1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise

by Devil's Pact (lit)

  She blinked, resisting the carnal urges rioting through her system brought on by the downy soft fur traveling below his navel. Foreseeing the curly nest below as he continued to untie the laces, she stared at the lace curtain subtly blowing in the breeze.

  Before she’d laid eyes on him, there were no throbbing urges, no quivering sensations, no burning desires to have a man’s cock buried between her thighs, nor ravenous hunger to feed off him. He did this to her, turned her into a vessel of sin. A veritable sexual slave who craved his touch as a means of life support, begging and pleading for any scrap he tossed her way. Except it wasn’t a scrap she wanted, far from it.

  “You think its Hardin’s peachy disposition or wages bolstering loyalty out at that ranch? If there’s a hundred hands riding ov’r yonder, I reckon by now fifty pumped that ass. And the rest are lining up.”

  “How do you know?” Jerking her head around, she eyed him contemptuously. His acute knowledge of women angered her. How to please them. What they were thinking. What they wanted. How much they wanted him. She particularly hated that.

  “The way your little ass wiggles when you walk, and you brush your breasts against me accidentally when you pass. Or lick your lips while watching me from across the room, and your sweet pussy gets soaking wet because you know my dick is already hard just thinking about you.”

  He gave her a coy glance, but there was nothing demure about his tone. It bubbled over with pure seduction, and her vagina throbbed in response. He knew what he was doing to her. “Oh, yeah, Megan, you were born to fuck, and I was put here to fuck your hot, tight cunt, fast and hard. Just the way you like it. How I’m going to give it to you.”

  “Who said I wanted you? Go back to Rosalinda. Fuck her,” she shouted, ignoring her body’s heated betrayal, the fire churning through her bloodstream.

  He approached. Her gaze focused on his erection. The swollen tip visible above the loosened waistband, the thick shaft threatened to break free from the partially unlaced confines. A flare of tumultuous arousal shot through her.

  He stopped in front of her, tipped her chin with his finger. He held her gaze, stared deep into her eyes and smiled delectably. That sinful smile where he curled only one corner of his lips, the one he knew she that left her breathless.

  “Don’t even try to lie to me. Your eyes give you away, the flush on your cheeks, nipples poking through your blouse.”

  His gaze lowered to the front of her dress. She looked down and saw the hard knots straining the cotton fabric. When she looked up, his gaze went to her lips. They parted on their own volition. He was so close, close enough to take her.

  “The same as this afternoon, you want it. It turned you on to see my cock impale her ass, but you’re too afraid of the intensity of your passion to admit it.”

  She sighed, helpless to resist the lure of his dark, sultry words, or deny the salacious need for sexual excess. He knew what she felt, knew she visualized them now.

  “It arouses you, makes you wet and horny to watch other people fuck.”

  Her heart raced out of control. She wanted to shut out the truth, the desire blurring her eyes, look away from the lust darkening his gaze. The eroticism of it all was too powerful an aphrodisiac to resist.

  “Insatiable Megan wants to be part of the action, don’t you? Always hot, eager to have a man’s cock between your legs. My cock.”

  The potency of his carnal magnetism, his deep voice and suggestive words left her feeling exposed, utterly powerless in her need for it, him—everything.

  “You can’t deny if I lifted your skirt right now, you’d be naked, just the way I want you. I can smell your arousal from here. Your pussy is wet for my cock.”

  She blinked, as though the trifling feat could erase the betraying signs. How could her body react when she was mad at him? Beyond mad—furious, outraged, yet her traitorous body had a mind and will of its own. It craved every hard, virile inch of his well-honed muscles, especially twelve impressive inches, and he knew it. The arrogant bastard.

  Megan loathed herself for being weak, for wanting him so much, for needing him, for loving him. Above all, for allowing him to tempt her while her emotions were in shambles.

  “I hate you. I hate you,” she cried, beating her fists against his chest. “I hate you.”

  Devin closed his eyes and took a deep breath and her arms at his side. He stood there like a man and took his due punishment.

