by Zoe Blake
Annabelle just laid there, her head lolled to one side. If he thought she was going to give him a fight, he was wrong. She was too tired. Too overwrought. He supposed it had been a difficult day for her. Without thought, he brushed back an errant lock of hair, chastising himself for the sympathetic gesture.
Turning on his side, away from her, he tried to sleep. After a few minutes of nothing but the crackle of the fire and the hush of instincts and sage brush, she spoke.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Mason turned his head, quickly throwing over his shoulder, “I won you. You’re mine for a week.”
“But what are you going to do to me?”
Mason refused to answer.
She tried again. Softly asking, “Are you going to kill me?”
“No. You’ll be back in the arms of your loving step-father before you know it.”
Annabelle scoffed. Mason refused to think on its meaning. It wasn’t his concern if she loved her step-father or not. What concerned him was she was prized by her step-father. Her ruination would be a source of humiliation for him. Woman were scarce in the West. Mason was certain with her looks she would have no problem still finding a husband. If men married harlots, they would marry a slightly used heiress. He clung to that reasoning to help assuage any lingering feelings he may have had over his method of revenge.
“Are you going to do that…that thing again?”
“What?” he asked, becoming irritated.
Annabelle licked her lips. The whiskey and darkness giving her courage. “Are you going to put your…your…thing in my mouth again?”
“It’s called a cock,” he ground out. Silence. “Say it.”
“What?” she asked askance.
Mason rolled on to his other side, facing her. “Say it. Say cock.”
Annabelle tried to read his expression but she couldn’t. With the fire at his back, his form was all shadows and darkness, just like him.
She heard a rustle then felt his fingers brush across her lips. “Say it, Annabelle. Say cock.” He wasn’t sure why he was insisting. He should be insisting she go to sleep. They had a long ride ahead of them tomorrow. Something deep inside him wanted her to say it, to acknowledge it.
Annabelle swallowed. After another pause, she whispered, “Cock.”
She could feel his cock nudge against her outer thigh. A mixture of stark fear and mystifying anticipation twisted in her gut.
The silence stretched.
Mason turned away. “Go to sleep, Annabelle.”
It was a long time before either of them finally slept.
When he woke in the morning…she was gone.
~*~
Somewhere deep in the Superstition Mountains
Three successive gunshots shattered the still evening. Waltze casually holstered his weapon, looking down at the corpses of his men still tucked into their bedrolls. All dead from a single gunshot to the head. Waltze pondered his next move. They had arrived at the mine while the sun was still high. That bastard Mason must have gotten to it. The entire entrance was blocked with large boulders and debris. He had blown the damn thing up. Waltze and his men had spent the entire day trying to dig it out. It was no use. The mine shaft was impassable. It had been almost tapped out anyway. Problem was, there were a few bodies buried nearby. Waltze couldn’t risk one of his men returning to still try to make a go of the mine and discovering the bodies.
It was time to track down Annabelle. His original plan was still in place. He would marry her and start over. There were plenty of towns that needed his special brand of leadership. But first, he was going to put a bullet in the skull of that bastard Mason. He would teach him a lesson for messing with what was his.
Chapter Six
“Damn foolish woman!” he shouted to the morning air as he pulled on his pants and boots. Turning to retrieve his shirt, he saw that it was gone. Well at least she thought to take some cover. He needed to find her and quick. There were countless dangers in these mountains. If the diamondbacks didn’t get her, the Apaches would, that is if she didn’t slip and fall or poison herself by eating the wrong berry first.
“Damn foolish woman!” Mason ground out again just for emphasis. Buckling his gun belt as he raced across their makeshift camp to saddle Cupid, he heard a faint cry, followed by a very unladylike curse.
Apparently his little Calico didn’t get very far. Gun drawn he ran in the direction of her cries. He found her quickly enough. She had gotten only about a half mile from the camp. Approaching quietly, he could see she had gotten her beautiful hair tangled up in a jumping cholla cactus. They were nasty things and the desert was riddled with them. Taller than the tallest man, each stem was covered in large spines that seemed to jump off the cactus straight into any man that passed too close. The spikes weren’t poisonous but they were painful as hell and could cover a whole body if you had the misfortune to actually trip into one.
As it appeared, Annabelle had. Mason took in the scene. His shirt fell to her mid-thigh, so he could only see her torn pantalets, ripped stockings and small ankle boots. Mason shook off the strange feeling that stirred at the sight of her dressed in his clothing. His scent surrounding her. He tried to focus on the matter at hand. It looked as if her clothing wasn’t caught just her hair. If she didn’t struggle too much, he should be able free her without marring that creamy skin she prized so much…as did he.
