Wolf's Tender

by Gem Sivad

  Sweet drawl—her husky tones were definitely not Texas.

  He couldn't resist. He reached for her and brought her up into his lap, nestling her against his cock.

  "Wolf—my name is Charlie Wolf,” he murmured into the shell of her ear as he nibbled there and then sucked on her earlobe. It would be the right thing to do, telling her the truth. Come morning, me and my cousins will be on the trail of Jericho Jones, and your students will be returned to you in due time.

  Charlie cast that thought aside. Instead, his hand fumbled at the buttons on the back of her dress, determined on a different course. “A man has needs a woman like you could take care of.” She drew in a harsh breath, stifling a sob. Tough shit, I told her to stay out.

  But then she straightened under his hands and suggested. “Why don't I bathe you while we talk.” Charlie paused at that, his hands stilled on her buttons. He had never been bathed by a woman. He'd heard of it, sometimes dreamed about it, but in thirty-two years of living, it had never happened.

  The combination of the bartender's antics and the rejection of the saloon whore had launched an evening Charlie intended to spend in a drunken stupor, smoking a cigar, in a tub of hot water. An hour before that had sounded like a good time to him. Now he had a woman offering to bathe him so he would listen to her story of woe.

  Giving her one last chance to leave was the hardest thing he'd ever done. “Don't want to talk. Don't have a thing to say.” If she didn't get her hot pussy off his lap and hike on out of here, he was going to jump her bones and get himself hung.

  She continued to squirm, pressing her rump into his cock as she struggled to turn and look at him. “I am sure that my monthly stipend will be forwarded here. I contacted the school officers for assistance today."

  She's really not as skinny as I thought. He drew in her scent, rolling it over his senses. Beneath the road dust and everyday sweat, she smelled sweetly like a woman. He ran his thumb down her smooth cheek. I'll be damned; she's not as old as I first thought, either.

  He felt oddly aggrieved like she'd been laid out as bait, and he'd taken it without looking close enough.

  "I will do whatever it takes to hire you. Mr. Wolf.” Her hands were clasped in front of her now, as she endeavored to appear calm. Squirmed around the way she was, it felt natural the way her breasts brushed against his chest. The woman was asking for it and didn't even know it.

  But then he glanced at her hands. Her white knuckles belied her pose. So Miz Parker wasn't as composed as she would have him believe. Deliberately he lifted and rolled his hips under her.

  "Anything?” He shifted and murmured his words against her neck.

  "So these girls at the fancy school,” he paused in his nuzzling of her neck to ask, “They're friends?"

  "They are children who were my responsibility. I saw the riders coming across the field and didn't call out in time. When they arrived, I hid, saving myself instead of protecting my charges."

  Charlie could see she was eaten up with guilt. Good, I can use that.

  She spoke calmly but firmly. “It's my responsibility now to rescue them. The sheriff here refuses to get a posse together, and by the time the U.S. Marshal finds a tracker and deputizes men...” Her voice piddled off and she shook her head, denying that inevitability. “So yes, I'll do anything."

  She straightened on his lap, her back pressed to his chest, buttocks against his engorged shaft. He leaned forward and resumed his attentions to her ear, licking down the crease between flesh and lobe. He wasn't playing with her anymore.

  He murmured his last warning, “If you do that, Naomi, you'll be the lowest of the low—a white woman who fucks redskins. Because, make no mistake, if you stay, I'm going to be inside of you."

  He nuzzled the delicate earlobe until she shivered and moaned, then tasted the flesh with tongue and lips before biting just a little bit harder than a lover should on the soft flesh between his teeth. “Best get out of here or you'll meet the same fate as your students."

  He stood, his swollen cock marked by a wet spot and outlined inside the now taut pants. He dumped her from his lap, rejecting temptation. But, instead of leaving, she replied, “Not at all. They have no choice. I do."

  The woman didn't know when to quit. He turned to look at her then. “So you'll trade your life for theirs?” He watched shock blanch the last of her color, before she answered quietly, “Yes."