  As though he sensed she had taken enough aggression out on him after a long while, he grabbed her upper arms and held them down tight by her side. “Megan, stop. I get the picture.”

  Through the haze of tears streaming down her face, she blinked up at him. Her chest rose with each harsh breath, fingers still throbbed from the force of her blows.

  “I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he said.

  Chapter 19

  Overall, it was one of Devin’s favorite times of the day, when it was cool outside and the sun began its ascent on the horizon. The girls busy getting ready for school, still half-asleep—therefore, creating little noise. After a hearty breakfast, it was his time to enjoy a final cup of coffee in an obscure form of tranquility before saddling the horses. Usually less than two hours earlier, he and Megan would have frolicked through their third or fourth orgasm.

  This morning was vastly different. He made his own coffee, not a whiff of breakfast, and his back hurt from crouching his six-nine frame on a four-foot couch. Megan snapped at him when he told her to keep the girls home from school today. Emma and Shelby were so excited, they ran around the house clacking worse than baby chicks. He was horny as hell.

  Propping an elbow on the table, he pushed his cup away and buried his face in his hands. Moments later, he looked up when he heard the distinct sound of hooves pounding the dirt in an awful hurry.

  “Damn,” he shouted. It was earlier than he expected.

  “Ah, he said a soap word,” Shelby said animatedly.

  On his way straight to the bedroom, he reached for the soap Megan kept on the kitchen counter, bit off a large chunk, and swallowed it one gulp, much to the amazement of all three onlookers.

  “Someone’s here.” Emma ran to the front door.

  Checking the barrels of each Colt, he strolled out of the room, holster strapped on and tied down. “Keep ‘em inside,” he directed at Megan without looking at her.

  * * * *

  “Devin.” Megan’s voice was rife with urgency, terror as she stared out the kitchen window and saw her neighbor and twelve hands barreling into the front yard. “It’s Hardin.”

  Devin was already standing on the porch.

  “Why is Ms. Rosalinda’s father here?” Shelby asked with mild curiosity, her head peeking through the crack in the door.

  “He don’t look nice,” Emma added, standing by her sister’s side.

  Megan ran and pulled the girls away from the door, closing it quickly.

  “Never you mind. Get to your room now.” She scooted them away. “And stay there.”

  Her body trembled with heart-wrenching fear. Frantically, she perused the room for the best place to stand when the firing began. Somehow her feet wouldn’t move.

  Holding on to the edge of table, she stood frozen—listening, praying.

  * * * *

  “You know why I’m here, Spawn.” Hardin brushed away the front hem of his jacket behind his back, and several of his fellow riders did the same. All eyes were on Devin, their hands ready to reach.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” With acute awareness, Devin’s took in the spaced out crowd. The eyes always gave them away. It wasn’t just a job this time, it was personal. Not a member of the Hardin outfit, Devin infringed on their territory. More like he fucked what they considered an unspoken fringe benefit their boss-man probably wasn’t even aware of, and he definitely wasn’t entitled to.

  “Wanna step down, or you wanna die where you stand?”

  “Nice of you to give me an option.” Devin grinned. “There’s just on
e problem, seeing how the girls like to play where you are. I wouldn’t wanna saturate the yard.”

  Hardin’s dark eyes turned cold with contempt.

  “Name the time and place. I’ll be there.” Devin glanced at the other men. “They’re invited, too.”

  “The old mill down the river. Know where it is?” Hardin grated with a scowl.

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Noon.”

  Devin gave a nod of consent. He waited until the last rider disappeared around the bend before turning his back.

  Stepped through the doorway, he looked up and paused briefly when he saw Megan holding onto the table, gripped with fear.

  There wasn’t time for explanations. Later. He’d make it up to her later. He didn’t know how just yet, but he’d figure it out. Megan watched in silence, trancelike as he draped his extra shell belt across his chest, bow over his shoulder. He grabbed his lance case and rifle and headed out the door.

