“I have just the girl for you, sir.” She motioned down the hallway to hurry Hattie’s replacement along. “Says she knows you.”
She took note of the glorious sight stemming from his groin as it reached toward the ceiling and added quickly in a tone that disclosed her heightened discriminating arousal, “If this one doesn’t work out, I’ll do you myself, on the house.”
It was the first time she’d made such an offer during her twenty-five year career history. She eyed him with a certainty from a woman’s standpoint hell-bent on seeking pure pleasure rather than an entrepreneurial concern.
* * * *
Devin flatly ignored her last comment. He lifted his head off the mattress, brows arched in curiosity. Someone in Tejas knew him. Before he could speak, a long-legged, golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a black gown with pink ribbon ties down the front and a plunging corset that served to boost her ample breasts to their place of honor, he recognized Cheri instantly.
Propped on his elbows, they passed a knowing glance. Thin lips painted rosy red curled into a wickedly sinful grin, directed at Devin. Her eyes filled with unspoken promise and down-right carnal intent.
Cheri placed her hand on Madame Jazelle’s shoulder and gently tried to encourage her out the door. “I’ll take it from here.”
Hesitating, Madame Jazelle looked Cheri over as though she was sizing her up and then glanced toward Devin. Devin nodded his approval. With a sigh of relief and a last offer to let her know if he needed anything, she left the two of them alone.
Cheri locked the door, giggling like a little girl who just found her favorite toy. With her back to the door, her blue eyes rose to meet his, glistening with serious arousal now. He watched as she languidly undid the first bow of her gown, revealing the cleft of her bosom.
“Devin, I knew it was you. Only one man could fit Hattie’s description. I thought you were playing Indians.”
Her hourglass figure swayed provocatively under the sensuous swirl of gauze as she neared the bed. The second bow, then a third came undone, exposing her uplifted breasts and corset-covered abdomen.
He sat upright. The flare of sheer male lust heated his blood. She stopped several feet in front of him, beyond his reach, in case he decided to grab her. A real professional, she knew exactly what she was doing. Another tease. It made his cock even harder.
Her hand dropped to the last tied bow, above the apex of her thighs. She twirled the pink ribbons with a single finger. He was going to lose his mind. With that steamy look in her eye, he knew she savored the anticipation and delighted in what little control she imagined holding over him. He let her have that, at least for now.
Over a year had passed since they were last together in Montana. Known for her shaved pussy and ability to give good head, he mused why he didn’t seek her out a long time ago. Voluptuousness was just what he needed, a means to forget a wisp of a beauty.
When his eyes locked with hers, he blurted the first thing that came to his mind. “What are you doing here?” Not that he was complaining. He was more surprised at his luck to find one of his favorites in a dump, compared to the fancy Titillate Trove. The high-class brothel was not only lavish, it boasted the most beautiful, highly skilled, and well-paid women that only men with weighed-downed pockets could afford.
“I could ask the same of you,” she responded softly, drawing the last tie loose and allowing the gown to fall from her shoulders to the floor in a whispering swish.
Her smile flourished as his gaze raked over her body, bare except for the lacy corset. The small gap between them narrowed. She ventured cautiously, “I heard you avoided Tejas like the plague.”
She straddled his thighs carefully. Worked her knees under the holster strapped to his hips as his hands intuitively caught her around the waist.
“Is that why you’re here? Hiding from me?” Roughly, his hands gripped her buttocks, pulling her shaved pussy in line with his cock. He felt the heat and moisture of her plump vaginal lips coating his cock, and grinned with relief.
Her fingers wasted no time attempting to unbutton his shirt. “Sweetheart, do I look like I’m hiding?”
In a display of strength, brawn, and dominance, he flipped her flat on her back and impaled her with one savage thrust. She screamed at the fury of the powerful invasion, acting out of bodily reflex, but he didn’t care. He needed this, hard and deep and savage. He was dying to forget hazel eyes, cone-shaped breasts, and a sweet, pink cunt. The only way was to slam into another hot pussy that was open, willing, and eager to consume his aching shaft.
