The Cowboy's Revenge (Ride Hard Series Book 1)

by Zoe Blake

  Annabelle could feel the press of his member against the high waist of her skirt. Frantically, she scanned the empty stable yard for help.

  “By now every man, woman and child in town knows I won you fair and square. They won’t interfere.”

  Her head snapped back to match his glare. “Won me?”

  “Did your precious Papa not tell you he bet you like a prized mare in a poker game last night?”

  “Step-father,” corrected Annabelle automatically before taking in the rest of his words. She always corrected people whenever they called Jacob Waltze her father. “I…I…don’t believe you!” she accused. This wasn’t happening. Her step-father would not be so cruel so heartless…and then to leave her here! Unprotected!

  “I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

  Being the prettiest girl in town had given Annabelle a lot of experience in loosening the grip of an overly amorous cowpoke. Raising her knee, she tilted her foot up so the high heel of her boot was in position. She then slammed it down on his instep. The momentary shock of pain caused him to loosen his grip. Picking up her heavy skirts, Annabelle turned and she tried to run the length of the porch. It wrapped around the entire long back of the sizable house. She knew just around the corner was the door to the kitchens. If she could only reach it!

  Flicking his thumb, Mason unsnapped the small leather loop holding his cow whip in place on his holster belt. Feeling for the familiar weight of the braided soft leather handle, he flipped his wrist, uncoiling the long leather whip with a crack. Annabelle turned in shock at the sound.

  His menacing form lengthened as he straightened to his full height. Mason lowered his brow and raised his right whip hand high. With a scream, Annabelle turned to flee.

  Swinging his arm in a side arch, he easily sent the uncoiled braided leather across the length of the porch to wrap around her waist. She couldn’t have gotten more than ten steps away so the extra length of the sixteen-foot whip smoothly encircled her small waist several times. He knew it wouldn’t hurt her. He could snap a fly off a bull’s ass at five paces without the bull even knowing it.

  Annabelle screeched in anger and terror as the tight black coils of the whip closed about her. Digging at the soft leather with her nails, she could not dislodge it. Mason methodically pulled on the whip. Reaching hand over hand, he pulled a struggling Annabelle closer as her leather boots slid along the polished wood porch surface. When she was close enough, Mason spun her in a circle, unwrapping the whip before pulling her in close.

  “Please! Please, don’t do this!” she cried out.

  Mason liked hearing her beg. Begging him. It was going to give him real pleasure breaking this particular filly. A vision of his black whip wrapped across her naked breasts forcing them up and out, her white creamy skin on display for him, flashed across his mind. Yes, he was going to enjoy this part of his revenge very much in deed.

  “It’s already done,” he ground out. Leaning over he retrieved a small knife from inside his boot.

  Annabelle felt her knees go weak when she saw him flick the nasty looking blade open. Whatever he may have planned for her body, she wanted to live.

  Mason pulled her over to the porch railing. Pressing against her shoulder blades, he forced her to bend over the wooden post. The movement caused her crinoline to rise in the back, exposing her lace-edged linen pantalets and black stockings. Grabbing a heavy fistful of the thick, emerald green fabric of her skirt, Mason flipped it over her head. The movement dislodging her small bonnet, sending her honey-brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. Annabelle called out, but her screams were muffled by the fabric and waves of hair.

  Taking his knife, he swiftly cut through the stiffened linen belt holding her caged crinoline in place. The steel wired hoop skirt limply fell to her ankles. Next, he cut through the ribbon securing the ruffled bustle. He was looking forward to seeing her curves without all the trappings of femininity. Taking a moment to admire the curve of her backside, Mason wished he had more time to linger. Taking a step back, he watched as she pushed off the railing. Her arms flailed as she swept her long hair out of her eyes and attempted to right her skirts, all the while screeching and caterwauling like a wet hen. Mason couldn’t make out all the words but beast, brute and bully seemed to feature prominently.

