Promises Keep (The Promise Series)

by Sarah McCarty

  He put the razor and the soap under the couch. With the towel, he wiped her clean.

  “Now you can come,” he told her, taking her clit in his mouth, and sucking hard as he thrust a finger into her tight cunt. She burst against him, screaming, drumming her heels on his back, yanking at his hair. He held on tight, riding her climax to the end, lapping at the juices gushing from her cunt, wincing as she yanked particularly hard, smiling in satisfaction when she screamed again. He’d just known she’d be a screamer.

  When she lay quietly beneath him, limp, he pulled her hips further over the edge. She cracked her eyes, too drained to care what he did.

  “Now, Angel, let’s make you mine.”

  He probed her cleft gently, settling his cock into the opening of her vagina, fighting for the control to take her gently. To let her adjust to his size as she slowly, reluctantly, parted for him. As wet as she was, she was still incredibly tight.

  Her body tensed as he pushed the head of his cock past the ring of muscle into the heat beyond. “Relax. Just a little at a time until you have it all.”

  She whimpered and her muscles clenched against his intrusion.

  He looked down. “Open your eyes, Mara.”

  When she did, the fear in them almost broke his heart. “It’s just me, Angel,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to hers, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Just Cougar. You trust me never to hurt you.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  He nudged a little deeper, holding her gaze, using little pulses that he timed to her panting breaths. Her muscles first clenched in resistance, pulling her whole body tight, but eventually she began to relax. Deepening his thrusts, he worked a quarter of his length into her sheath.

  “See, Angel. You can take me.”

  A bit of wonder replaced the fear as she wiggled against him. “You’re in me.”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t prevent pushing harder as she wiggled again. Her gasp pulled him up short of the thrust his body craved. “Am I hurting you?”

  She appeared to think about it. “Just a little.”

  “How little?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A little you need me to stop, or a little I can go on?”

  She tested his presence with a pulse of her hips. He stretched her too far for her to squeeze him with her inner muscles, but that was just as well. He was about two strokes short of coming. Being inside Mara was about as close to heaven as he was ever going to get.

  “You can go on.”

  The way she said that, so prissy, shook a smile out of his agony.

  “Good.”

  He pushed deeper, feeling her flesh drag along his cock as she took him one inch at a time. He pulled back and surged in again, keeping his hand on her cheek, making sure she kept her gaze locked on his. With every inch he gained, a measure of fear slipped from her eyes, until, finally, he was seated to the hilt and her cinnamon-brown eyes were full of wonder.

  “Okay?” he asked as his balls rocked against her buttocks.

  “Oh my.”

  “Oh my, good? Or oh my, bad?” Damn, it had better be good.

  Her lip sucked between her teeth. He pulled out and forged back in, her pussy grasping him with incredible tightness, the friction an agony of hot pleasure that speared outward from his cock.

  “Good,” she sighed, her nails digging into his forearms and her eyes closing as he withdrew.

  Jesus. He wasn’t going to last one minute more if she kept sighing like that.

  He took his hand from her cheek and placed it on her pubic mound. He applied pressure to her abdomen while his thumb rubbed her clit. As she moaned and rubbed back, he drove his cock into her pussy, releasing his hold on his control as she began to arch against him. Her cries built to a scream that echoed off the walls as he came in her, the hot spurt of his seed ripping a cry from his own throat as she climaxed around him, milking him dry, taking every drop he had to give until there was nothing left. Nothing held back, just the two of them burning up together.

  The crackle of the dying fire was the only sound in the dark room.

  “Is Cougar your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it. Just yes?”

  “Curious cat. What will you give me to go on?”

  Bodies shifted, lips brushed, fingers explored.

  “A mountain lion screamed the entire two days my mother labored with me. Dad was from Kentucky. They’re a suspicious lot. When he thought Mom was going to die, he took it as a sign and thought to protect his family from the spirits by giving me their name.”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “If you tell another soul, I’ll—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll never be hungry again.”

  “I’m sworn to silence!”

  “Witch. It’s…”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that.”

  “It’s Horatio.”

  “Horatio?”

  “You can stop laughing now.”

  “That tickles!”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why Horatio?”

  “My Mom was newly Christian at the time and she was so scandalized by the heathen name my father chose that she named me after the most upright person she could think of in the hopes of counteracting my father’s decision.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  “Five-foot-four at the best. So slight, a breeze would blow him away. Thick glasses, always squinting, and a handkerchief permanently glued to a runny nose.”

  “Let me guess.”

  “Yup. The town minister. A paragon of everything a boy spends hours on his knees praying he won’t grow up to be.”

  “You poor baby.”

  “Yeah. I’m definitely in need of sympathy.”

  “Here?”

  “Ump-hmm. And there. And there.”

  “What about here?”

  “Oh damn! Especially there!”

  “Wake up, Mara.”

  “Not again. I’m too tired.”