He growled as her tight, unprepared pussy muscles clamped around him at the brutal intrusion. She bucked against him, her protesting muscles relaxing as he continued to slam his cock into her with long, hard thrusts.
Her fingers curled around the wrought-iron bars in the headboard to prevent her head from hitting them as her body thrashed beneath him. She arched her hips, tightened against him. He knew she was close to coming, moaning as though this was her first real fuck in a long time. His hands braced on the wall above the headboard, he drove harder, deeper, desperate to ease the insane torment boiling inside him.
“Devin, don’t stop,” she screamed, and he knew he was hitting that perfect spot that always sent her careening over the edge. “Oh, yes.”
“Stop? I’m only beginning,” he growled roughly. Each orgasmic spasm gripped his cock erotically as he plunged furiously inside her heated wetness. Her cries drove him higher as he tore through her flesh. Her cunt drenched him as she thrashed beneath him.
The bedsprings creaked viciously, and the headboard thumped loudly against the wall. The grunting, huffing, and puffing split the paper thin-walls letting everyone know he finally was getting the fucking he came for.
He felt her pale, long thighs wrap around his hips as she rose to meet his pounding thrusts with a matching fervor of her own. Her body trembled with desire beneath his. He held himself above her, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders. Hoping she’d forget the potency of his arousal, the dominating, lustful desires he was known for. Inwardly, he cringed when he felt her hands around his neck. She wanted to draw him closer. The raw, hungry look in her eyes was unmistakable.
He wanted to keep this what it was, a sex act and nothing more than a way to release pent-up frustration from the past six celibate months. This longest dry spell ever had damned near drove him crazy, drove him into the arms of his stepmother.
As always, one woman was as good as the next. He kissed, sucked, and fucked them all. Paid and left until the next time. No ties. No emotions. Sometimes, no names.
Devin stared at the sun-faded wallpaper in front on him, ignoring her silent plea. He longed for the moment when the edge of oblivion freed him. Everything he needed was here: a warm body with big breasts, and wet pussy to bury his cock deep inside. It did little to ease the dark shadows tearing at him. It was never like this before. A blinding agony struck him. In the past, the solace that usually came with sex was non-existent. He drove harder, each driving stroke ripped a wild, abandoned groan from her throat.
Oddly, he had no desire to kiss Cheri, though he’d often spent hours in joyful bliss with her whenever in Montana. Although she was only twenty-six, her line of work had begun to manifest, rendering her appearance to be much older.
Still quite appealing, her ready and willing, cock-loving pussy suited his purpose quite pleasurably. Cheri was accustomed to a certain degree of attentiveness and passion from him. Without it, her perceptive curiosity would arise. Though this was entirely a business arrangement and she was well-trained submissively, he dreaded the possibility of having to explain his fragmentary enthusiasm out of obligation to their long-standing acquaintance.
His gaze fell to her rose-painted lips, open in expectation. He shut his eyes, covered her mouth with his and visualized perfect pink lips, full and pouting. The kiss was hard, devouring. He claimed her mouth in an intoxicating, passionate kiss that
spoke of unquenchable yearning, possessive desire and unfathomable emptiness.
* * * *
Cheri tried to keep up with the intensity of both rhythms as he plunged harder, faster, deeper into both orifices. His tongue pushed against her tonsils as she fought for each breath. Her inner muscles stretched wide to accept each powerful, frenzied thrust as her body buckled helplessly.
A second orgasm built deep in her loins. She tightened her vaginal muscles and squeezed his cock in an erotic grip that drew his balls tight. Her hands clutched the fabric covering his back, pulling her body up to his and ground her throbbing pussy into his groin. Her breasts flattened against his muscled chest. The rough material of his shirt scratched her tender nipples sensuously and she ignored the sting through the pleasure as her head banged against the wrought iron rails.
