Angel Gone Bad

by Sabine Starr

  As he deepened the kiss, spray from the waterfall covered them in a fine, soft mist. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to give her time. But his wants were quickly being overridden by his needs. He felt his prick strain against his trousers in a desperate bid to spring free.

  He crushed her against the length of him, thrusting against her with his hard cock as he delved deep into her mouth. When she moaned, almost a plea for help, he stoked her passion with more heated kisses, nibbles, and licks on her swollen lips. He teased his way down to the sensitive area in the hollow of her throat and felt the rapid beat of her heart.

  He wanted to give her everything he had to give, but he knew he should hold back. She was innocent, not a woman of the world.

  And then she surprised him. She slipped her hands between them and unbuttoned his shirt, fingers shaky and urgent as she moved from top to bottom. She jerked his shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and tossed it into the water to drift downstream. She closed fingers around his dented Thor’s Hammer, and then placed a quick kiss on its surface.

  If she was playing with him, she was playing with fire. Yet he forgot everything except his lust the moment she stroked his chest, palms soft yet strong as she massaged him. She circled his nipples with fingertips, and then toyed with the hard tips. When she replaced her fingers with her mouth, licking and nibbling, he groaned in surrender to the power of her touch.

  Once he had wanted to hurt her. Now he wanted to cherish her. Yet the old wounds ran deep. Which would win out, pain, passion. . . or both?

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Are you trying to drive me crazy?” “Yes.” Angel continued her torrent of kisses. “I shouldn’t be the only one who feels that way.”

  He groaned in reply.

  She placed one kiss after another down his chest as she slowly knelt in the water, feeling the coolness rise to cover her waist. She shivered, as much from the cold water as from the heat of Rune’s bare skin.

  When she teased his belly button with the tip of her tongue, he dug fingers into her hair, loosening her neat chignon. She grappled with the fabric of his trousers, trying to release the buttons that imprisoned his straining shaft.

  “Are you playing with me?”

  She glanced up, surprised by his words.

  “No matter how skillful your hands, I can’t overlook the truth. You’ve been playing games with me from the first moment I met you.”

  “What do you mean?” She stilled, feeling the cold move inward toward her heart.

  He lifted her up so they were face to face. “You knew I wanted you, so you teased and tormented me. You’re still doing it.”

  “I wanted you, too.”

  “As a toy, a plaything, to be punished when I didn’t do exactly what you wanted when you wanted.”

  “Rune, I thought we’d gotten past my actions. I apologized. I know I was wrong. I freely admit it. But now we’ve been through so much together.”

  “I thought to use you, but instead you’re using me. Aren’t you?”

  “You’re letting old feelings get in the way. We’re working together now.”

  “No matter how this ends, you come out ahead. I may end up dead.”

  “I’m trying to be good. Don’t you understand?”

  “But you’ve been bad.”

  “Okay!” She threw up her hands, glancing wildly about her. She saw a spindly branch that had fallen from a tree. She grabbed it and held it out to him. “Here’s a switch. Punish me! You won’t be happy till you’ve inflicted pain for pain.”

  He frowned, balling his hands into fists.

  “Take it!” She struck him across his chest.

  He flinched, frown deepening.

  She hit him again, this time leaving a red mark. “Hurt me so we can be done with this once and for all.”

  “You’re trying my patience.”

  “Well, I’ve lost mine.” She raised the switch to strike once more.

  He jerked it away. “You’re not hitting me again.”

  “Fine!” She pulled off her drawers, threw them in the water, and bent over, baring her bottom to him. “There. Go ahead. Switch me!”

  “Angel, you don’t know what you’re doing or saying.”

  She looked over her shoulder. He appeared to be in pain. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m trying hard to control myself.”

  “Well, don’t!” She wiggled her bottom at him.

  He snapped the switch in half, the loud crack breaking the peace of the ravine, and tossed it aside. He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet, and carried her to the bank. He sat down, turned her over his lap, and spanked her bottom with his bare hand. One, two, three times.

  She gasped, wiggling to get away, feeling his hardness against her stomach, realizing she’d been playing with fire. Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t know how to be good. Maybe she deserved anything he did to her.

  He slapped her bare butt again. It stung. It hurt. It infuriated her. She changed her mind. She was good. She deserved pleasure, not pain.

  She wiggled harder, splashing her hands in the water as she tried to get a grip on something that would help her escape. But he was too strong, too furious, too intent on meting out pain. She got mad, too. Yet she’d set this play in motion and she was helpless to stop it now.

  In an instant, everything changed when she felt him massage her bottom, soothing the stings, stroking each mound, and then delving between her legs to finger her hot, moist cleft. He followed his hand with his mouth, kissing, licking, nibbling, rubbing with his beard stubble across her sensitized flesh. She grew so hot she thought she would melt. He returned to the heart of her, using his fingers to tease and titillate until she cried out in abandon and shuddered with release.

  He lifted her onto his lap and hugged her against his chest, pushing back sweat-dampened tendrils of hair from her face. “Better now?”

  “I’m embarrassed.” She tried to slow her fast heartbeat and quick breath.

  “Don’t be.”