“Dodgasted infernal cactus you can go straight to Halifax you churn twisting piece of crow bait the fats going to be in the fire when I get loose I’m going to chop you into little…”
Her tirade stopped when she heard Mason’s bark of laughter. She looked up to see him strolling towards her. It was stupid to try and run. She knew it the moment she managed to sneak away. She had no idea where she was or how to get back to town. They had ridden on horseback for hours yesterday. To retrace their trail on foot would take days and with no provisions. She had tried to lift his saddlebags but they weighed a ton. There was no way she could carry them off and it was too risky to rummage through them. In the end, the only thing she made off with was his shirt and his goose-neck gourd to carry water. She was better off staying with him and hoping at some point they crossed with civilization or at least some decent folk who would help rescue her. Determined to return, she was making her way back to the camp when she slipped and fell into the cactus. Luckily, she braced herself on a large standing rock nearby so she didn’t fall into the cactus but her hair had gotten hopelessly tangled. It was impossible to get loose. Every time she tried or even moved, she was pricked by one of the dangerous looking spines.
“You flannel mouthed flap jack! Stop laughing and help me!” she yelled.
“Well since you asked so sweetly,” he offered with a mock bow. Mason steadied her shoulders. “Don’t move.”
Annabelle was forced to stand practically in his embrace as he reached around her to dislodge her curls. This would be distressing under normal circumstances but she was wearing his shirt, which meant he was half naked. The soft whirls of hair on his chest tickled her nose and she breathed in the rich tobacco and sandalwood scent of him.
It really wasn’t fair. The man was a villain, a kidnapper, probably a gunslinger wanted by the law. He should look the part. He should be heavy-set with an ugly, bushy black mustache. Have grease stained clothes which reeked of horse sweat and cheap perfume. Maybe a wart or two on his nose. He wasn’t supposed to be tall and handsome with mesmerizing flint gray eyes. He wasn’t supposed to smell like sandalwood! Dagnabbit!
“Where did a pretty little mouth like yours learn to curse like a miner?” he asked, passing the time as he carefully untangled each silky lock.
“When I was a young girl, I fancied one of my step-father’s stable hands. I would follow him around and managed to pick up a few phrases. I thought it would make him like me if I talked more like him.”
“Where is this stable hand now?” Mason asked, forcing his voice to sound disinterested.
He’d be dead if he had, came the unwarranted thought. A sharp stab of possessive heat gripped him. She was probably still in plaits and knee-highs when this story took place and yet he wanted to stamp the man into the ground. The woman never shut up. She was a spoiled, pampered brat. His only concern should be using her as a means to his revenge. What the hell did he care if she had a crush on some cowpoke years ago? As he stood there, drawing her thick honey-brown hair through his fingers, feeling her soft breath against his skin, the lingering scent of sweetbrier drifting over him, it was hard to focus on revenge. Angry with himself, he made quick work of the rest of the tangle.
He needed to get his thoughts and actions back on track.
“There,” he roughly threw out as he took a step back.
Rubbing her scalp where several of the spikes had poked and prodded, she sheepishly said, “Thank you. I would have gotten it tangled worse for sure.”
Grabbing her by the upper arm, Mason warned darkly, “Thank me after your punishment.”
Annabelle tried to dig her heels into the soft desert sand but he continued to pull her forward. “Punishment?”
Turning, he leaned in close, nose to nose. “You didn’t think I wasn’t going to tan your pretty hide for this stunt did you?”
With a screech of indignation, Annabelle swung her right hand up, intending to slap the arrogant look right off his too handsome face. She was too slow. He easily captured her small wrist in his large, strong hand.
His mouth quirked up in a slow smile that didn’t quiet reach his eyes. “I’ll remember this when I have you bare-ass over my lap.”
Annabelle’s cheeks flooded with embarrassed heat. “I’ll fight you! We’re not on a horse this time.”
“You’ll try.” He grinned. The light in his eyes telling her he would enjoy her efforts.
The trek back to camp was peppered with curses, pouts and pleas. All ignored by Mason.
Dragging her by the banked fire, he sat down on the empty dynamite crate. Placing her in front of his outstretched knees, he took in her tousled, ragged appearance. Damn, she was still a beautiful woman.
“You rotten scalawag! I can’t wait till the law catches up to you and hangs you from the nearest tree for how you’ve treated me!”
A beautiful woman with a mouth on her.
“Take off your pantalets and ask for your punishment.”
Annabelle shot him an incredulous stare. Had he taken leave of the sense god gave him?
“You must be jesting!”
“Do I look like I am?”
She took in his hardened jaw, narrowed eyes, which had darkened to the color of gunmetal and the tense, restrained set of his shoulders. He wasn’t funning her. He actually expected her to bare her bottom and ask to be spanked!
Annabelle shook her head as she took one tentative step backwards.
“Take another step and I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you’ll taste me for weeks…then I’ll still tan your hide,” he growled.
His dark threat stopped her in her tracks. “This isn’t fair!” she cried.
“Life isn’t fair. Drop your pantalets. I won’t tell you again.”
With tears filling her azure eyes, Annabelle lifted the hem of his large navy blue shirt and fingered the ribboned bow holding her pantalets around her narrow waist.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Drop em.”
With shaking hands, Annabelle pulled on the ribbon, releasing the bow and allowing the linen under-drawers to slip down to her ankles. Her modesty was sparsely saved by the tails of his shirt which reached to her mid-thigh.
“Kick away the pantalets and turn around.”
Choking back a sob, Annabelle stepped out of her pantalets. She stood still.
“Turn around, Annabelle,” his voice dark and low with lust.