The intensity of his feral lust raged out of control. She had never seen him like this before. He thrust inside her over and over again, like a man hell-bent on dying. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. Sweat dripped down his back, dampening the fabric within her tight-fisted grip.
And then, it hit. Her body tightened as her pussy spasmed around his penetrating flesh, milking him, gripping him as her juices gushed, soaking her thighs.
She cried out into his mouth. He refused to release his stronghold until she felt his own climax spurt from him, filling her with one powerful explosion after another as every muscle on his body convulsed.
In the far corner of her brain, she heard his guttural cry. He thrust into her one last time before he fell into a dead heap over her weakened form, without so much as a thought of crushing her under his weight.
Several minutes later, as her heartbeat returned to normal, she murmured through strangled breaths, “Sweetie, I can’t breathe.”
Without a word, he rolled his two-hundred-plus frame off her, breaking their intimate contact. Chest heaving between ragged breaths, eyes still closed, he just lay there.
She propped herself on one elbow, and began to brush sweat-dampened strands of auburn hair from his beaded brow. Cheri took in every detail as her gaze ran down his long length. He hadn’t even taken off his boots, let alone his holster, and his hat had fallen off the bed during their lewd tussle.
Bold as she was experienced, she muttered, half-amused and a bit indulgent, “If you wanted to fantasize, you should have told me. I would’ve played along.”
Opening his glazed eyes, he cast a bewildered sideways glance. “What in the hell are you talking ‘bout?”
“Sweetheart, this wasn’t your style.” She rolled onto her hip and leaned over, slowly stroking her hand along his left arm. Her breasts spilled over the top of her corset that now hung loosely around her waist, due to their zealousness.
The movement seemed to hold his attention, but only for a moment much to her chagrin.
“Whoever she is, she’s wrapped you good.” The Cannon, she remembered, possessed enough stamina to share with a dozen others. Always ensured a female was ready to take him by bringing her to orgasm after orgasm before entering her. Most importantly, he never climaxed so quickly, no matter how long he’d been out in the wilderness.
“Cheri?” The tone alone demanded an explanation.
“Megan,” she answered.
He shot off the bed, staring at her with a wild disturbing look that told her he had no earthly clue as to what she referred.
“When you shot your wad, you called me Megan,” she offered as further clarification.
He did something else that both surprised and pleased her. Cursing, he quickly undressed, tossing the garments around the room as fast as he could take them off.
Not one to be overdressed, she happily followed suit and unlaced her corset.
“Cheri,” Devin ordered, “find a friend.”
She smiled. Ah, the Devin Spawn she knew so well. The Cannon.
In a flash, she jumped off the bed, pulled on her flimsy gown, though it did little to conceal the naked flesh bouncing underneath. She took the time to tie a single bow at the waist before rushing toward the door.
“Cheri,” he called out, taking off his britches.
With her hand on the lock, she turned to face him.
“Bring two.”
Chapter 7
In the dark of night, Devin stood on the porch steps and listened to the sounds coming from inside the well-lit Spawn ranch after he settled Deuce in the barn.
When he left Madame Jazelle’s, he was the most well-sated, contented customer to have paid for a broke bed, busted chair, and hole in the wall. Not to forget the hanging light fixture one of the girls used for a swing.
His troubles were forgotten until the small whimpers permeated the quiet night sky. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the barn, telling himself there was still time. Wouldn’t take much to saddle up Deuce and ride on out. Megan didn’t want him here. She didn’t need him any more than he needed her in his life. And those kids. Little girls. What good were they?
Trouble.
That’s what they were, pure Trouble with a capital T.
The whole bunch of them. Nothing but trouble.
Yet something kept him here, drew him. There was no reason to return. Yet he did, not understanding exactly why. In town, he’d mounted his horse. Without realizing it, he had led Deuce here.
“Must be the oats,” he huffed under his breath, grinding his teeth.