  “It always ends up being about me.” She buried her face against the hard muscles of his chest and inhaled the comforting sage and leather scent of him. “Am I punished now? Can we go forward?”

  “Do you call that punishment?”

  “Well, no. It didn’t work out quite liked I’d imagined.”

  He chuckled, a deep vibration in her ear.

  “Who knew?”

  “Not you.” He stroked her shoulder with long fingers. “I might have to punish you some other time, too.”

  “You think I might be bad again?”

  “I think it’s likely.”

  “You may be right. But I’m good now.”

  “How do I know?”

  “I could prove it.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t want to play anymore. I want the real thing.” She met his gaze. “If I gave myself to you completely, would that prove my good intentions?”

  “That’s serious.”

  “I’m serious about you. I always have been. I always will be.” She’d said more than she’d meant to say. She didn’t want to drive him away. “Now I’m even more embarrassed. You’ll think I’m terribly forward.”

  He chuckled again. “After all we’ve been to each other, the word ‘forward’ didn’t come to mind.”

  “Well, something not very flattering.”

  “If I told you what I really thought, you’d get a big head.”

  “Try me.”

  “Angel, you got under my skin the moment I bought you with those stolen sorrel horses. I only meant to rescue you from Zip and his outlaws, but you’re like a cockle burr that won’t let go.”

  “Thank you. I feel so much better now that you’ve compared me to a sticker.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I honestly don’t think I know anything anymore.”

  “You know how I feel about you. Why else would I put up with all of your antics?”


  “Antics?” She sat up in irritation, not sure she liked where any of this was going.

  He pulled her back against his chest. “I’m not saying anything else. I don’t have the right. I’m on the run. I can’t offer you anything except pleasure.”

  “Then I’ll take it. Right here. Right now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He eased her off his lap and reached for his saddlebags.

  Angel’s bottom felt hot and stung where he’d spanked her. She sat down in the water and it rippled around her hips. But it didn’t cool her sensitivity. She felt as if Rune had set her on fire and only he could put out the flame.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in irritation.

  “I’m getting a French cap.”

  “Did you say French?”

  He chuckled. “I know that word has surfaced a lot lately, but that’s just the way it is.”

  “Those French really get around.” She cocked her head. “What is a French cap?”

  “Protection for you. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

  “That’s what Verity needed. I wish I’d known.”

  “That’s why you’re so intent on finding Tate? Your friend’s in the family way?”

  “I’d look for him anyway, but this makes it more urgent.”

  “We’ll find him. We won’t let her down.”

  “Thanks. I know I can count on you.”

  “You sure can.” He unbuttoned his trousers, dropped them to the rock, and slipped on the French cap.

  Angel caught her breath at the sight. He was just so beautiful. But he was also a little scary. This was a big step. Yet she was ready for it. If he never offered her anything except this moment, it was enough.

  He sat down facing her in the water. He reached out and plucked at her wet chemise. “You want to take that off, or do you want me to rip it off?”

  She glanced down at the soaked fabric. “I forgot about it. And don’t hurt my chemise. I don’t have another one.” She lifted it up over her head and tossed it on the bank.

  “Come here.” He stretched out his legs, patting his stomach.

  “Straddle me.”

  “Really, I’ve had quite enough riding to last me a lifetime.”

  “You’ll like this ride.” He leaned back on his elbows, water forming a small eddy around his rigid prick.

  She carefully eased over his body, sitting down on his stomach, knees on either side of his chest.

  “Touch me.”

  She tilted over him, pressing the tips of her breasts to his hard chest, rubbing back and forth, and harder still as heat spread outward to engulf her entire body.

  “Kiss me.”

  She touched her lips to his mouth, a tentative kiss at first that exploded with intensity when he grabbed her ass with both hands. He kneaded her sensitive flesh while rubbing against her hot center with his cock. He deepened the kiss, tasting, teasing, stroking, and she caught fire. She rubbed her body against him, biting, moaning, gyrating in an attempt to ease the aching, burning emptiness.

  “Take me.”

  She felt him raise her hips with both hands and set the tip of his hard prick to her soft, wet center. She shuddered with desire. She’d wanted this so long without even knowing what she really wanted of him. Now she felt on the verge of a great mystery being revealed to her.

  “Push down. It’ll hurt, but just a moment.”

  She took a deep breath and sat up. She placed both hands on his chest. She looked into those blue eyes dark with hunger. And impaled herself on his shaft.

  And then the pain, the longing, the apologies were all forgotten as he moved deep within her, long, slow strokes that grew harder and faster as they plunged ever closer to fulfillment. She rode him, grinding and bucking and moaning, in a frenzy of desire.

  When they neared the edge of the cliff, he stopped, and they hung there a moment, sharing the enchantment, before he plunged forward and took them over the brink together onto hallowed ground.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “Now I’m sore riding a horse for a different reason.” Angel leaned forward in the saddle and rubbed her backside.

  Rune chuckled. “You can’t blame me. I’m the one who kept saying we needed to hit the trail.”

  “You sure didn’t resist.”

  “I’m not that strong.”

  “When do you think we’ll reach Horsethief Spring?”