  Having enough of her squawking, Mason stepped close. Annabelle immediately froze. Mason ran the back of his knuckles up the pearl buttons of her lace blouse. He could feel the gentle curve of her breasts above the rigid edge of her corset. Then his finger brushed the heavy gold setting of her cameo broach. Grasping the cold oval in one hand, he viciously wrenched it downward. The pinned clasp tore the thin fabric of her blouse.

  Annabelle called out in shock as she tried to back away. With the broach clasped firmly in his hand, the movement only caused more of her blouse to tear. For a moment, all that could be heard was the ping of her pearl buttons as they fell to the wooden floor.

  “I hate you!” screamed Annabelle as she launched at him, claws out. She didn’t get far. Without her hoop skirt, her skirt hung several inches longer, well past her feet. She tripped on the extra folds of fabric and fell into his arms.

  Mason looked down at the top swells of her breasts. The white lace making her skin the color of rich cream. His lips quirking upwards, he amused, “You really are making this easy for me, Calico.” He easily captured her small wrists in one of his own. Then wrapping the other strong arm around her small waist, he felt for the buttons securing her skirt. They rested, tantalizing, on the upper curve of her ass. Mason splayed his fingers wide, sliding over the tempting flesh. Annabelle gasped and started to struggle more desperately.

  Digging his fingers into the spaces between the buttons, he gave it a sharp tug. The thin threads holding the buttons in place snapped. Her skirt fell to her ankles.

  He now took a step back to admire his handiwork. Now she would ride on his horse without all the frippery getting in the way. She stood before him in a gossamer thin camisole, a whalebone corset lined with tiny pink ribbon bows, a pair of white-lace edged bloomers, black stockings and a delicate pair of soft leather ankle boots. Her hair tangled over her softly rounded shoulders. Her eyes…well her eyes were wild and angry. The color of deep purple.

  “You’ll do,” he drawled.

  “You…you…” she sputtered, the words choked on her own rage. Not only did he strip the clothes off her back but he had the nerve to access her like a sack of flour and find her…what…passable?

  “As much as I look forward to another one of your tirades filled with colorful names, we need to go.”

  Mason stepped forward. Annabelle raised a hand to ineffectively ward him off. Grasping her by the wrist, he pulled her slight weight forward as he placed a shoulder against her stomach. Flipping her over his shoulder, he placed a strong arm over her lower thighs to prevent her from kicking too much.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to secure her mouth.

  Annabelle screamed, screeched, squawked, shrilled and snarled the whole short way to his horse.

  Mason placed her on her feet. It took a moment for Annabelle to realize her screams had worked. He had let her go! Unfortunately, she took a moment too long. It was just enough time for Mason to hop into his saddle. Reaching down he grabbed Annabelle. She was a little thing so it was no trouble pulling her up and over his lap.

  Annabelle cried, condemned, carped, cursed and caterwauled the whole way as Mason directed his horse to the roundabout trail out of town.

  Chapter Four

  Whetrock Canyon, Arizona

  They were a few miles outside of town but they needed to get to Whetrock Canyon before nightfall. They would take shelter for the night in one of the cliff caves. He knew one that had some smooth flat rock surfaces for bedding down and a small creek nearby. It would also give him an excellent view of Fraser canyon to the north. If anyone dared follow them, he would spot em first and stop them in their
tracks.

  But first, he had to take care of his troublesome baggage. She really was all horns and rattles. Good, he thought. He liked his women to be feisty in bed and this one would not disappoint, he was sure of it.

  Pulling his horse off the trail towards a shaded copse of honey mesquite trees, Mason adjusted a squirming Annabelle more firmly over his lap.

  Annabelle’s stomach hurt from being pressed against his thick thighs. Her lungs burned and her throat was sore from all the screaming she had done. Still she would not give up.

  “I have had just about enough of your caterwauling, woman!” groused Mason.

  Annabelle’s only answer was to screech louder and kick poor Cupid in the muscled flank.

  Grabbing the hem of her pantalets, Mason yanked them down to the tops of her thighs, exposing her bare bottom.

