by Zoe Blake
~*~
Leaning over her now sated and prostrate body, Mason loosened his belt on her wrists. Padding naked into the kitchen, he once again filled the copper basin with hot water. Returning to the bedroom, he carefully caressed her whole body with the hot soapy linen. Before drying her off. As one last gesture, he scooped a dollop of the yarrow flower salve. Both the flower and beeswax had healing properties. It was why he had the salve in the first place.
Feeling his fingers probe between her closed bottom cheeks, Annabelle whimpered, “Please, I can’t take anymore.”
“Hush, Calico,” he soothed. “This will take away the sting.”
Mason stared in wonder at her now sore bottom hole. It hadn’t quite fully closed. It would take some time before her muscles recovered from the stretching they received from his thick cock. He couldn’t help the swell of male possession knowing he had affected her body like this. Gently he applied the salve then covered her with the quilt. She was already asleep.
Chapter Nine
Annabelle woke to the smell of bacon. Leaning up on her elbows, she saw a simple black woolen skirt with a cream linen blouse laid out on the bed. There were stockings but no other underthings. At least it wasn’t a calico dress, she thought sardonically.
Taking in the rest of her surroundings, she could see a dent in the pillow next to hers. Leaning close she sniffed, sandalwood. She had slept next to Mason.
A large clatter beyond the bedroom door had her scurrying to get dressed. She blushed at the thought of no corset or pantalets but at least she wouldn’t be walking around in his shirt and nothing else. It was scandalous to feel the slide of the soft linen against her naked breast. The sweep of the skirt across her bare bottom. Annabelle pushed it from her mind as she buttoned her boots and prepared to face Mason.
“Morning, Calico.”
“Morning,” she answered shyly, unable to meet his eye.
Mason watched her closely. He was rough on her last night. He couldn’t muster the tiniest bit of regret. Jesus Christ she was tight. Her response was so untamed and raw. He couldn’t wait to get back inside her.
“Sit.”
Annabelle sat at the kitchen table. The wood was smooth from years of use. He put a tin plate in front of her. With a small smile, he also placed a two-prong fork.
“I know how you like to eat all fancy-like with utensils,” he said with an exaggerated Southern drawl and wink.
Annabelle stared at the pile of food wondering if this was meant for both of them. She got her answer when he sat across from her with a plate piled even higher. There were eggs, bacon, corn muffins and fried apple slices. She tried a small piece of fried apple. The sweet taste comforting. As she chewed, Annabelle looked around the cabin. While not large it was spacious with nice furnishings…for a homestead. In the living area, there were beautiful pine-wood chairs with rawhide seats on top of a large hand-woven carpet. Lace coverings over the window and shelves with various porcelain figurines gave it a soft feminine touch. The kitchen had a large fireplace as well as a cast iron stove. They probably used the fireplace initially for cooking, once the farm prospered the stove was added, she thought. Again, small feminine touches like dried herbs hung as decoration and a few potted flowers gave the kitchen a homey feel. The bedroom was simple. A large bed fashioned together with tree trunks. On it was a thick straw mattress and a brightly colored quilt with feather stuffed pillows. The only other furnishings were a small table and chair. The final room in the cabin had a closed door but she imagined it was either a pantry or another bedroom. The entire place was oddly warm and cozy. It felt like a home. The large house she grew up in had never felt that way. Sure it was full of expensive items and all the latest luxuries but it never felt intimate or comfortable. It was more a showcase for the trappings of her step-father’s wealth…her and her mother included among the objects on display.
Mason sat quietly watching as she assessed his homestead. Wondering what, she thought. Hating the fact he cared. She was nothing to him. A means to an end. A mere tool in a well-crafted plan of revenge. He needed to remember that. The silence was broken by the sudden scrape of his chair as he rose abruptly.
Clearing his throat, he announced, “I’m going out to the barn. Need to check on the apple mash to get the cider ready for the still.” He wasn’t worried she would run. Cupid was in the barn and he hoped she had already learned her lesson about high-tailing it away from him on foot.
Annabelle rose as well. Nervously twisting her hands in front of her she asked, “Can I come too?”