  “So am I, but it’s time to get reacquainted with our bed.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “That’s fine with me if you don’t mind Clint strolling in on us in about two hours.”

  “Oh heavens! I forgot about him!”

  “Hmm. Up you go.”

  “Do you think he heard us? Me?”

  “I’m sure he had the good taste to stuff socks in his ears.”

  “I’m never coming downstairs again!”

  “Angel, first you have to get up the stairs.”

  “I can’t. I’m too stiff.”

  “What will you give me if I carry you?”

  “An apple pie?”

  “You’re learning.”

  * * * * *

  “Mara not coming down this morning?” Clint asked.

  Bleary eyed, Cougar smiled at his cousin over the rim of his coffee cup. “If Mara is to be believed, she won’t be gracing the ground floor with her presence ever again.”

  Clint smiled knowingly. “Couldn’t make it upstairs, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  Clint eyed the unappetizing lumps congealing on his plate. They were supposed to be scrambled eggs. “Think she means it?”

  Cougar chuckled, remembering Mara’s burning face and adamant refusal. “Yup.”

  Clint pushed the plate to the middle of the table and tried to fill the void in his stomach with another cup of thick coffee. “Do you suppose if I ever so circumspectly mentioned that I didn’t hear any moaning and screaming when I stopped over last night, would it make a difference?”

  Following Clint’s example, Cougar shoved his own uneaten breakfast out from under his nose. “I suspect if the subject ever comes up, I’ll never see my wife again.”

  Clint looked heartbroken.

  “Cheer up,” Cougar said. “Eventually, she’ll have to come downstairs to use the water closet.”

  “In that case, I’ll get a move on putting up the res
t of that fence, though I think you’re inviting disaster to start closing off the range.”

  Cougar shrugged. “People around here can bitch all they want. If I’m going to improve my stock, I’ve got to be able to control the breeding. Sooner or later, the rest of the cattlemen will come to the same realization. They just don’t like change.”

  “You’ve got to admit, miles and miles of wooden fence is a bit shocking on the eyes.”

  “Hardly miles and miles,” Cougar countered, grabbing his hat off the peg by the door. “Wood is expensive.”

  Clint followed him out the door, grabbing his own hat. “Speaking of fences, how much more can you afford?”

  “Not much.” Reaching the barn, he stepped inside the humid interior and began scooping some oats for the horses. He shot Clint a knowing glance. “Getting tired of hammering nails?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Well, hang in there. One of these days, someone’s going to come up with a cheaper, more effective method of fencing.”

  “I don’t see why they have to come up with one at all,” Clint muttered, tossing some hay to the prized mare that was recovering from the same bear attack that had injured Cougar. The bear Cougar had subsequently killed. “There’s plenty of land for everyone.”

  “The West is getting smaller every day.”

  “Yeah,” Clint agreed sadly. “And isn’t that a shame.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mara scrubbed at the persistent streak on the window. No doubt she’d be hearing from Cougar about the windows being spotless tonight. He’d spent the last week pleasantly exhausting her at night and ordering her to rest in the morning. Every day, as soon as he rode out, she went about her business, the way he went about his. The first evening he’d come back, he’d come through the door like a thundercloud. Apparently, every ranch hand down to the fourteen-year-old barn help had reported every move she’d made through the day. Supper had grown cold while he’d recited a litany of all she’d done against his orders, and then all the ways this could negatively affect her health. She shook her head. As if she were made of cotton fluff and the first strong wind would blow her away.

  The second day he’d come home, he’d spotted the crates she’d pried open and hit the roof. The man was not a yeller, but he was not above using his size and presence to intimidate. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t agree with his assessment. If her bodice hadn’t gaped as she’d hunched her shoulders on a neutral “I don’t know,” she might still be listening to him carp. The third day, he’d caught her emptying the washtub. He’d opened his mouth to lecture her, took one look at the sodden front of her dress and dragged her into the house where he’d taken her roughly against the wall. The fourth day, he’d come through the door with an air of resignation, looked at the new crates she’d opened, shook his head, scooped her up and carried her to bed. Yesterday, he’d merely walked through the door, caught her around the waist, and back stepped her to the sofa.

  She was beginning to get the impression that Cougar took her to bed so often because it was the only place he felt that she obeyed.

  And she did obey him there. She just loved how he handled her body, the dark orders he issued into her ear, and the way she could trust him to make it good for her. She knew if he asked for permission, she’d be frozen in indecision, but the no-nonsense way he took charge freed her from her modesty. He was her husband. He gave the orders. She obeyed. It worked out perfectly. She scratched at a speck on the sill and grinned at her reflection. At least in the bedroom.

  * * * * *

  The sound of a harness jangling came to the left of the house. She pulled the curtain back in time to see a woman pulling up in a fancy carriage. A beautifully put together, proper from her head to her toes stranger. One who was obviously very pregnant.