  “You dirty cowboy! Get your hands off me!” Annabelle tried to prop herself up by digging one hand into the loose fabric of his pants while the other tried to swing back to pull up her unmentionables.

  Mason slapped her hand away.

  “This is more than hard earned and probably long overdue,” growled Mason.

  Raising his hand high, he brought it down full force on her bare right cheek. The swells of her bottom bounced. The skin turning pale before a blossom of red in the hazy shape of a hand appeared on her ass cheek.

  Annabelle shrieked so loud, Mason was certain coyotes four counties over just scattered.

  Undeterred, he continued his punishment, peppering her bottom with several heavy handed spanks.

  Annabelle had never been spanked in her life…not even close. She couldn’t believe this was happening. The sharp pain of his first contact was nothing compared to the building burning sting that was spreading over her entire nether region. After every slap, she would tense, waiting for the next. The movement would cause her bottom cheeks to clench, making the pain worse. Then he would just get mad and tell her to unclench so he could spank her harder.

  “Stop! Stop! I’ll be good! Please!” she cried.

  Mason rubbed his large hand over the curve of her ass, cupping the underside. While it looked like a caress, he knew it was almost as painful to have his hand stroke her raw skin as it was to spank it. Annabelle squirmed and whimpered. He turned his attention to the other cheek. It was an equal mottled red from his ministrations. Her heated skin warmed his hand. With the tip of his finger, he lightly traced the edge of one growing welt. “Are you going to behave?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” sniffed Annabelle.

  “No more scaring or kicking my horse?”

  Annabelle shook her head no. Too worn out, in too much pain to respond.

  Mason pulled her pantalets over her reddened cheeks. Annabelle hissed as the fabric scraped along her swollen and bruised skin. Grasping her under her arms, Mason pulled her upright to sit on his lap. The moment her bottom hit his thighs she cried out from the pang of discomfort.

  “Would you rather be face down over my saddle?”

  Annabelle quickly shook her head. Biting her lip to keep from crying out again.

  Mason took in the wild mess of silky curls tumbling about her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. The little pearl teeth biting in to her full bottom lip. But it was the chastised look in her tear-filled indigo eyes which gave him pause. She really was quite beautiful…when she was submissive and quiet. Of its own volition, his hand reached up to cup her jaw. Stroking his thumb through her salty tears he leaned in, his focus on her pouting plump lips.

  Annabelle held her breath, mesmerized by the flinty look of determination in his eyes. As his head dipped to the side, her gaze moved to his lips. Spellbound.

  Mason pulled back moments before tasting the honeyed promise of her mouth. His tongue curling in his mouth as if still trying to sample the deprived treat.

  Mason cleared his throat, reaching for the reins of his horse, he said gruffly, “See that you stay quiet or I’ll gag you and toss you back of the saddle.”

  They rode on in silence.

  Annabelle trying not to focus on the waves of bruising pain sent up her spine with every step of the horse.

  Mason trying not to focus on the soft, feminine flesh cradled between his arms. Her warmed backside pressing against his cock. The amber and spring rose scent of her hair tickling his nose. With every rhythmic step of his horse, he reminded himself. This was for revenge. Nothing more. Feel nothing. Use her. Discard her.

  ~*~

  They made camp after dusk. Annabelle was asleep in his arms. He couldn’t resist taking the unguarded moment to stroke her hair. He needed to know if it felt as silky and smooth as it looked. It did. Mentally giving himself a shake, Mason shifted her forward and then swung his leg round and carefully hopped off his horse, still holding her upright in the saddle. Once he was steady on his feet, he pulled her down into his arms. Annabelle stirred but it was only to snuggle closer into the comforting warmth of his soft wool shirt.

  Mason carried her over to a large tree just outside the entrance to a small cave. Leaning her against the tree on the ground, he went to take care of his horse and unpack the provisions he had brought.

  He was finishing placing the wood he collected for the fire, when there was a shout which sent a group of cactus wren flying. Their loud raspy calls echoed around the canyon.

  “I’m in the dirt! You put me in the dirt!”

