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

by Zoe Blake

  Mason untied his bandanna. He looked down at the scrap of red cloth and momentarily thought of gagging her. Unfortunately, placing the cloth between her lips would chap and cut them as well as possibly lock her jaw up. He had plans for her mouth later that required her being able to open wide.

  “And another thing…” but Annabelle trailed off.

  Mason was unbuttoning his shirt placket. Pulling the soft wool over his head exposed a tanned, broad expanse of chest. Most of the men in her step-father’s employ were muscled and strong but nothing like this. Hard ridges of sculpted muscle defined his chest and arms. She could see the sinews stretch and expand with even his slightest movement. The only thing marring his masculine perfection were three star burst scars, two on his right side and one on his left shoulder. Their stark, smooth whiteness stood out on his hair-roughened, bronze skin. Bullet wounds.

  Annabelle was silent…but not for long. When Mason kicked off his Cavalry boots and started to unbutton his pants, she cried out in indignation.

  “You can’t undress in front of a lady!”

  Mason shot her an incredulous look. Was it possible she didn’t realize he would be doing a whole lot more than just undressing in front of her? No. Judging by the heated awareness in those azure blue eyes of hers as she devoured every inch of his skin…she knew.

  “Why not? The lady undressed in front of me,” he joked as his eyes leisurely assessed her half-naked form.

  “The lady had her clothes ripped off her. By you!” she said through clenched teeth.

  Mason kicked his pants free, exposing a pair of oatmeal colored drawers hung low on his hips.

  Annabelle watched with trepidation as he slowly walked towards her, that thing visibly swinging between his legs under the loose, thin linen of his drawers. Oh god! He was going to violate her right here in the dirt!

  “If you touch me, I’ll scream! You know I will!”

  “Oh I know you will,” he arrogantly smirked, turning her meaning around.

  Mason grabbed her by the chin, tilting her head back as far as the tree trunk would allow.

  “I’m going to the creek to catch dinner. You be a good girl while I’m gone, you hear?”

  Annabelle wrenched her head away in disgust. Petulantly she stuck her tongue out at him in response.

  “I’ll make use of that pretty little pink tongue of yours later. Right now we need to eat.”

  Annabelle immediately clamped her jaw tight, glaring at his retreating back. As she struggled to loosen the tight lasso from around her arms and chest, she could hear the faint sounds of splashing water. She struggled harder but the movement of her hips almost dislodged the flimsy crate she was sitting on. Knowing if the crate broke or slipped out from under her, she would be in worse circumstances, Annabelle gave up.

  She needed to get him to untie her. It was her only chance to escape. Although it felt like an eternity, they hadn’t been on horseback for very long, a few hours at most. Surely she must be close to a town or outpost or something?

  The snapping of twigs and the rustle of underbrush hailed his return. Annabelle couldn’t help showing her shock at the large, silvery fish he held aloft on a sturdy stick. She also couldn’t help noticing his wet hair and chest. His drawers where only partially dry, clinging in translucent patches to his strong thighs and calves. He had fished naked! Oh my!

  Mason turned his back on her as he pulled supplies from his saddlebags. Placing the fish on a folded piece of oilcloth, he went about making a fire. It would be essential for heat and light as the sun went down. He realized too late, in all the fuss he forgot to grab another pack of Lucifer sticks. No matter.

  Mason pulled out his knife and walked towards Annabelle.

  “What are you doing with that?” she asked tremulously as she drew her knees up best she could for protection.

  Mason didn’t respond. Going down on his haunches before her, he reached for the edge of her pantalets. Pulling it tight, he cut away a large swath, exposing the creamy skin of her outer thigh.

  “Why you low-down, no good, cow punch!” she screamed as he ruined the last shreds of her precious clothing.

  “You weren’t going to be wearing it for much longer,” he quipped. “No sense in ruining a perfectly good set of my duds.”

  Annabelle didn’t appreciate the reference to losing more of her clothing and made sure he knew it.

