by Gem Sivad
Charlie Wolf held her, but this time his shaft prodded her until her nether lips parted and he rubbed against her tender folds. Startled out of her sexual haze, she froze.
"Let's see what happens when we do this,” he murmured. Her eyes followed the trail of his hand as he slid it down her ribs until it rested on her stomach.
With his other hand, he rubbed his shaft against the slick flesh inside her folds, sliding it against the sensitive nub at her apex. She jerked, feeling as though a flash of fire had jolted through her. He seemed pleased at her uncontrolled response and grinned, “Like that, do you?"
She was fascinated by the smile on his face. He looked nothing like the stern bounty hunter who had ridden into town leading a string of dead men. He continued brushing back and forth across the spot that tingled, until she pushed back, needing more.
"That's it,” he directed her. “Give yourself to me. Let me in."
Let him in? This is going to be a “he's too big, won't fit, this is going to be a disaster” in. Naomi stared into his eyes. Deliberately, holding her gaze, he pressed his hand on her stomach, moving the other to her hip.
"Nowww,” he growled at her, pressing downward at the same time he thrust his hips upward. She felt the tip of his engorged flesh breach the opening to her body and in took on a whole new meaning.
He used his chin to scrape aside the wet hair from her shoulder. She was embarrassed at the way its pomade-covered-length lay in limp clumps. He didn't seem to notice, nibbling on the bend in her neck. She was wrong; he did notice. “What the hell do you have on your hair?"
His tone was insulting, and even in this moment, poised above his shaft, ready to change her destiny, Naomi had to have the last word. “Does it really matter right now?” He snorted, derisively, she felt, and her already sunburned cheeks burned hotter. She crouched helplessly, aware of his flesh intimately touching hers, her body's heated response telegraphing her desire.
She shivered when whiskers along his jaw brushed the tender flesh on her neck. She was focusing on that when he moved the hand on her stomach lower, petting her nether curls before sliding his fingers between her legs, brushing that bit of flesh that was so sensitive.
They needed to talk; she had his attention, now she needed to remember what they were talking about. Oh, yes, her hair.
"My hair is curly, wild, unless I pomade it.” He looked up from the nipple he was biting and frowned at her.
"No more,” he grunted and then went back to scraping his teeth across the end so erotically that she melted and squirmed on the flesh invading her core. She panted, clinging to his shoulders, trying to gather her thoughts at the same time she stopped her descent onto his shaft. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs against him.
"No, ma'am,” he said sternly, lips and teeth removed from her breast, where he had been giving her so much to think about. “You'll not keep me out of this sweet honey. This belongs to me tonight. Open for me, Naomi."
She obeyed, closing her eyes as she let her legs fall apart, stiffly enduring as his fingers touched and pressed intimately, learning the shape and size of her parts. His manroot throbbed against her flesh, and she wondered how she would ever be able to take it inside of her when just the tip burned and stretched her opening.
He probed gently, pressing her downward so that his shaft pushed inside of her entrance. He was breathing heavily and rasped into her ear, “Shoot, teacher, you're not even broken to ride."
She struggled to reply, “I would prefer not being compared to a horse, if you don't mind.” But the words that she'd meant to be caustic came out as a weak whimper.
She felt his chest vibrate against her and knew without looking that she'd made him laugh. He kept his hand pressed against her belly, holding her still when he pushed his finger harder against the nubbin he stroked. Her almost relaxed muscles clenched around his flesh as he inched deeper inside of her.
Trying to expel the foreign intruder, her body strained away from his touch. “You're too big,” she protested. But it didn't matter; he was inside of her, and she still straddled his thighs, his rigid pole connecting the two bodies.
Abruptly he reached for the soap. His voice was harsh when he handed her the bar. “My back needs to be scrubbed. Reach across my shoulders and get at it."
His rough order offended her, and she meant to use that as an excuse to climb out. Instead, he drew her toward him until his turgid member slid higher inside of her. “Stop that,” she ordered him and twisted, trying to disconnect their bodies and scramble out of the tub of water.