  Later, Charlie always remembered that as a frozen moment. Her word yes hung in the air between them, meaning so much more than that one sound. He broke the spell when he grunted his assent. “So be it."

  Reaching behind her, he drew his knife from the straw and ordered, “Hold out your hand."

  She closed her eyes and held up both palms extended toward him. Using his knife, he cut a thin line on his palm that instantly seeped blood. Then, his sharp blade tasted Naomi's flesh. Her eyes popped open and she looked at him, puzzled. “What?"

  He pressed the cuts on both hands together. He said the necessary words in Kiowa, and fumbled a strip of cloth, binding their hands together.

  "Now we talk.” She wiggled her fingers nervously in his palm, but he held her hand pressed against his until he was sure that their blood had mingled.

  "Surely scaring me to death with a knife wasn't necessary,” her voice was close to a scold. “I thought you were going to kill me.” Her nipples tented the front of the ugly dress, and he couldn't look away.

  He unwrapped their hands, releasing her to step back while he dropped his buckskins without further warning. “Have to do,” he muttered to himself.

  "What are you mumbling about?” She didn't try to disguise the irritation in her voice. It piddled into quiet when she realized he was naked. When he reached out to pull her close, deliberately pushing his cock between her thighs, she seemed to forget her question altogether. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy, and he smiled inside.

  Holding her gaze, first he ground his groin against her mound, and then, lifting her slightly, he pushed his hard length against her dress material until it rode up into the vee between her legs. He held her still with one hand on her hip, while he languorously rubbed his naked cock against her nether lips.

  He didn't dare linger there, or he would spill his seed without ever filling her glory hole. He wanted to pull up the skirt and take her. Instead, he watched her skin grow pale and her chest rise and fall rapidly in distress. Even so, she stared back at him steadily.

  "Still sure you won't mind layin’ under a dirty Injun?” he queried, mimicking the saloon owner's words and tone.

  "If you will use the water Mr. Wallace provided for your bath, you won't be dirty.” Her tart answer studiously ignored his body moving against hers. But the cloth that rode between them was damp, and her flesh, felt through the thick fabric of her dress, was heated. He quit trying to scare her, his anger easing under her calm practicality.

  "Yes, ma'am,” he agreed and started to turn away. And then his original desire to test her limits revived, and he turned back. “Touch me,” he ordered.

  "Whhhat?” He could have lit a cigar from the blaze in her cheeks. He took her hand and put it on his engorged flesh.

  "I mean—touch me, like this.” He clasped her slender hand around him, even though her long tapered fingers didn't meet.

  She looked down in astonishment and he knew that she'd never seen a man's naked dick before, then she jerked her gaze away from his flesh. But she couldn't remove her fingers because he wrapped his big paw around them, stroking her hand up and down his shaft.

  She was trembling so much he was afraid she might fall down, but she didn't cavil or whine. When her odd-colored eyes blinked back tears, he hardened his voice, gruffly asking, “Think you can take a big man like me?"

  She didn't answer his question, eyes staring at his chest, as though she'd never seen one of those before either.

  "You need to bathe now,” she repeated her earlier suggestion and pretended that her hand wasn't pleasuring
him below.

  "Tub's plenty big enough for a little bit more. Take your clothes off and get in with me.” This time he had shocked her beyond docile cooperation.

  Her face primmed up and she dropped his cock, stepping back as she said, “I will not."

  He'd been waiting for her first challenge, and it pleased him to cut away the iron trappings that compressed her flesh as he would cut away the false trappings of her society. He drew his blade and once again pulled her to him.

  "What are you going to do, cut my hand again to punish me?” Her words were derisive, not the respectful tone of a squaw. It occurred to Charlie right then that Miss Naomi Parker wasn't exhibiting the usual white woman's fear of him.

  In one motion, he cut through the fabric of her clothes—the dress, the chemise underneath, and the lacings of the corset that constricted her flesh. He stroked his finger down the pinch mark that marred her flesh, pleased to see pink flesh and rounded breasts spring free. “Don't wear one of those damned things again."