  Mason dampened the piece of fabric with the water he carried from his dried out goose-neck gourd. Going over to his gun belt, he retrieved a single bullet. He placed both objects on one of the smooth rocks around the fire pit. Using the tip of his knife, he carefully removed the percussion cap from the bullet, exposing the tiny chamber filled with gunpowder. He poured the powder over the dampened cloth, working it in good. Reaching for his boots, he unbuckled his spurs. Wrapping the cloth tightly around one of the tines of the spur, he flipped his knife around till he was holding the handle upwards. Holding the clothed wrapped spur over the fire pit, he struck it with the handle of his knife. There was bright burst of light with orange sparks before the cloth caught fire. Mason let it fall onto the dry wood. In a short time, there was a roaring fire.

  Annabelle watched in reluctant fascination as he built the fire up. Quickly gutting and cleaning the fish, he had it cooking over the open fire in minutes. He then mixed up some flour and other ingredients on the oilcloth till it was a small, pasty lump. Taking a stick he had shorn of all its bark, he worked the mixture around it before placing it close to the fire as well. As the mixture began to expand and turn a golden brown, Annabelle could smell its warm, yeasty scent. Bread! He was actually making bread. Her stomach growled in response.

  Her body’s response angered her. She would be damned if she would eat anything he prepared she resolved.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m going to eat any of that slop,” she sneered.

  Mason rose to his full height. Annabelle immediately regretted her harsh words.

  Turning slowly towards her, Annabelle could see his chest rise and expand with his deep, measured breaths. He was angry…very angry.

  As he prowled closer, she could see the hard steel look in his eye. She had pushed him too far.

  “I’m sorry!” she cried out in desperation.

  “Too late,” he growled, grabbing her chin.

  “Please! I didn’t mean it!”

  “Yes, you did.” Mason looked into her pleading eyes. It was past time she learned not to push him.

  “You need to learn some manners,” he warned as his other hand started to unbutton his low hanging drawers.

  Annabelle looked down in shock as his member sprang free. It was long and ominous looking. A large bulbous head atop a thick shaft that ended just below his flat abdomen in a dark brown thatch of hair. It was terrifying. Annabelle remembered the whispers from the maids, telling graphic tales of their times with the stable boys. She thought now they must have known she was listening and funning with her. There was absolutely no way that…that…thing…fit into a woman’s body! It would tear her apart!

  Lifting the heavily, engorged weight of his cock into his hand, he gave the full length a few strokes as he watched her reaction.

  “You can’t do this,” she choked out.

  “Watch me,” he responded soft and low.

  Annabelle pressed her knees and thighs tightly together. Her only method of defense. Mason chuckled.

  Straddling her lap, he shifted his hips forward.

  “Open your mouth,” he ordered.

  Open her mouth? Annabelle clamped her lips tight, turning her head. Mason’s long fingers reached under her chin, grasping her along the jaw. Turning her head back, he rubbed the tip of his cock along the tight seam of her lips.

  “Open your mouth,” he darkly repeated. “This is happening, Annabelle. Don’t make it harder on yourself.”

  She jerked at the sound of her name coming from his lips. It was the first time he called her by her name. She didn’t even think he kn
ew it.

  What was happening? She didn’t understand any of this. The maids never talked about taking a man’s member into their mouth. That was wrong!

  She shook her head no, keeping her lips closed.

  Mason moved his fingers higher along jaw, pressing the tips painfully into the soft flesh of her cheeks. The sharp bite of her teeth against the delicate skin of her mouth caused Annabelle to cry out, opening her lips slightly.

  It was enough.

  Mason pressed his advantage and pushed the head of his cock past her full pink lips. She tried to clamp her teeth down on him but his fingertips dug deep into her cheeks, pushing her jaw down, preventing her. The head slipped in, filling her mouth.

  In her effort to push him out, her tongue swirled around and under the head of his cock applying pressure to the sensitive tip. Mason groaned. At this moment, he wasn’t thinking about revenge. All he wanted in the world was to push deeper into her hot, wet mouth. He shifted his hips forward, forcing her to take another inch. The movement forced her tongue flat. It swished and moved under his shaft, caressing him.

