen. Her clit is a sweet and juicy berry. Cupping her ass, I hold her right where I want her. It’s not long before small cries begin to fall from her lips. Her legs shake. She writhes and sways. I push her down to my mouth, so I can give her a little more. Her sounds become even more frantic.

  There’s no sexier sound than the sounds Gracie makes as she’s slowly falling apart. My cock pulses with the need to be buried deep inside her. I love the way her control slips away. I’d like to make her come. Right now. Just like this. But I want her to come on my cock even more.

  I get up and she practically falls to the bed. I have to hold her to keep her from collapsing, and I want her just like this, on her knees, holding the headboard. Candlelight flickers across her. She’s gorgeous. A dream. The lace molds to her body. Her ass, lush and heart-shaped, makes primitive need wrap around me. She’s whimpering and breathing hard. I rub the head of my cock against her pussy and she shudders. When she arches her back, offering herself to me, I thrust hard. I can’t hold back when she does that.

  “Bad girl,” I whisper. “Dirty little stowaway.”

  She groans but arches again when I start thrusting into her. I grab a handful of her hair and coil it around my fist. With my other hand, I grip her hip. Times like this, when I fuck her like a demon, she can hardly handle it. Neither can I. She writhes and arches, every breath a ragged gasp.

  “Ben,” she pleads. “I’m…” Her words drift off and she gives out a soft cry. Her pussy clenches around my cock. Her body tightens and then sinks toward the tangled bedding. I snarl and thrust hard, as I come an instant after her.

  We collapse onto the bed. I pull her close and kiss her and hold her as we both recover from the wild bout of sex. Sometimes I worry that I might scare her, that I’m too fierce.

  “You make me wild, sweetheart,” I whisper.

  “I’m glad.”

  I get up from the bed and wash up. When I tend to her, she tries to stop me, but I brush her hands away. I like caring for her in any way that she’ll let me.

  “Sleep in that, Gracie,” I tell her. “You look like something right out of a dream.”

  She salutes me, a sassy smile playing on her lips. “Aye, aye, Captain Calhoun.”

  We lie together in the soft candlelight and I think about the first time I saw her, sitting with girlfriends in the dance hall. It felt like I’d been thrown from a bull and had the wind knocked out of me. It took some time to recover. I had to wait before I went to talk to her. I’d brushed off my response as nothing more than my imagination. But the feeling comes again every so often. Where everything feels right. Perfect really, and the realization steals my breath clean away.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoyed this story please consider leaving me a review on Amazon.com and other book review sites. And sign up for my mailing list at my website where I will notify you of future releases, exclusive offers and bonus material. – Sasha

  Now, as promised, please enjoy Mail Order Sass, Book One of the Travis Brothers trilogy by my alter ego, Alix West.

  From the cover

  Will has thirty days to court his mail-ordered bride.

  William Travis can’t believe his eyes. The prim beauty who steps off the train can’t be the same woman he paid to come to Texas... and marry him. Charlotte’s too young, too sassy, and far too delicate to be a proper ranch wife.

  The marriage proxy is signed, and they’ll live as man and wife, but only after a thirty-day trial. Will never imagined Charlotte would be so captivating. Or so vexing.

  She insists on the full trial period. She also insists on teasing him and defying him too.

  Will’s certain of one thing. Thirty days have never passed so slowly…

  Her gruff cowboy cares little for courting.

  Charlotte comes from Boston to meet the man who offers his name, but not his heart. Will vows he has no use for romance or pretty words. She’s certain she doesn’t mind. At least here in Texas she won’t be fending off lecherous employers.

  A cold husband is better than a ruined reputation.

  But from the first moment she meets Will, the sparks fly.

  He thinks she’s a foolish girl. She’s sure he’s an impossible, domineering man. Despite that, with each day she falls a little more for a man who will never offer his heart.

  Charlotte’s certain of one thing. Thirty days have never passed so quickly…

  Mail Order Sass - Chapter One

  Charlotte

  The young couple in the dining car stared into each other’s eyes, pure joy radiating from their faces. Charlotte had been watching them while sipping her tea, spying really, trying to share the moment, to understand what it must be like to be so in love. She also felt a sense of loneliness, not sure if she’d ever feel that way for someone, or if someone would feel that way for her. The way the young man held the woman’s hand in his, gazing deeply into her eyes as he spoke softly, filled Charlotte with deep longing.