  Around the corner behind her came a big man racing in on a big black horse. Dust spewed when the horse sat back on its hindquarters as the rider pulled up ten feet away from the woman. There was nothing in the woman’s expression to show that she was expecting him or glad to see him.

  The man gave Mara pause. He had an air about him. A dangerous quality very reminiscent of Cougar, except she didn’t know this man and the way he cradled the rifle across his saddle and the frown on his face would put the fear of God into anyone.

  She brushed at the front of her borrowed dress and patted her thigh, the bulge of the knife reassuring against her hand. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

  A harsh “Goddammit” as she stepped onto the porch sent her heart to her throat and her gaze searching for the source.

  The big man was striding away from the hitching post where he’d tied his horse, and was bearing down on the small, pregnant woman who was reaching into the back of the buggy. He grabbed the woman’s arm. They exchanged words. His scowl deepened as he listened to what she said. When she paused to take a breath, he muttered a “To hell with it,” that carried clearly, and swept her up in his arms.

  His face, as he approached the house, was tight and hard. His scowl, scary. Downright dangerous. Mara stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. Having this man in her house would be like being caged with a wild animal.

  He looked up as his boot hit the bottom step of the porch, took in her standing there, blocking the way, and the closed door behind her.

  He dipped the brim of his hat in her direction, offered an “Excuse me, Ma’am,” and kept on coming.

  He had the coldest eyes Mara had ever seen. Killer’s eyes. Deep silver. They seemed to look right through her. She ordered her feet to stay put when he came up on the third step. He was forced to stop, the shoulder of the woman in his arms almost brushing her folded arms.

  He seemed surprised to find her still there. Why, when it was her house he was trying to enter, she didn’t know, but he was surprised as evidenced by the way his right eyebrow arched up.

  “You’re standing in my way, Ma’am.”

  The woman in his arms turned her head into his shoulder, murmured something and kept her face hidden.

  Mara kept her response short, “I know.”

  His left brow shot up as high as his right, “And you don’t feel that’s a might unneighborly?”

  She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt through the slit until she could finger the hilt of her knife. “No.”

  “You here alone, Ma’am?” he asked.

  She looked across the yard to the barn. There was no sign of movement.

  “No.” Cougar was going to kill her for opening the door, especially to a man who wore two guns strapped low on his thighs.

  “Your husband know you greet strangers on the porch?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “He approve?”

  The woman in the man’s arms stirred. With his big hand, he pressed her face into his shoulder, rendering the words she uttered senseless. Her hand swung at his head. He caught it with the hand under her knees as he balanced her weight on his forearm.

  “Pardon my saying so, Ma’am,” he said as he shifted the woman to a better position, “but I find that hard to believe.”

  She didn’t particularly care. She pulled her knife free of the sheath, letting it rest against her thigh. “Who are you?”

  “I’m your neighbor to the left.”

  That told her nothing.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Uh-huh.” He winced. Mara had the impression that the woman in his arms had just bit him. Nothing in his expression changed except for the fact that she saw a flash of amusement chase across his stern features.

  She pulled the knife from her skirt. “You need to put the woman down.”

  He looked at her, at the knife, and then back at her. “Not a wise choice of orders if you ask me, Ma’am.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Seeing as how I’m a friend of your husband’s, I feel obligated to educate you on this one.”

  This
time, she heard the “Shut up, Asa,” the woman groaned before he buried her face back into his shirt.

  The name tickled the edge of her memory. While she worked on dredging up where she’d heard it before, Asa continued with his lecture. “If I put Elizabeth down, two things are going to happen. One, she’s going to start lecturing me on the impropriety of carrying her across the yard and two, my hands are going to be free.”

  Mara stepped back. She hit the door.

  Asa nodded. “Yup. And that would be number three. You’ve got nowhere to go, and considering my arms are longer than yours and I’ve been in more knife fights than years you’ve been alive…” He shrugged. “Well, I’m going to be the clear winner in this wrangle.”

  She paused, assessing his easy confidence. He might be right. It didn’t change her course of action, but it did put a dent in her confidence. The last she didn’t let show. “You still need to put her down.”

  “We’re both going to regret it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll see. By now, she’s worked up a good head of steam.”

  “Which I imagine she’ll be directing at you.”

  His sigh was long-suffering. “You could be right.”

  He ever so gently let the woman’s legs drop until her feet hit the porch. His big hands on her shoulders were protective as she found her balance. They slid to cup her pregnant belly as he pulled her back against his chest.

  The woman rested easily against him. She straightened her hat. The little feather poked the man in the eye. He flinched back but his hands never left her body and he never removed his support.

  The woman looked at Mara. Her face was red with embarrassment. Her expression wry. “You must be Mara McKinnely.” She held out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth MacIntyre.”

  Mara wiped her hand on her skirt before taking Elizabeth’s. This perfect example of propriety was the woman Cougar admired, and spoke of with such warmth? She felt rumpled and inadequate in her hand-me-down gown. “Nice to meet you.”