  * * * *

  Privately, Devin cringed when he heard Megan enter the barn. The frustration was eating away at him. The way she swung with all her might last night, no doubt she was madder than a hornet’s nest. Toss in a double dose of fright, and she was akin to lit gunpowder, on a fiery path to destruction. He wished the outcome, the events leading up to it, everything could have been different. As it was, a man had to face his battles head-on, and to hell with the consequences. Fight or retreat, live or perish—it was a matter of timing and opportunity. Not about to back down, his grip tightened on the strap as he continued to saddle Deuce inside the horse’s stall. There’d be no sweet lovin’ tonight.

  “Why? Why did you do it?” Megan asked.

  He kept right on preparing Deuce for the ride. “You know why.”

  “Did you have to fuck her?”

  Without a pause, he cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder and returned to the task at hand. “Did you really expect me to wait forever? I saw an opportunity and took it.”

  “You promised.”

  “Dammit, Megan.” He swung around, resting a hand on the saddle horn. “It was like Hardin knew I was after him. He never came into town. I couldn’t wait around forever. Would you rather I stole his money from Pretty Boy’s bank or rustle his cattle so’s the law would be on his side?” His full pardon was his business. Finally, since the age of twelve when Devin killed his first man, no one hunted him. He was able to walk the streets without having to risk gunning down a trigger-happy lawman. From Megan’s insolent expression, the options laid out did not meet with her approval either.

  “So you made sure he’d come after you by raping his daughter.”

  “Ah, shit,” he growled, swinging the stall gate open and walked to where she stood near the front of the barn. “Is that what you think? I didn’t rape you when I had the chance. Do you honestly believe I’d rape that woman?”

  “I don’t know what to think…you’re…you’re…”

  “Go on, say it.” He stopped a few feet in front of her and waited for her to call him what he was—the worst kind of outlaw known to man, without a conscious, heart, or soul.

  It boiled his blood, the way she just stood there, staring up at him with those patronizing hazel eyes like some sort of foreboding angel of despair dressed in black. His judge, jury and executioner packed into a hot little body of pure sinful temptation.

  “Yeah, you can’t say it, but you sure as hell can think it. Well, let’s clear the air. I’ll lay it out for you. The virtuous teacher has been dallying with me since the first day I picked up the girls. Which I’ve done my damnedest to ignore, ‘cuz someone else has been meeting my needs.”

  Megan averted his gaze, but not before he noticed her cheeks turn a bright rose. He touched a nerve that was still sensitive, raw. It gave him a hopeful tremor.

  “I didn’t invite her here. Had no reason to go anywhere with her. ‘Cept when she told me who her father was. If you think I raped her to get Hardin here, you should’ve stayed longer, perhaps joined us. You would have liked it.”

  When her hand came up to slap him, he caught it. Every subtle flicker in her eyes revealed her rage, but the thought aroused and tempted her. He never intended to ask it of her. He’d been determined to leave it a sexual fantasy.

  “You did enough of that last night.”

  He released her wrist and went back to Deuce.

  “Go inside, Megan.”

  Yesterday, he’d slammed Rosalinda’s ass, but it was Megan he’d thought about, Megan he wanted to hold. It was Megan he wanted to fuck and Megan he wanted to protect. He was positive it wouldn’t have made her feel any better to hear that he couldn’t bring himself to shoot his seed into the other woman, he kept that tidbit to himself.

  It could have all been over with yesterday, and Megan would have figured it out afterwards. Unfortunately, Leroy Hardin was out when his precious daughter arrived home in a wrinkled dress and mussed-up hair.

  To ensure word got back to him, Devin put up a good show in front of the hands, who eyed him viciously as they rode up. Mustered up his best gentlemanly air, he helped her out of the carriage and up the steps. As polite as could be, he walked her to the front door. Finally, in a move truer to his nature that no polite gentleman would dare, he grabbed her ass, ground their loins together, and drove his tongue down her throat. Also, in case any of the onlookers had doubts as to what took place prior to their arrival, he cupped her breasts, leaned down, and kissed each one on the bared flesh pushed up and over the low neckline. Only then did she drift inside, flustered and panting for more.