  “By dusk, if we don’t run into trouble.”

  “The deeper we go into Indian Territory, the more breathtaking the scenery.”

  “And the more dangerous. If we come out of this alive, I’ll get you a Colt .45 and show you how to use it.”

  “You’re such a good teacher.” She gave him a knowing wink.

  “I’ve got a fine student.” He laughed, but then grew serious. “We don’t know what we’re going to find when we get there.”

  “Hopefully, outlaws. Badgers would be best of all.”

  “We need to get our stories straight.”

  “I think it’s simple. I’m the cardsharp. You’re the outlaw. We’re traveling together.”

  “Not good enough. I stole Choctaw money. Not you. I broke out of prison. Not you.”

  “You’re trying to protect me.”

  “As much as I can. You’re along for the thrills. I need to hook up with the Badger Gang so I don’t get caught and sent back.”

  “Okay. I can go along with that.”

  “If there are any surprises, look to me for how to react.”

  “I said okay.”

  “I don’t want you hurt.”

  “We’re in this together. Sink or swim.”

  “Let’s win.”

  He urged his horse up the final steps to the summit of Winding Stair Mountain. He looked out across the vista of mountain peaks and valleys that made up the Ouachita, or Good Hunting Ground, mountain range. Nearby bright green forest turned to dark green to shades of purple in the distance. Fluffy white clouds floated in a blue sky where the sun hung low on the western horizon. A hawk lazily rode wind currents, hunting for prey.

  “I wouldn’t want to use these narrow trails at night.” Angel rode up beside him. “I’d be lost in no time.”

  “Best to follow the old military road out of here.”

  “Better to stay with you.”

  “Word has it that this spring is the water source for outlaws raiding travelers on the Fort Smith to Fort Towson road. Tall tales about the Daltons, Jesse James, Belle Starr, and others. Horse thieves like it, too.”

  “Do you think Belle Starr will be there? I’d love to meet her.”

  “Doubt it. Heard she’s been sticking close to home at Younger’s Bend in Cherokee Nation.”

  “Maybe Lady and I will just go visit her some time.”

  “I’d be careful. Belle may be a lady, but I wouldn’t turn my back on any of her men.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Come on. Let’s make the final leg of the journey. They’ll have lookouts. We’ll be watched. Ride in nice and easy.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  He headed down the narrow, sandy trail past clumps of green grass, thorny vines, and trees that grew so thick that only dappled sunlight made it to the ground below. Fallen trees and limbs, gray, broken, and rotting, dotted the landscape. Birds trilled in the treetops, but grew silent as they approached. Squirrels scampered here and there. Bees buzzed, swarming around a hollow tree trunk up ahead.

  Rune reached for the calm, strong place in his center and locked onto his outlaw demeanor. He thrust what he felt for Angel and what they’d shared into a deep, dark place, slammed the door, and locked it. He couldn’t afford to appear weak or distracted by a woman. Everything they wanted rested on the coming encounters. He couldn’t lack focus or determination.

  As he wound his way down the trail, he listened for birdcalls that didn’t belong or rustles in dead leaves and watched for shado
ws in wrong places or glints of sunlight on metal. He expected to be challenged, so he was on alert. He thought over his defenses such as the knife in a sheath on his ankle, the fully loaded Colt .45 on his hip, and the Winchester in a sheath on his saddle. He was a good shot and even better with bare knuckles, part of his recent “college” education.

  When he heard the cock of a rifle, he stopped and heard Angel pull up behind him. A man on horseback came out of dense tree camouflage, rifle at the ready. Another appeared on both sides of them and another behind.

  Rune wasn’t surprised that outlaws had quickly surrounded them. He held up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat.

  “Follow me,” the first man said.

  Rune kneed his mount forward, resisting the urge to glance back at Angel to see that she was all right. Soon he heard her follow. Three outlaws fell into line behind them.

  They rode as a group down the slope into the glade that was Horsethief Spring. Water trickled from the mountainside to form a shallow pool. A number of horses grazed in the meadow. Six men wearing shirts, Levi’s, vests, boots, and cowboy hats sat on logs around a campfire. Smoke curled up from their cigarettes. They glanced up with narrowed eyes at the newcomers.

  Baines stood and flung wide his arms. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

  Hackett and Jumpin’ Judd got to their feet, too.

  A medium-sized man, thin and wiry, with a sandy handlebar mustache gave the three a dark look and they sat down. He walked over to Rune, hand hovering above his six-shooter.

  “Hammerly, Lieutenant Edgar. Some folks call me Hammer.”

  “Rune Wulfsson. My companion is—”

  “Heard about the Black Widow.”

  “I’m called Angel.”

  “Baines here says you’re good as a man at poker.”

  “Better.”

  He nodded. “Right attitude, anyway.”

  “We’d have been here sooner, but we took care of a little job over Tushka Homma way.” Rune glanced around, taking in as much as he could as fast as he could. Not enough men here to be the main gang. Maybe just a few sent out to pick up stolen horses. He didn’t see a guy who resembled Tate Thornton. Angel would be bitterly disappointed. He was, too. It’d be easier to make a move out here in the open with fewer outlaws.