She hesitated. Obey Morgan, the master of the hidden agenda?
His lips curled bitterly. “I see how little you trust me. Very well, our expedition ends tomorrow. We’ve had a day and a half together and I’ve heard you more than once howling my name as you beg me for more.”
She flushed hotly, crushing down the memories.
“I’ll say that my revenge is accomplished. Tomorrow I’ll see that you’re safely returned to your home.”
Dear God, he was entirely serious. “No! I—” She nearly gagged on the words. “I’ll give you obedience.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You’ll forgive me if your enthusiasm doesn’t overwhelm me.”
“Does it need to? Surely all I have to do is act as I have pledged,” she retorted. Hopefully, unquestioning obedience wouldn’t be something she’d have to prove. She reached for her wine.
“Anytime and anyplace?”
She nearly choked. “What?”
He pushed away from the table, leaning back in his chair, the image of indolent masculine sensuality. Her blood promptly heated to a boil, no doubt trained by the past hours in his bed. She cursed silently.
“The only arena we trust each other in is carnal pleasure. So here and now, you’ll prove that you’ll obey me absolutely—or I’ll see that you return to Jackson and Great-Aunt Eulalia.”
“Morgan!”
His eyes glittered as his long fingers toyed with his wineglass. “Are you refusing, my dear?”
“I, ah, shouldn’t my word be enough?”
“Would mine be?”
She blew out a breath, recognizing the trap, and gave him the truth. “No, yours wouldn’t be. Very well, here and now, I’ll give you unquestioning obedience.”
And pray that her sanity survived it.
“Actually, I’d thought of a game where you sat on the table, rather than beside it,” he drawled, his expression entirely too calm.
She drew away from him slightly and scanned his face suspiciously. “On the table?”
“Exactly. Either sitting or lying on it.”
Involuntarily, she shot a look at the table. It seemed long and strong enough for carnal games. “Then what?”
“I excite you. I can place nothing inside you, though, except my hands and mouth.”
He sounded as if he were discussing nothing more dangerous than a game of checkers, which made it very risky indeed. “What’s the catch?”
“You can’t reach ecstasy until I give you permission.”
“What?” Her voice squeaked a little.
He smiled at her all too charmingly, like a tiger hiding its claws in its furry paws. “It’s a test of my skill—and your obedience, dear Jessamyn.”
“Not in the dining room, Morgan. What if the servants come by? Or Riley?”
“If you’re disobeying me so quickly, then there’s no need to take you past Denver, is there?”
“Morgan!”
He shrugged, arching an arrogant—and implacable—eyebrow.
She gulped, recognizing the temptation he offered and its promised reward. He’d tease and excite her to a rapturous pitch. Deny that for very long—especially given his skills at arousing her—and when her climax came, she could be overwhelmed beyond anything she’d yet encountered with him.
And in the dining room of all places. He was asking her to do this in a public place, not in the privacy of their bedroom. How very scandalous. She’d dreamed of doing something like this for years, even mentioned it to Cyrus, but it had never interested him. Her nerves prickled and her light dress suddenly seemed much too heavy against her sweating skin.
But she did trust him in carnal matters. He hadn’t harmed her in any way, nor humiliated her. She didn’t trust his judgment entirely, especially about hunting for the treasure. Given the low sorts he’d obtained his money from, he just might want the gold for himself.
But he’d only brought her body pleasure.
Shaking a little, her mouth dry, she stepped away from him and perched on the edge of the table, her bustle and hoops tilting up and out of the way. She braced herself with both hands for whatever came next.
A growl of approval gathered in Morgan’s throat as he stared at her. The glasses rattled in their stands, as if applauding her courage, and his chest tightened. Oh yes, Jessamyn, you will enjoy yourself here.