Gravity and the slippery trough conspired to aid him in breaching her flesh. She slipped and fell down on his shaft, impaling herself fully. His groan of pleasure accompanied her shocked gasp.
She cried out and clutched his shoulders, leaning against his strength for solace from the pain he'd given her. Her face pressed against his chest, hiding from his gaze.
He rubbed the white suds across her shoulders and down her back, easing her closer, fitting himself deeper.
"Why is this purported to be such a grand thing?” she asked petulantly before she could stifle her words. She'd made him laugh again, and his chest moved under her cheek. He kept stroking her back, patting her like she was a child. Well, she wasn't a child any longer.
That last thread of innocence that had tied her to her childhood had just been severed—in a tub of water with a savage. She drew in a deep breath and pushed upward, levering away, she felt the scrape of his flesh internally as she began to withdraw.
"Whoa, there, teacher.” He grabbed for her hips, his soapy hands sliding on her wet skin before he brought her back down, filling her with his cock again. “We're not done yet."
Jesusmaryandjoseph. Charlie groaned as her gyrations sent her plunging back down on his ecstatic cock. One more up and down and it would be all over for him. He held her in place until she stopped trying to climb out to get away from him.
His release was so close, he had to clench every muscle in his body fighting it off—not now—not yet ... breathe in ... breathe out. She settled, taking him deeper, all the time staring at him with her mesmerizing blue eyes. He forgot about her burned cheeks, lumpy hair, and skinny hips and knew only that she watched his face and made a place for him inside of her body.
Groin to mound, joined as they were, her sweet breath feathered across his chin, and he watched her bite her bottom lip. He wiggled, settling her tighter against his groin, reaching like a spoiled child for a spot deeper inside. Tentatively flexing her inner muscles around his cock, she squeezed.
Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and moisture flooded her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed the end of a lash, capturing a tear with his tongue. Their heavy breathing joined into one melodic score.
He brushed his lips down her cheek and across her mouth, tasting her lightly with his tongue. He jerked in surprise when she reciprocated, but when her tongue brushed across his bottom lip, he opened, drawing her tongue into his mouth and then followed her retreat, back to the warm cavern of her mouth.
They groaned in unison. His hand came up, cupping the back of her head, steadying their kiss. It was a first for him too—part of him held onto her as if she was a sacred moment—he was almost scared to proceed. He'd never bedded a virgin.
Part of him wanted to fuck her so hard she'd never forget him; he wanted to be more than her first. He hadn't even pulled from her body and already he wanted to be the only man who ever gave her this pleasure.
She pulled away from the kiss, lifting up again. “Huh-uh.” His hips followed her rise.
"You said you wanted your back scrubbed.” She had the wash cloth and soap in her hand and seemed determined to do his bidding.
Naomi's breasts were presented to his lips as an offering when she reached over his shoulder to scrub his back. He didn't know if it was accidental or intended but didn't wait to figure it out.
He sucked on her teat like a starving baby and then like a man long deni
ed. At the same time, he held her hips in place and nudged higher inside of her. She pressed harder on his back, kneading the muscles there like bread dough, even as her sheath tightened around him, responding to the slow draw of his mouth on breast.
He licked her nipple, scraped it with his teeth, and then suckled it strongly, feeling her internal muscles flexing in time to his pulling lips. And then her release was on her and her hips jerked, reaching for more.
Her internal muscles clamped down on his rod, spasming in a long, drawn-out orgasm that pulled and milked him, demanding that he shoot straight into her womb. It was the most erotic moment Charlie Wolf had ever experienced.
Somehow he staggered to his feet without slipping out of her. Probably because he was so hard and she was so tight that they were stuck together like two dogs going at it.
Dripping water left a trail as he held her rump and she wrapped her legs around his hips for purchase. Her fingernails scored marks in his shoulder as her hips continued to jerk against his groin, his cock pressing deliciously against some pleasure point inside of her.