  A dull ache throbbed inside her chest.

  The train rumbled along the track, smoke billowing outside the window. She felt as though she’d been
on the train for years instead of days. She was traveling to meet her husband, the man she’d agreed to marry after exchanging just a few letters.

  With each mile, her uneasiness grew. Watching the enraptured couple only made her more aware of her precarious situation. A woman without means or family. A simple mail-order bride.

  When she’d boarded the train in Boston, her spirits were high. She was excited, hopeful about the future, happy to be heading west. Now, though, she fretted. Her man, Will Travis, likely would never look at her with such tenderness. From the beginning he’d made his intentions clear. She tore her eyes from the young lovers and reread the letter on the table, the last letter she’d received.

  Please be certain to book first class travel on the train to Colter Canyon. I don’t want any ruffians to trouble you on your trip…

  His letters, six in all, were full of instructions on what to buy for her new life in Texas (a good pair of sturdy boots will serve you well), what to leave behind (there’s no place for frivolous attire), and how best to prepare (eat plenty, frail women don’t last long).

  A rustle of skirts drew her attention back to the couple. The man guided his wife out of the dining car, his hand on her lower back as he dipped his head to whisper in her ear. The woman laughed and chided him softly with words Charlotte couldn’t hear.

  Charlotte forced her gaze to the window and the harsh landscape that stretched endlessly to the jagged horizon. They were in Texas now and only a few hours away from Colter Canyon. The land outside was as rugged and uninviting as Mr. Travis’s letters. He’d sent her plenty of money for her trip, along with an embarrassing amount for her to procure what she needed. But his letters held no warmth.

  From the beginning, he’d been explicit. What interested him was an arrangement that would suit both their needs. He wanted a strong, capable woman who came from good stock. In return he offered a home, his good name and a relatively comfortable life. He didn’t need a cook, but appreciated that she was a seamstress.

  She ran her hands down her skirts, eyeing her new frock with a mixture of pleasure and guilt. It was the first dress she’d owned that hadn’t either been handed down to her by another girl at the orphanage, or been something she’d made herself.

  Will had sent her enough money to have several dresses made. The luxury seemed scandalous, but she’d indulged in the extravagance. Since she was preparing for life on a ranch, she’d had trousers made as well. Maybe she could convince her taciturn husband to teach her to ride a horse.

  Adventures awaited her, at least, that’s what she told herself in the weeks leading up to her departure. A fresh beginning where no one knew who she was or the shame she carried on her shoulders. She would learn how to ride a horse and perhaps even shoot a gun.

  One day, she might tell Will about her secret. He’d questioned her about her stock, and the truth was she didn’t know. Her mother, a seventeen-year old prostitute, left Charlotte in an orphanage when she was only a few days old. Charlotte deflected his questions about her stock with a joke about buying horses and examining their teeth.

  He hadn’t been amused and replied with a sharp answer about smart mouths.

  She paid for her lunch and returned to her first-class cabin. Shutting the door behind her, she closed her eyes and fought a wave of panic. What if he rejected her? What if he saw through her false bravado and knew she was the daughter of a harlot?

  Usually this fear struck her in the wee hours of the morning, when she woke in her bed at the boarding house. In the dark, she imagined a monstrous man who would delight in making her life a misery. She thought being alone in the world was bad? Perhaps it was better than a cruel husband. But how much better? By daybreak her fears would fade like morning dew and she’d resolve to follow through on her scheme to go to Colter Canyon.

  By the time they drew close to the small town, she’d cycled through panic and calm at least a dozen times. The train slowed, wheels screeching, and the porter knocked on the door, telling her he’d be by shortly to help with her trunks.

  She pressed her fingers to the window and with her other hand touched the chain and locket she wore around her neck. One of her best dress-making clients, Emily Barstow, had gifted her with the locket. It was empty inside, of course, but Emily told her one day she’d have a picture to put there. Perhaps her husband or a precious baby.

  Emily, herself, was engaged to a man her father had selected. It was difficult to say which of the two girls felt more apprehensive about matrimony. Emily treated her as an equal and they’d parted as dear friends. As Charlotte studied the outskirts of the small town through the cabin window, she imagined the letters she’d write to Emily, telling her about her journey and arrival and all the people she’d meet.