  Apparently struck dumb, she said nothing when he shoved the cut material wide, pushing it off her shoulders, to the floor, where the corset landed with a loud thunk. She stood before him in nothing but cotton drawers.

  "That was my only dress.” All the spunk seemed to drain out of her, leaving her looking tired and vulnerable.

  "It had blood all over it.” But he would have cut if off of her had it been clean. The dress was a mockery of her surprising delicacy. Done talking, he took hold of her drawers and pulled them down.

  The bleached cotton skimmed right off narrow hips but caught for a moment on a surprisingly rounded bottom. He followed the cotton, bending to unlace the half-boots she wore. “Step out of your shoes,” he ordered. On his way down, when his head was even with her feminine curls, he noticed their light color and nuzzled her there for encouragement.

  "Stop it. I'm not ready for this,” she gasped, regaining some of her spirit. He grabbed one shoe and started work on the second. She clutched a wad of his hair and pulled.

  "Quit that,” he smacked her bottom, feeling the silken skin under the rough calluses on his palm. When she twisted to kick him, he caught her foot, pulled off the second shoe, and then her bloomers.

  "You surely do have long legs.” He stared at the alabaster flesh stretching from her toes to where her legs split into a delicious vee at the apex of her thighs.

  Bent over like a man shoeing a horse, he began working his way back up her leg, nuzzling her dimpled knee, kissing the inside of her thigh, brushing his lips across her lower curls, inhaling her scent. All the time, his movements were accompanied by her squeaks of shocked distress.

  He didn't have it in him to be mad about the hair pulling when he stood upright. She looked like a wild woman, ready to go toe-to-toe, bare-knuckle brawling with him.

  "I am not ready for you to begin,” her face was flushed and her hair had fallen loose from the sedate bun she had worn earlier. What had once appeared brown in color when skinned back the way it had been was now revealed to be strands covered with a dark oily mixture that didn't match her lower curls at all.

  "Too late, we already started,” he growled wondering why he'd thought her plain. Her delicate skin had a rosy hue, and her breasts were plump fruit ready to be enjoyed. Each nipple was surrounded by a brown aureole from which the nub thrust jauntily at him in response to his touch. His mouth watered as he looked at them.

  "Get in the tub,” he told her gruffly.

  "You cannot tell me what to do.” And then ludicrously, she crossed her arms and stared defiantly up at him, challenging his right to order her into the tub.

  "I can and I just did. You told me you'd do anything to get your friends back. Well, this is what it's costing you."

  It was his turn to cross his arms and stare at her. He looked at the creamy white flesh, and the softness of a woman's body. His cock bobbled, pointing at her strongly. I want that, I want that, I want that ... His voice was a guttural growl when he answered.

  "You've taken up my time and already owe me. You can either take a bath with me or bend over the nearest bale of straw right now while I settle our account."

  She glared, but he ignored her hostility, focusing instead on the flush that warmed her skin. “Until I say otherwise, you'll follow my directions. Now get in the tub."

  He concluded that he might have to wrestle her into the water and stepped closer, dropping his hand to her nipple, thumbing it to attention. He palmed the plump melon and squeezed, “Looks to me like you're ready for me, Naomi."

  "What are you doing?” she gasped, displaying real horror as her nipples reached for him. For a minute he thought she might run bare naked from the barn, screaming like a banshee.

  He timed the moment her glance dropped lower and she remembered that her full glory was exposed to him. “Ohhh...” she moaned and covered the pale silken curls with one hand, wrapping her other arm across her breasts as she backed away from him.

  "Better be care—” his warning was too late. He caught a glimpse of creamy pink flesh between splayed thighs as she lost her balance and fell backwards into the half-filled horse trough. Not one to miss an opportunity, he climbed in behind her and pulled her, sputtering, to the surface.

  "Like I said, the tub's plenty big enough for both of us. Now settle back down and enjoy yourself. I'm sure going to.” He surrounded her slim hips with his thighs and rubbed his cock against her back while cupping her breasts in his hands.