She started at the sound of her name on his lips. Biting her lip to keep back the sobs, she slowly turned her back to him.
“Lift up my shirt.”
“Don’t. Please, leave me that dignity,” she begged.
“Lift. The. Shirt. Up.”
Annabelle grasped the hem of the shirt. As slow as molasses, trying to delay the inevitable, she pulled the shirt up.
Mason held his breath as more of her creamy thighs were exposed. The rough-spun dark blue fabric of his shirt made her thighs appear that much more smooth and creamy. After what felt like an eternity, he saw the soft, rounded curve of her bottom cheeks.
“Higher.”
The shirt skimmed over her bottom, touching her skin with fabric as he longed to with skin. The lush fullness of her bottom was revealed. Pale, perfect skin.
“Turn back around,” he ordered. “Keep the shirt high,” he instructed as he saw her about to lower the fabric and cover her charms.
Lowering her head in humiliation, Annabelle turned around. She refused to look up knowing he was looking at her…at her naughty place.
Mason took in the soft, light brown curls which barely covered the sweet curves of her cunny. Mine.
The sharp claws of possession tugged at his middle.
Annabelle watched in horror as he unbuckled his gun belt. Pulling the holster and bullet flap free, he placed the Colt far out of her reach. Then fisting the thick, black leather belt into a large loop, he raised his eyes to challenge her own.
“Place yourself over my lap and ask for your punishment.”
Annabelle opened her mouth to try and object but one look from him cowered her. With reluctant steps she walked to his side, taking a deep breath for courage, she placed herself over his lap.
Annabelle jumped, clutching her bottom cheeks tight when she felt the caress of the leather against her exposed skin.
Mason traced the curve of her ass with his belt. Liking the contrast between the dark, worn leather and her pale skin.
“Ask for your punishment.”
Annabelle covered her face with her hands. Shaking her head, no, she couldn’t.
Mason grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Placing his thumb along her bottom lip, he pushed until the tip was forced into her unwilling mouth. “Ask or I’ll use your mouth first.”
Annabelle’s eyes closed, unwilling to remember the feel of his cock as it pushed into her mouth. “Please…please punish me,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“Punish me,” she choked out.
Adjusting his grip on the belt, Mason raised his hand bringing it down swiftly on her exposed bottom. The leather cracked loudly. Annabelle’s whole body jerked. He raised his hand to deliver a second spank before her skin even showed a mark from the first. The canyon rang with the sounds of snapping leather and Annabelle’s cries.
“Stop! Stop! It hurts!” she wailed.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” he responded ruthlessly.
This was far worse than the cursory spanking she had received from him yesterday. She could feel her skin swell and painfully stretch with each blow. It caused a burning, itching sensation that was unbearable. Her breaths came in quick, sharp bursts as her mind tried to accept the pain.
“This isn’t fair!” she sobbed, kicking her heels up into the air in agitation. “I’m supposed to try and escape!”
Mason paused. Taking in the deep red glow over each bottom cheek, he watched as her bottom clenched and unclenched in her distress. He adjusted his grip on the heavy leather belt, warmed from the heat of his hand. Stroking her skin with the smooth edge. Seeing her body shake and tremble from his touch.
Annabelle hissed when he drew the heavy brass buckle over her fevered body. The cold weight pressing against her bruised flesh.
“Yes. And it is my duty to see you don’t try again.”
Mason gave her rounded ass a few more kisses from his belt. She was lucky they had a long day’s ride ahead of them or he would have made sure she couldn’t sit for a week.
Raising h
er up, he stood her between his outstretched knees. She was so tiny compared to his well over six-foot frame, he could practically look her in the eye from a seated position. Grabbing her chin, he tilted her head back so he could see the sheen of tears on her cheeks in the early morning sunlight. Good. He had made his point.
But just in case…
Mason reached around her narrow hips and cupped her left bottom cheek, a generous handful. Enjoying the warmth radiating from her leather strapped skin, he squeezed.
Annabelle yelped and tried to pull away.
Mason grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling her close. “Try anything like that again and you will get a far worse punishment then a quick belting across your impertinent backside. Understand?”
Annabelle furiously nodded. She would have agreed to dance with the devil if it got him to release her sore bottom.
“Pull your drawers up. I’ll make us some breakfast before we hit the trail.”
Half hour later, Annabelle winced as she tried to find a comfortable position on the hard crate. Mason gave her a knowing smile before handing her a tin plate filled with food. He had grabbed a clean shirt from his saddlebags. Annabelle was angry at herself for the short burst of disappointment the moment he covered the bronzed expanse of muscle. Damn the man!
They ate a simple breakfast of dried apples, salted pork and hard tack. Mason reached over the fire to hand her a tin cup. Annabelle looked down into the black, almost syrup substance.
“What is it?”
“Coffee.”
“Seriously?”
Mason’s only response was a sardonic look.
“Is there any tea?” she asked hopefully. After all she had been through the last two days, she could really use a cup of tea.
“No, your majesty. There’s only coffee.”
Annabelle tilted the cup this way and that. She could have sworn the “liquid” barely moved.