He needed to ram, to pound, he needed ... He watched her blue eyes darken into midnight skies and held her as her body fought to claim another release that would spread pleasure through both of them.
"Hold on.” He backed her against the wall of a stall and draped her legs over his arms. Virgin tenderness was forgotten as he slammed his cock deep and hard, riding through one orgasm and into another.
He pressed his thumb on her clit, rotating, squeezing, and teasing the sensitive nub of flesh at the same time he pumped into her hot wetness. At some point, he grabbed her head and pulled her mouth under his, claiming that part of her too.
He breathed for her, held her like a sacrifice before his need, and rutted on her until they both collapsed from exhaustion in the straw beneath his feet.
Charlie poured his seed into the woman, his hips still moving after the last drop had been jetted into a womb that clenched in aftershocks, muscles tightening and then relaxing as her peak slowly abated.
She was completely vulnerable to him in that moment. He curled protectively, aware of her every sniffle, sob, and sigh as he surrounded her slender length without crushing her.
When she shivered, he reached up to drag a horse blanket across them, trapping his heat for her. He knew when she was awake—she held herself stiffly and her breathing was controlled and shallow. He knew when she fell asleep, because her body relaxed, letting her natural contours fill the planes and angles of his form.
He looked wryly at the palm of his hand marked by his cut. Her palm wore the same mark. What the hell was I thinking?
He'd been like a bull on her the moment he'd gotten her into the building. And then to claim her in such a savage manner—but he wasn't sorry as he held her in his arms and breathed her scent into his lungs.
He'd always planned on having a woman some day. Thinking about the night, his teeth flashed in a wolf's grin. She'd never had a chance. If she'd tried to leave any of the six times he'd offered her reprieve, he knew he'd have blocked the door.
But, she hadn't tried to leave. She'd stood up to him and made a bargain to save her charges. Charlie closed his eyes and fell asleep, brushing his hand across her hair. Satisfied with the night's events, he relaxed. He'd found his mate.
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Chapter Six
Naomi took a moment to explore the cut on her right palm. She'd been prodded out of contented sleep by a loose straw poking her hip. She'd discovered that she was naked, stiff, and sore, curled under a blanket smelling of horse, in a stall of the stable, but thankfully, alone. She wanted to believe that she'd had a bizarre dream, but her itching palm proved that her memory was sound.
She sat up and looked down at her nakedness, as though she'd never really seen her body before. Red marks covered her breasts. His whiskers had scraped, his teeth had nipped, and his lips had sucked. She flushed, remembering.
She clambered out of the stall, hastily looking for the remnants of her clothing. Parts of them were in the stable owner's scrap heap. Thinking she'd tie it on somehow, she searched through the rags for her dress, but it was missing altogether
Her eyes drifted to Charlie Wolf's change of clothes, drying on the bale of straw. He'd be wearing the spare clothes she'd seen in the saddlebag when she'd pulled out the bathing supplies.
"You owe me, Mr. Charlie Wolf McCallister.” She pulled the nearly dry set of buckskins from the straw and shimmied into them. She stretched, appreciating the rich leather against her skin. She hadn't felt so free since Ma Lancaster discovered her bosom coming in. Naomi had been taped, tucked, and tortured by corsets ever since.
His clothes were too big around and too long. She hitched up the pants, tying a corset string around her middle to keep them in place. Then she covered that with the deerskin tunic and belted it all with a leather strap she found hanging on Wallace's wall. The extra length of the pants wrinkled around the ankle of her boot, as she stomped her feet into them, but she stood, pleased with her own ingenuity.
"Godey's Lady's Book says a lady must deal with challenge in a calm and creative manner.” She smoothed her hands over her hair, realizing that unredeemable disaster had struck. Her once slicked down and tamed mane of hair was free, billowing out around her in a halo of dandelion snarls.
She lifted a strand and looked at it. “What the hell's on your hair?” he'd growled, even as he'd buried his face against her neck and pushed it to the side. She blushed standing there in the morning light, struck dumb remembering.