  She was breathing in small pants, her ribs moving against the edge of his palm. He pulled her head back and fit it against his chest.

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  Chapter Five

  It wasn't the way Naomi had thought it would happen. She had already been with this man through the dusk into darkness. It was time they needed for traveling.

  But the bounty hunter seemed intent on coupling with her before they set out on the trail of the Comancheros. There was no getting his attention. He was like Pa Lancaster's terrier after a rat—only this time she was the rat, and it appeared he might be going to devour her. She tried to reason with him.

  "Mr. Wolf, we need to get on the trail of the men who kidnapped my students. Surely we could conduct this part of our transaction after we have completed the rescue."

  It was a difficult proposition to sell since as she spoke, he ignored her suggestions, exploring the valleys and hills of her body. His fingers ran willy-nilly up her ribs, seeming to count them, possibly to make certain she was real.

  For a man who had needs, he was certainly taking his time. And now she was held captive between his thighs, and unless she turned around and risked bumping that waving protrusion of his, she couldn't see his eyes.

  She needed to be able to read his eyes; the rest of him was just a blank slate, but she knew his thoughts when she looked into his eyes.

  But it wasn't to be. He held her, her back to his chest, and controlled her body in spite of her will to resist.

  Her clearly developed plans were delivered as moaned suggestions suborned to his will. While she marshaled her arguments, he explored her body, top to bottom.

  When he slid his hands between her thighs, she stiffened her legs and made her back rigid. Still, he gave her a reprieve from his lower exploration to press his thumbs against her nipples. She expelled her breath in a loud, thankful breath, only to gasp in shock. Not finished with her nipples, he rotated them, before pinching each nub between finger and thumb.

  She had never felt anything like that in her life. Even in moments of her own self-explorations her breasts had remained—well—breasts. They had become something else entirely, cradled in his hands. They ached, itched, tingled—they seemed to have a life of their own, demanding that she turn and rub them against his skin.

  Unable to stop, she arched her back, shoving her flesh against his roughly callused palms. “Ahhh,” the groan of pleasure escaped her lips before she could suppress it.

  Heat flared in her belly. He cu
pped her flesh in his large hands and whispered in her ear, “Pretty.” He lifted each one and squeezed the plump mounds intimately. “I want to taste these."

  Taste—God yes, I want him to taste them. Struggling to control her responses didn't help, because he was everywhere. She backed away from the merciless hands cupping her breasts, but her thighs and rump bumped and ground against his male length. The tactile assault confused her.

  He nibbled and bit at her ear, her neck, her shoulder, under her jaw. All the time he murmured, sometimes in words she understood, sometimes in a language foreign to her. She had no time to protest or refuse, swept along on the tide of his passion.

  And the feelings that he stirred in her had never been roused before. She didn't know the correct behavior. Her woman's book of etiquette and decorous behavior had never discussed this. Cooking plentiful meals, sewing ruffled curtains, pouring afternoon tea ... but not the feel of a man's hands on breasts, as his mouth sucked hard on the crease between neck and shoulder.

  She was certain that no mention had ever been made of the frustrated feelings, almost anger, that swamped her and made her fierce. She wrenched free and turned violently on his lap, “You will listen to me now,” she exhorted him fiercely, straddling him, her knees bent on either side of his narrow hips, her breasts heaving her protests and outrage. But words would not come.

  "Thank you,” he closed his lips around the pointing nub of her nipple, milking it erotically, teeth scoring the swollen button before sucking it into his mouth, cheeks concave from the pull.

  "Oh, my God, now what are you doing to me?” Her words spilled out as a moan instead of a protest. He didn't stop what he was doing, and instead, put his hand back on her other breast, teasing that nipple in time to the pull of his lips. Naomi clutched his shoulders, holding onto him, back arched into the pleasure he gave.

  The solid erection she'd touched before was stiffly reaching for her and determinedly nudging against her cleft. He dropped his hand to her hip, and she knew it hadn't been accidental.