  Mason looked down into her beautifully angry eyes. They were stained a deep purple highlighting her high emotion. If looks could kill, he would be found stone cold dead without even his boots on. He pushed in another inch.

  Annabelle struggled to breathe through her nose. Struggling to bite his shaft only made her jaw hurt more as he applied a steady, dominating pressure.

  He slipped in another inch.

  It was too much. The tip of his cock brushed against the back of her throat, causing her to choke. Her throat opened further as she desperately tried to pull air into her tortured lungs. He took advantage and pressed further. Annabelle tried to pull back but her head was met with the hard, resisting surface of the tree she was tied too. Her hands flailed, uselessly pinned to her sides.

  “That’s it, Calico. Take it down. Four inches in. Another five to go. Straight down your throat,” he moaned with lecherous challenge.

  Annabelle renewed her struggles. Tears blurred her vision as he bruised the back of her throat, testing her. He would push forward then pull back slightly only to thrust forward again. This time a little bit further down her throat. She could taste the metallic tinge of blood as his heavy shaft pressed her bottom lip against her teeth. She kicked out but with his hips straddling her own, her kicks were useless.

  Mason pushed forward. Lured by the tight promise of her small throat as it squeezed and clenched around his cock. He could restrain himself no longer. Releasing her jaw, not caring if her pearly teeth scratched along his shaft, Mason grasped her head on either side to steady her for his onslaught.

  Pulling almost free, he rasped, “Breathe deep.”

  For once in her life, Annabelle did as she was told.

  He could feel the slight tickle of cold air as she sucked air in around the tip of his cock. Mason penetrated her mouth almost to the hilt. Pushing deep into her resisting throat. He could feel the vibrations from her scream. Shifting his hips, he thrust again. Using her mouth. Fucking her mouth. Her mouth was his. His alone.

  The sudden wave of dark possession took Mason off guard. She was supposed to be a means to an end. He was releasing her at weeks end. She was not his to keep.

  Annabelle tried to scream as his powerful thrusts overwhelmed her. Her mouth forced so wide open over his thick shaft, she couldn’t even bite down. Worse, the small bite of pain caused by her teeth scraping along his shaft seemed to spur him on.

  Pushing his fingers into her loose, silky locks, he fisted a handful on each side of her head. Feeling the building pressure as his balls tightened, he was close…so close. With a loud shout, he forced his hips back, knowing he needed to cum on her tongue not deep in her throat like he wanted too, that would be for the next time. Fisting his shaft, he violently ran his hand up and down its length till he felt the rush of release.

  Tugging on her hair in warning, he ground out, “Keep your mouth open.”

  Hot spurts of cum coated her tongue as he found his release. The musky saltiness invading her senses.

  Mason took a step back and righted his drawers as he watched her. Her lips were swollen and bruised a deep rose. Her cheeks were flushed, with just the hint of a mark from his brutal handling. It was her eyes that arrested him most. Bright with anger and something else…it was this hint of something else that helped assuage his conscience.

  Still sitting obediently with her mouth open, he ordered, “Swallow it.”

  Annabelle made a distressed mewing sound as her face crumpled.

  “I said swallow it.”

  Annabelle’s eyes filled with tears as she reluctantly swallowed his seed.

  Chapter Five

  Running her tongue over the roof of her mouth to try and get rid of the taste. Mason strolled to his saddlebags and pulled a small flask free.

  Returning, he untied her. After giving her a moment to rub her upper arms where the lasso had scraped her skin, he held the flask out to her. “Drink.”

  Annabelle took the flask and kicked it back. Choking on the fiery liquid as it poured into her throat.

  “Easy now,” he chuckled. “That’s prime applejack whiskey you’re slugging back.”

  Glaring at him over the flask, she defiantly took another swig, enjoying the burning warmth as it settled into her stomach.

  “Come over to the fire. It’s getting cold,” he gruffly ordered, turning away.

  He waited till she rose to grab the dynamite crate and place it closer to the fire.

  “Try to run and I will tie you back up to that tree…naked,” he warned.

  Annabelle nodded her understanding as she took another swig from the flask. She was getting used to the burning bite as it slid down her throat. Everything seemed to take on a fuzzy edge, less sharp, less scary.