Well, there's nothing on it now, Mr. C.W. McCallister, and just look at this mess. She couldn't cry over her hair when there were so many more important reasons to have hysterics, but she wanted to.
Remembering his touch left her feeling disconnected from her body. As if something had happened to her that separated who she had been from whom she was today.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the old man who owned the barn banging around the trough where she and Charlie Wolf had bathed. She slid back further in the stall, hiding until she heard him grumble his way out the door, easing it closed behind him. It jarred her from her dithering. She grabbed a bunch of hair and tied it back with a broken corset string.
If he saw me sleeping in Charlie Wolf's embrace, my reputation is gone. Apparently so was Charlie Wolf. Not knowing what else to do, Naomi saddled the buckskin mare and rode into the early morning toward the Sparrow Creek Academy for Young Women.
Her thoughts about the bounty hunter were grim. He might not come after her, but she was betting that he wouldn't let anyone steal from him, and she'd taken his horse.
In spite of the ache between her legs, she was physically none the worse for her experience. Her mind flitted swiftly past her reputation. She knew from the smirk on the stable owner's face the night before, he wouldn't remain silent.
She clasped the sides of her mount and remembered the feel of Charlie Wolf inside of her. Her cheeks flushed and she squirmed in the saddle, internal muscles clenching a reminder of the pleasures of being filled.
It was unseemly to think about physical gratification when her students’ lives were at risk, so she reminded herself that Charlie Wolf had taken advantage of her dire circumstance to seduce her. He was a libertine and an undesirable person.
Even so, she was quite relieved when, at midmorning, Charlie Wolf caught up with her, riding up on her right side.
"You need a hat. Your face is burned red by the sun.” She knew that, and he didn't need to point out to his cousins how bizarre she must look. Tendrils of curling fluff escaped the corset string thong holding the mass.
The two bounty hunters who hunted with him moved in on her left. They all rode silently through the gates of the school property. She dismounted, staring at the rocks and rough ground instead of toward the body of Patrick Wilson.
"I need to give this man a burial.” The horror of the earlier event seeped through her bones, le
aving Naomi shuddering under a wave of panic—she couldn't look at a dead Patrick.
Charlie Wolf put his hands on her shoulders, scrutinizing her, taking in his drooping buckskin pants and the tunic that covered her to her knees.
"Go back to the horses and get your clothes out of my saddlebag.” He turned her around, pointing her away from Patrick's violent death. “I'll take care of that.” She was both relieved and aggravated.
She was glad to let Charlie Wolf take over the burial task because being back at the school left her too anxious about her students to be of any help. Patrick's body was a gruesome reminder that the girls had been captives of the Comanchero for over a day.
Every other consideration was outweighed by the need to hurry after them. Galling though it was, she couldn't rescue her students without Charlie Wolf and his bounty hunter friends.
"I bought you a dress,” he said gruffly. Confused, she stared at him and then down at his buckskins that she wore.
"I like what I have on better. It's easier to get around.” She ignored his proffered offer of clothes and went into the empty school dormitory, where green-eyed flies crawled insolently over the day-old porridge on the long breakfast table.
By this time, someone would have notified the school trustees that the school had been attacked. The headmistress, Eleanor Beecham, who would have arrived in a fortnight with the remainder of the girls, wouldn't come. Naomi didn't know what would happen next.
She pushed the porridge bowls aside and laid her head on folded arms, overcome by her own feeble attempts to help the girls.
If these men found her students and freed them, then her sacrifice had been worthwhile. The three men were dubious heroes at best. It was telling that Charlie Wolf was the most civilized-looking of the three. Her eyes slid over him rapidly and on to his cousin.
Deacon McCallister's hair poked from under his hat, ragged as though roughly sawed off. The whiskers on his face curled in a scraggly beard hiding most of his features. Only his bitter blue eyes and low-slung gun distinguished him from the usual cattle bums who drifted from town to town.