Just as much, he needed to be sure he had her obedience when it was inconvenient for her. Reliance upon her body’s behaviors was the first confidence likely to be obtained—and the most necessary in the dangerous world awaiting her amid the rough territory ahead. He’d accept sullenness, as long as she’d immediately dive for cover when he shouted the alarm. Establishing it through carnal methods would be enjoyable and something he was well trained for, although he’d never before trained a woman to be taken into danger. His mouth quirked, considering the calculated gasp with which one of those highly perfumed females might react to something as simple as a drawn knife.
But this was Jessamyn, who was more likely to charge into danger than flee. He needed to be sure she’d obey his orders. So he’d have to push her hard and fast, making her prove her trust even when and where she didn’t want to.
Hence, the choice of place—the dining car, a public space where they could easily be interrupted. Jessamyn would have to rely on his ability to avoid a scandal.
Now to test her in deed, which meant providing a stronger stimulus than usual. He glanced around and his gaze fell on the ice. He smiled slowly. Perfect.
He stepped to the doors at either end and quickly pulled the shades. Abraham and Sarah were superbly trained servants who were unlikely to disturb him, but this would ensure their privacy. Then he quickly cleared the pudding on its basin of ice, and their dessert plates onto the sideboard with the rest of the table settings.
Jessamyn watched him, rocking from side to side like a nervous schoolgirl.
He retrieved a napkin, twirled it into a quick blindfold, and returned to her. She’d need to focus solely on the sensations he brought.
“For my eyes? Can’t I watch?”
“No.”
She put one hand up to stop him. “But what if…”
His temper reared up slightly. “Jessamyn, are you going to immediately disobey me?”
She sighed and cast down her eyes. “Of course not.”
“Good.” He tied the napkin around her head. “Can you see anything?”
She sniffed and tugged the blindfold down farther. She turned her head from side to side, her mouth working a bit as if taste would compensate for her lost sight. “Not really.”
He relaxed slightly, relieved at how easily she’d accepted it, once it was on. “Good girl.”
A moment’s work saw the pudding lifted out of its ice-filled basin and onto the sideboard, while the train assisted with a particularly loud set of rattles to cover the noise. He quickly dipped a champagne flute’s base and stem into the ice, until the glass dripped.
He lifted her chin with a single finger. She choked and obeyed. He lightly ran the glass’s edge along her throat.
Jessamyn gasped and jumped but quickly leaned back, bracing herself on both hands.
He touched his fingers to the ice and brushed them over her collarbone. She arched up to meet him, gasping in shock, and the water slid into her cleavage.
Christ, the move put her breasts on display for him as if they were on a platter, and his mouth went dry. He promptly enjoyed her breasts, nuzzling and running his tongue over them, as if he could transfer his own fiery lust to her skin. South of his braces, his balls hung fat and heavy, unfortunately, more than ready to unload themselves again in tribute to her beauty.
Her head fell back, her body trembling against him, her hips rocking.
More. They both needed more.
“Touch yourself between your legs,” he ordered.
She gasped. “Here—in the dining room?”
“Of course,” he snapped, not about to tolerate delay. Thought was dammed difficult, wh
en her breasts were moving up and down in the cradle of her corset. His hands twitched in exactly the pattern needed to mold her for suckling. “Lift your skirt and toy with yourself through the slit in your drawers. You can’t deny that you know how to do so.”
She blushed furiously. “Will you please touch me with ice water there?” she whispered.
That brought his gaze back up to her face. While he couldn’t see her eyes, he’d swear her expression was one of hopeful anticipation. His mouth twitched unwillingly. “Perhaps. If you obey me.”
Jessamyn gulped. Then she slowly, clumsily pulled her dress’s mercifully simple skirts up to her knees.
Well done! His cock swelled and seeped pre-come. Morgan yanked his coat and tie off, and began to unbutton his shirt. “Higher, Jessamyn,” he warned.
She brought the folds up to the middle of her thighs, revealing her new, fine, white cambric drawers. Below her knees, they were beribboned and beruffled, before giving way to her stockings and kid boots. But between her mound and her knee, they were a simple, elegant sweep of delicate white fabric, moistened now with her cream. Her musk beckoned to him, a scented guide to her feminine delights. His pulse was hammering in his cock.