  Not once did he consider it using the girl, since they both got what they wanted. Only difference was, Rosalinda was going to lose her father over the trade.

  “And so now you get do what you wanted from the beginning—kill Hardin since he cheated a Spawn and stole livestock.” Megan stepped closer to the stall.

  Devin turned and stared at her. He had forgotten all about the cattle Hardin’s men rustled from Reed, mainly due to the ample compensation.

  “What if you kill him, and the law strings you up afterwards? What if he or his men kill you? Is that when the killing stops? Who’ll protect the girls then? Tell me, what sort of flowers do you want on your grave?”

  The truth was always in the eyes.

  Megan couldn’t believe a man would fight over her. Pretty Boy tried, and she’d sent him away. Desperate to wrap her mind around the notion he’d risked his life over damned cattle instead of her, she blamed herself for Reed. Now, she feared his blood would be on her conscience, as well.

  In a deft move, he swung his body over the gate, took her in his arms and, with the crook of his finger under her chin, nudged her to look at him. when she tried to squirm out of his embrace. Her tense bearing altered, waned against the length of his body and his heart clenched. He held her, resisted the suffocating need to yank up her skirt, force her legs apart and penetrate her until she knew she was his.

  “There are some things a man has to do.” Sugar-coating not being his forte, he wanted to reassure her in some way. She felt so fragile, soft and inviting in his arms, sweet smelling and warm. His hard cock stirred against her belly, and he heard her breathless sign. His voice strained and dropped two levels. “That’s just the way it is, Megan. Can’t rightly explain so’s a woman understands. Nothing is gonna happen to me. To ease your mind, just in case, I owe it to Reed to settle the score. It’s just like you said. No one cheats a Spawn.”

  Tenderly, he kissed her forehead and let her go. He turned, opened the gate and led Deuce outside, mounted and rode off.

  Megan was a Spawn.

  Hardin cheated her in the worst way a man could cheat a woman.

  It was up to him to do what his father didn’t even have to ask—protect her.

  * * * *

  Devin came from behind, circling wide across the river upstream. He’d hidden Deuce within whistling distance, half a mile away, leaving plenty of time to hike back and take up residence high on the hill over
looking the abandoned mill below.

  Judging from the size of the shadows the trees cast, he estimated it was close to the eleventh hour when Hardin and his men eventually made their appearance.

  He shook his head solemnly. That was the trouble with the world, you couldn’t take a man by his word. Hardin said noon, and here he was, showing up an hour early. Can’t even trust a crook, and Devin should know—he arrived close to nine.

  In his profession, one didn’t live long by taking chances. Hardin came early, expecting Devin to show up early.

  Unfortunately, for Hardin, he miscalculated.

  Back at the ranch, Hardin rode with a dozen back up. From the looks of it, he didn’t take too kindly to Devin’s brazen assurance and decided to add a few more to the ugly brood.

  Two lookouts climbed the roof of what appeared to be an abandoned building. A dozen more spread out in the patch of trees between the road leading to the building and the hill. One made his way to the end of the trees, the most logical choice to position a lookout if Devin did the logical thing and came from the direction they expected.

  Leroy Hardin dirtied up his shiny brown boots pacing up and down the dusty, overgrown road. To Devin, the man looked uncomfortable. He could almost see the sweat beading Hardin’s forehead. Out of the three-hour head start, an hour remained. Devin saw no reason to add to Hardin’s misery with tardiness.

  He moved down the hill, blending skillfully with nature’s plentiful growth, a technique he’d mastered long ago with the aid of his Comanche friends.

  The first to go down were the two on the roof. They didn’t know what hit them. Silent arrows pierced their hearts, one by one, leaving Hardin unaware.

  In newly sewn moccasins, Devin crawled through the trees undetected. One by one, he introduced each gunslick to his bowie knife. Some either climbed up the trees or hid behind fallen logs or in the dense brush. The more confident remained on their horses and stuck out. Devin took pleasure in sneaking up on them from the front, surprising them right out of their saddles. It made it very easy for him to give ‘em a ruby red necklace.