  Annabelle was awake.

  Grabbing his lasso from off his saddle, Mason strolled back to the encampment. Annabelle was facing away from him brushing dust and dried grass off her bottom. The recent memory of that same bottom bared and under his restraining hand caused his cock to thicken.

  Hearing him approach she turned around, arms akimbo. “You low-down, cow punch! I can’t believe you threw me in the dirt!”

  He was really going to enjoy forcing this spoiled brat to show some manners. Inch by thick inch.

  Scanning the campground, he saw an old clapboard crate with the word dynamite slanted across the side. He wasn’t the only one who appreciated the shelter of the rock face, elevated ground and nearby creek of this particular canyon. It was a common place to stop on the trail. It wasn’t unusual to find old tools, crates, broken axle wheels. People traveled light through the plains. There was no room for a broken weapon or ripped tarp in your saddlebags.

  “My apologies, your majesty,” quipped Mason with a mock bow. “Let me see if we can find something more befitting your sensitive regal ass.”

  Annabelle huffed and crossed her arms defiantly.

  Mason picked up the crate and tossed it at the base of the honey mesquite tree. Annabelle started to back away as he approached her with the determined glint in his eye she was beginning to recognize.

  Waving her hand in the direction of the crate, she exclaimed, “You’re crazy if you think I’m sitting on that…that…dirty crate!”

  “Oh I’m crazy,” Mason darkly intoned, “but that’s not why.”

  Grabbing her outstretched arm, he dragged Annabelle across the small camp. Swinging her forward, her bottom roughly connected with the hard wood surface of the crate. Annabelle grimaced. It was still sore from the spanking he had given her on the back of his horse. She immediately tried to rise.

  “Sit your ass down,” he barked.

  Shocked, Annabelle obeyed. No one ever talked to her like this, not even her step-father. She was used to servants jumping to do her bidding and responding respectfully to her no matter how she addressed them, which truthfully was not always kind.

  Opening the lasso, Mason stretched a length between his arms before flicking the loose end around the tree with his right hand, catching it with his left.

  “What do you think you are doing with that rope?”

  Deftly twisting the hemp lasso into a quick slip knot, he pulled it tight just under her corseted breasts, locking her arms at her side.

  “This.”

  “No! You can’t! I won’t allow it!” Annabelle struggled
to get her arms free.

  Mason straddled her knees as he leaned forward to wrap the lasso around the tree and her middle several times. Typical of California pants, they hugged the waist and hips, leaving little to the imagination. The hard ridge of his shaft was distinctly outlined. Annabelle reluctantly marveled how it seemed to stretch down the inside of his right thigh, way down.

  Proper women in the West were sheltered as much if not more than their more uptight East Coast counterparts but illicit glimpses peaked through. Like seeing a man grope a prostitute’s naked breast through the window of the bordello or hearing the men in the stable yard talk about their latest sexual escapade or watching a stallion mount a mare in the paddock. Annabelle’s cheeks flushed. The clothed outline of his shaft reminded her most of that particular site. The stallion long and powerful. The mare almost helpless.

  Mason swung around the tree and secured the knot. Returning to the front, he surveyed his handiwork. The lasso was tied tightly enough to secure her without cutting into the soft, delicate flesh of her bare upper arms too harshly. The rope pressed the under curve of her breasts forcing them above the line of the corset. He could see the slight rounded top of the pale pink halo surrounding her nipples.

  Soon. A trail camp was no place to strip her naked and sink his cock between her thighs. They would be at their destination by tomorrow. That would be soon enough.

  “You cannot seriously think to leave me tied up like this?” she complained.

  Mason ignored her.

  “Hey…cowboy! Why are you doing this? I don’t even know your name! Why are you doing this to me?”

  Mason ignored her.

  “You have to talk to me! You can’t just ignore me! This is asinine! You will probably hang for this you know that? I don’t give a damn if you say you won me in a game or not! My step-father had no right! No right!” she ranted as she squirmed on her wooden throne, trying to get free.