Now where the hell did William keep the condoms in this place? In the sideboard? He shrugged the braces off his shoulders and started to rummage. “Pleasure yourself, Jessamyn.”
“Morgan, that’s indecent,” she whimpered.
He shook his head at her continued hesitations. “Jessamyn, you’re being disobedient again. You know how and I want to see you do this. Just slip your hand between your legs and begin. Come on, you can do it.”
There was a long silence, broken only by the train’s rattles and creaks. He found the condoms and unbuttoned his fly. Then she moaned, deep and low. His head snapped around.
In the mirror, he could plainly see Jessamyn, head arched back, pleasuring herself with her hand between her legs. Her folds were cinnamon red and glistening with cream. Perfect obedience and beautiful beyond belief. His balls tucked themselves up against his cock with an almost audible thud.
Jessamyn moaned again. The train rattled over a bump, jostling both of them. She fell down on her back but lifted one leg to gain more room for play. Damn, she was skillful and beautiful when her fingers danced with her clit.
The train’s drumming beat roared in his pulse, and in his iron-hard cock. Happily, he sheathed himself in the condom and watched her, all the while stroking himself, savoring the dizzying rise toward orgasm and the savage satisfaction of her obedience.
When it was too much to bear, Morgan dipped his hand into the ice water and caught her wrist.
The shock stopped her abruptly, catching her breath in her throat with a harsh groan. She cursed him viciously but he was implacable. “Not yet, remember? Not without permission.”
“Morgan, dammit, now!”
He held her back, forcing her to wait for his permission. Pleasure denied was pleasure increased, he reminded himself. The stronger her orgasm when it came, the more she’d associate it with obedience to him. His hand circled her clit lightly, building her excitement—but not letting her go over the precipice.
She snarled. He toyed with her intimately, probing her, pumping her, measuring every protesting gasp and growl. He would finally have full confidence in her—and she would gain a climax she’d remember in her bones.
“Please, Morgan, please. Anything, I’ll do anything,” she begged. Her muscles spasmed and conscious tenseness left them, as she yielded to him.
He sent up a prayer of thanks, echoed by a chorus of hosannas from his cock and balls. Finally he had her physical obedience. Now he could reinforce it with orgasm—for both of them.
Morgan set his knee between her legs and shoved her farther onto the table. She panted, licking her lips in desperation. He kneeled over her on the table, very nearly dressed except for his trousers pushed down past his hips and his boots. He knew he was dominating her and was damn glad of it.
He dipped his fingertips in the tiny finger bowl on the side table and flicked a single drop onto her mound, just above her clit.
The shock was so great that Jessamyn arched, sobbing in pleasure, and pushed toward him. He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him, pumping into her hot, wet sheath. His seed surged forward from the base of his spine into his balls.
He rode her strongly, forcing her to concentrate solely on him and the ecstasy he provided. He pistoned in and out of her, while her muscles fought to hold him. He varied his thrusts, never permitting her—or himself—to climax until finally they were both sobbing from impending ecstasy. He desperately fought himself not to come, using every trick he knew to keep her at her peak.
He plunged deep inside her and rubbed her clit. “Now, Jessamyn! Come for me now!”
She screamed and came, clamping down on him. He climaxed immediately, his balls launching their contents through his cock like a volcanic explosion. Rapture roared through him like a tornado, loud and overwhelming.
Afterward, he wondered just what the hell he’d signed up for. A wise man would follow the map and leave Jessamyn safely in a city, whether or not he believed in Ortiz’s gold. Now he was committed to following the map and taking her with him, while fighting off Charlie Jones at the same time. In addition, she still thought he was no gentleman because he was sleeping with her—yet those were the only terms on which he could accompany her.
At least, his old obsession at revenging himself for those days in her attic was over and done with. He trusted her body, even if he did find her carnally fascinating in every possible fashion. He could spend hours simply feasting on her pussy, for example…
He ground his teeth—and laughed at himself reluctantly. He’d do the same again to hear her beg for more in his bedroom.