He’d decided long ago it was best if he not question his misfortune. He strolled inside and hung his saddlebags on a hook near the door.
“Devin,” Shelby exclaimed, jumping off Megan’s lap. The little girl ran toward him, big tears streaming down her eyes.
Rifle in hand, he froze, unprepared when Shelby grabbed onto his leg. “Pawpaw’s gone to heaven,” she cried.
He glanced at Megan, seated on the Victorian-style couch against the wall that connected to the girls’ room. Signs that she, too, spent the day crying were fresh upon her face. Her gaze turned icy. Her mouth thinned to a narrow line. The assistance he sought from her clearly was not forthcoming. Well, at least she hadn’t changed her mind about wanting him around.
Emma was seated at the table, hands perfectly crossed in her lap, little legs dangling off the chair, crossed daintily at the ankle. Not a flicker of emotion shone in the girl’s eyes as they slowly joined his before quickly returning to resume their position, staring into the empty space before her.
His full attention dropped to the tiny, curly-haired package at his feet.
He lifted her in one arm, and carried her outside.
“Devin, I knew you’d come back. Emma said you wouldn’t. But I told her you was,” she whimpered, big tears filling her eyes.
When they reached the middle of the front yard, he stopped. He dried her tears with a gentle wipe of his thumb.
“Look up, and tell me what you see.”
Shelby wiped her messy nose with the back of her hand. She blinked up at the dark sky, then at Devin, shrugging her shoulders, she quietly replied, “Nothing.”
“Ah, look again,” he encouraged her softly.
Big blue eyes darted upward. “Stars. I see lots of stars.”
“You know what those stars are?”
She shook her head.
“The Indians believe each one is a spirit.”
“Angels.”
“Yes,” he hesitated. That word didn’t sit well with him. Not a damn thing concerning sacred matters agreed with him. “Angels.” The word grated off his tongue. “Your father—”
“Our father,” she corrected.
His eyes narrowed. The girl was giving him no breaks. “Our father’s spirit is up there watching over you right now.”
“Megan says Pawpaw is in heaven.”
“Nighttime is when the spirits come closer to watch over you while you sleep.”
“Which one is Pawpaw?”
“That one. The great big one.” He pointed to the North Star. Picked out the most obvious, ensuring she�
��d be able to find it if she ever cared to look for it again. That is, if she believed him. “He was a big man. Now, he’s a big spirit.”
Shelby’s big blue eyes became even larger. “Not as big as you.”
Devin tipped his hat back and couldn’t help but grin.
“If anyone tells you different, you tell me. I’ll set ‘em straight.”
His gaze roamed to the front porch, where Megan was standing with an arm around Emma’s shoulder, quietly observing them.
Emma had a smug look on her face as if she knew the last part was meant for her. It was.
“You ‘bout ready to head back inside?”
“Not yet, please. I wanna stay here so’s he can see me plain. Pawpaw might be missin’ me.”
“Suit yourself.” He would have called her by name, if only he remembered what it was.
Devin strolled the yard with her nestled in one arm. Her gaze never drifted away from the biggest, brightest star in the black sky.
Luckily, for him, he remembered the story from when an old Indian woman used it to console the young daughter of a warrior who died on a buffalo hunt. At the time, he dismissed her words, returning to whatever task he was doing. Somehow, though, the tale came flooding back in his time of crisis.
Nearly an hour later, arm growing numb from being in one position so long, he carried the sleeping child inside.
“Where does she belong?” He looked at Megan, curled up on the couch with her mending. Apparently, she’d sent Emma to bed and waited on him to ensure he didn’t run off with the kid, or who knows what. That was the problem with the world—no trust.
“I’ll take her,” she said plainly, reaching for Shelby as she neared.
“Point me in the right direction. I’ll do it.” He glanced at the sleeping child, not ready to hand over the small blonde bundle just yet. He had never held a child before. She was sort of cute and soft, like a furry critter right before he skinned it.
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