  The train slowed to a stop. Outside, the Colter Canyon depot was a hive of activity. Everywhere she looked she saw cowboys and more cowboys. The crowd was almost entirely made up of men. A few women dotted the depot, their brightly colored hats a stark contrast to the men’s dusty cowboy hats.

  The porter came and quickly loaded her trunks on a trolley. With her heart thundering in her chest, she followed him to the door. A man walked behind her, muttering about her pace being too slow for his liking.

  “Why don’t you let the menfolk pass?” he demanded.

  She looked over her shoulder, but her surprise prevented her from responding. He was big, burly and with a thunderous scowl on his features. Thank goodness Will had sent her money for first-class fare. She couldn’t imagine making the trip with this sort of passenger seated nearby.

  Shaking her head, she tried to keep pace with the porter as he drew near the door. He stopped the trolley and took the first trunk off. With swift and efficient movements, he returned for her other trunk and set it down beside the first. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted her name. He knew she traveled as a mail-order bride. He kindly announced her name to the crowd milling about. Somewhere out there was her husband. A man stepped in front of her trunks and spoke to the porter.

  “Will,” she murmured, her feet rooted to the top stair. He was head and shoulders taller than the porter. His shoulders were broad and his back tapered to a narrow waist. Her breath stilled in her throat as she waited for him to turn to face her. It was as if everything depended on what she saw in his eyes. Warmth? Interest?

  “Get out of my way, ya dumb bitch.” The man behind her spat the words. He wrapped his hand around her elbow. His grip sent a jolt of pain up her arm and she cried out. She struggled to free her arm and in so doing came face to face with the beast. The man’s eyes flashed with fury. His breath washed over her. He was drunk. A drunk bully. He drew his lips back to, no doubt, unleash another string of insults.

  In that instant, a man stepped in front of her. The man grabbed the drunk by the throat and slammed him against the wall of the train so hard that his head bounced. His eyes rolled back in his head and the stranger let him sink to the floor.

  The stranger turned to face her. For a long moment they stared at each other. His eyes were a pale blue with flecks of gold. His jaw was square, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

  “Sorry about that, Miss.”

  His voice, a deep baritone, made her heart stutter. He towered over her. His presence, commanding and powerful, held her immobile, unable to respond. She was aware of his scent. Living in a small town outside of Boston, she was used to civilized scents of aftershave and soap, but he smelled of leather and hard work.

  He frowned, waiting for her reply.

  “That’s fine,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  “Better find your parents and stay away from Melvin here. Especially after he’s had a few too many. Understand?”

  Her parents? She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he turned from her and disappeared into the throng of passengers. She wanted to call him back, but the din of the station was too loud. The drunk stirred on the ground, rubbing the back of his head, and she hurried down the step
s, eager to be away when he woke.

  Biting her lip nervously, she stood by her trunks and waited. The train had mostly emptied, but a few passengers boarded, heading to Santa Fe most likely. The crowd thinned, but still there was no sign of Will. Had she imagined that he’d spoken to the porter? What if no one came to meet her? What if he’d changed his mind? The terrible what if questions besieged her once again.

  The train conductor yelled All Aboard, and the train whistle pierced the air. She shivered and waited and wondered. The afternoon air held a hint of chill, and once the sun went down, she’d be truly cold. What if she caught pneumonia?

  She shook off the question and straightened her shoulders. Chastising herself, she thought about how she’d come for adventure and a new start. If there was no Will to collect her, she’d find a hotel. Surely Colter Canyon had a hotel or boarding house or some sort of accommodations.

  The train lurched and slowly pulled from the station. The ground shook beneath her feet as the great engine belched smoke and lumbered down the track, slowly gaining speed.

  A few moments later it was gone. In its wake was a silence that deafened. A few cowboys remained, talking in pairs or small groups. They cast her curious looks.

  “You,” came a voice from behind her, the tone edged with disbelief.

  She turned to find the blue-eyed stranger, her rescuer at the top of the steps, glaring at her. What had she done wrong to merit such anger? And who was this man?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He moved closer, narrowing the distance between them until he stood a hand’s breadth from her, his furious gaze centered directly on her. “Charlotte?”