Chapter Eleven
Denver
The U.P. train pulled into the Denver depot just before noon, having been slowed by a washed-out trestle bridge in western Kansas. The depot was a noisy hubbub of prospective passengers, freight cars, and horse-drawn wagons, all intent on quickly going somewhere else. Jessamyn heartily agreed with their sentiments with Morgan at her side. Behind them, Abraham and Sarah Chang stood ready to hand down the luggage while Riley, the telegrapher, buckled shut his satchel.
“There’s Anderson,” Morgan announced. “Wearing a bowler, under the lamppost, beside the blond giants?”
“I see him.” Anderson appeared more the type to brawl in saloons than mince words in a lawyer’s office, while the men with him looked like bodyguards. Did they expect trouble from Charlie here, in such a public place? A chill whispered down her spine.
Standing next to the trio was a cavalry officer, who Jessamyn recognized immediately. She waved happily, a greeting returned by both Anderson and her friend.
A minute later, the train pulled to a stop with a last jerk and exhalation of steam from the great locomotive. Morgan opened the door of their private car and looked out. They left with Riley, giving quick farewells and thanks to the patient and discreet servants.
Anderson stepped forward, followed by the soldier. “Morning, Evans.”
“And to you, Anderson,” Morgan greeted his associate. “My dear, may I introduce—”
“Morgan, this is Captain—”
Their voices clashed with a third: Maggie’s voice rose above the crowd, complaining about the cinders damaging her Paris gown. Jessamyn glanced quickly around and saw a pair of brutish thugs fall into place around Charlie and Maggie. Together, the foursome began to shove their way through the crowds down the platform.
Jessamyn’s hand tightened on the brass tube, with the precious map inside. The last volume of her aunt’s diary rested in her purse, together with her pocket Navy Colt; the other volumes she’d scanned were in her trunk.
“Gentlemen, I suggest introductions wait until we’re in the carriage,” she said briskly and gripped Morgan’s arm.
His eyes met Anderson’s with an expression she could
n’t read. “Certainly,” he agreed.
Anderson took the lead, while the cavalry officer fell into step on the other side of her. With one of the giants carrying their luggage, they briskly cut through the approving stationmaster’s office, where Riley peeled off, after a quick farewell, for Donovan & Sons’ local offices.
They stepped into a waiting brougham, and an instant later, the driver cracked the whip, sending the carriage surging forward. Morgan introduced Anderson calmly but Jessamyn introduced her old friend carefully, wary of their reaction. Morgan could easily be jealous of any connection to her marriage, while her friends had to suspect she was living in sin.
“Morgan, this is Captain Michael Spencer, who was Cyrus’s roommate at West Point.” Like Cyrus, Michael had been brevetted to colonel during the War, but peacetime and its smaller army had returned him to the rank of captain.
“Spencer.”
“Evans.”
The two men shook hands briefly, bracing themselves against the jolting conveyance.
Spencer’s eyes searched her face. “I’m glad to see you again, looking so well.”
Jessamyn smiled at him, relieved he showed only concern for her well-being. “Thank you, Michael. Please tell Elizabeth Anne and the children I’ll be thinking of them.”
“It’s an honor to protect her, Spencer,” Morgan added quietly.
Michael’s eyes shot to him just as the carriage leaned to take a corner, throwing her against Morgan. Morgan’s arm was hard around her as the two men measured each other. “Mrs. Evans has a good many friends who would take it personally if any harm was done to her,” Michael said softly.
“As would I.”
Jessamyn blinked. Morgan, warning an Army officer that he, too, would be protective of her?
“Please forgive the discomfort, ma’am,” Anderson cut in, breaking the awkward moment. “But we need to make the best speed possible across town. Every minute counts now.”
Jessamyn grabbed for a strap as they careened around a corner. “Why?”
“Because of the delay in your arrival, you’ve barely enough time to get over the Sangre de Cristo Pass before nightfall.”
The Southern Devil Page 18