  “All right, Calico. Enough of that for now,” said Mason as he pulled the flask from her reluctant fingers. “Let’s get some food into you.”

  He pulled the fish off the fire. Using his knife to separate the pale, sweet flesh from the bones, he divided it up onto two tin plates. He then broke the small loaf of quick bread in half and placed a hunk on each plate. Placing the plate on her lap, he sat by the fire and tucked into his own. He was almost finished when he realized she hadn’t touched her own.

  “Eat.”

  Annabelle shook her head.

  “I said eat,” he repeated with more edge.

  Still she stubbornly shook her head. She had promised herself she would not eat his food. It was a principle thing.

  “Eat or I will feed you my cock again,” he threatened.

  What were principles really, thought Annabelle. She had never stood on them before!

  Annabelle grabbed the hunk of bread and broke off a piece with her teeth, chewing slowly. It was delicious. Warm, sweet and yeasty. She continued to eat the bread.

  “Eat your fish before it gets cold.”

  Annabelle stared down at her plate. “There’s no fork.”

  “I’m sorry, your majesty. The coaches carrying the servants and trunks filled with linen and china got lost on the trail,” he responded sardonically.

  She started to stick her tongue out at him but at his look of warning as he raised one eyebrow, she thought better of it.

  With the tips of her index finger and thumb, she delicately picked off one small flake of meat, placing it in her mouth. Her stomach grumbled from the impact of the juicy, succulent treat. Gingerly she tried to pick another piece.

  Mason’s tin plate hit the rocks with a loud rattle. Standing up he moved to stand over her, hunching down he took the plate from her hands, “Jesus Christ, fish will grow feet and walk on dry land before you finish.”

  Taking a generous piece between his fingers, he raised it to her lips. “Open your mouth.”

  A look of hurt crossed over her face. Mason’s flashed with sympathy and a hint of regret before he ruthlessly tamped it down.

  Clearing his throat,
he said, “Do it, Calico.”

  Annabelle opened her mouth. He placed the fish on her tongue, enjoying the feel of her plump lower lip as it brushed against his fingers. He fed her another piece. Then another. On the third piece, her lips closed around the tips of his fingers before he could pull away. The air crackled around them. The heat of the fire only adding to their own. Slowly, he pulled his fingers away.

  Annabelle was so confused. She hated him for taking her from her home. Hated him even more for what he had just done to her but there was something about him that pulled on her. Drew her closer. He was all hard muscle and anger but there was something deeper. She had never had the feminine desire to care for an injured bird or take on an injured man but this was different. He wasn’t like those skeleton soldiers who returned weak in mind, body and spirit from the war. He radiated strength and power…and sad purpose.

  “What is your name?” she asked quietly.

  Reaching for his flask, he handed it to her. “Have another drink of the apple-jack.”

  Annabelle took a swig. The sweetness from the apples tempering the harsh liquor. “What is your name?” she persisted. It was dangerous to push him, knowing what he was capable of, but the liquor gave her courage.

  “Does it really matter?”

  “To me it does,” she said, licking a drop of whiskey from her lip.

  Mason focused in on the tip of her pink tongue as it peeked out to capture the amber liquid. His cock swelled in response. Never in his life had he felt such a strong reaction to such an insignificant gesture from a woman, especially so soon after finding release.

  “Mason.” He threw the name out as if he didn’t want it.

  “Mason, I’m Annabelle.” She held her hand out palm down, as if she expected him to kiss the top.

  Mason smiled. She was trying to preserve the social niceties in the middle of the plains while she was roughed up and half-naked. She was trying to soften him with that far-off beguiling look of curiosity in her eye. She was trying to…

  Annabelle hiccupped.

  She was drunk.

  Taking her hand, he used it to pull her forward and over his shoulder. “Come on, Calico. Time to bed down for the night.” He walked to the other side of the fire where he had laid out his bedroll. His clothes rolled up for a pillow. His six shooter within easy reach. Laying her down carefully among the wool blankets, he banked the fire and joined her.