“You want to come out to barn?”
“Yes.”
“You realize there will be dirt out there?”
“Yes.”
“And manure.”
“Yes.”
“And no pretty cushions to sit on or…”
“Yes! Yes! Can I please go see it?” she asked exasperated.
Mason laughed as he motioned for her to follow him. Annabelle was a few steps behind, admiring the swing of his hips. The man had a walk on him that was for sure! She also noticed the ever present gun belt. After her little stunt, she doubted he would let it out of his sight now. He pulled open the large wooden door and motioned for her to enter the dark cool interior. It smelled of musk and earth. To her surprise, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant scent. They walked to the back of the barn where there were the pieces to make a massive polished copper still.
“Whoa! This is…this is impressive! Are you making moonshine?”
“Nope. Applejack whiskey.”
“The stuff I sipped from the flask?”
“Nope. The stuff you gulped down and got drunk on from the flask,” he said with that lop-sided smile of his.
Annabelle stuck her tongue out at him.
“Careful. I might make you use that tongue,” he warned, his voice growing husky. The sight of that cute pink tongue peeking out from her sweet lips sent a bolt straight to his cock. She looked beautiful this morning. No longer the prim and proper miss. She was in a simple homespun outfit with her hair falling loose and wild down her back. You would never guess she was a spoiled city brat.
Annabelle ignored his taunt and walked over to the still. “So this is what you do with the apples from the farm?”
“What I’m trying to do. The owners before were elderly and just sold the apples to local homesteaders and general stores. I think there is more money to be made. There is a lot of bad whiskey around these parts and the good stuff is expensive because it has to be brought in from the East. I’m hoping to bottle this stuff and sell it to saloons and towns all over Arizona maybe beyond.”
“That is ambitious.”
Mason smiled. “Right now I’m working on what to call it.”
Annabelle thought for a moment. “I know you cowboys have a lot of colorful names for whiskey like firewater and snake poison but if you named it something more, say elegant, you could also sell it to the restaurants and upscale households.”
“That is a really great idea,” he said, looking at her with new appreciation. “I think I will call it Sweetbrier.”
Annabelle met his intense gaze and blushed. Her favorite scent was sweetbrier. Was he referencing her perfume? Her scent. Surely not, she chastised herself. No doubt it was named after the wild sweetbrier she saw growing around the property. Angry at herself for even considering such a connection with a…a…brute such as him. She gathered her skirts and left the barn for the house without a word.
~*~
Mason strolled into the cabin a few hours later…and ducked just in time. A small figurine sailed past his head and shattered against the wooden-planked wall.
“What the hell is that for?” he shouted.
“You have to let me go,” she shouted back with desperation.
The idea of letting her go, of just returning her back to town, to that monster of a step-father sent a ball of nails straight to his gut.
Straightening to his full height, he said simply, “No.
”
Annabelle let out a frustrated scream. “You’re a lying bastard! What will your wife say when she gets home? Huh! Did you think of that when you claimed your gambling prize?” Annabelle swung around the room looking for something else to throw. Her hand landed on an empty vase decorated with small delicate rosebuds. It broke into small delicate pieces as it smashed just to the right of his shoulder.
“Whoa! Wife! What wife?” asked a confused Mason as he ducked yet another flying piece of nonsense decor. He shouldn’t be surprised. Based on their first meeting, he already knew she liked to throw things.
Annabelle threw a discarded horseshoe at his head. Mason deflected the blow with his forearm. This was getting serious. Her aim was improving just as the objects were getting heavier.
With a hard look, Mason advanced on her. Annabelle placed a spindle chair between them, holding up her hand, she warned, “Don’t you dare come any closer!”
With a seductive smile, Mason boasted, “I already told you once. You’d be surprised how much I’m willing to dare for something I want.” Right then he made a lunge for her but Annabelle was quicker. Tossing the chair in his way, she ran to the other side of the room.
Dammit he thought. Without her hoop skirts and finery, she was a lot harder to catch.
“It was bad enough you spirit me off as some kind of prize but to do it when you have a wife and child! You are the lowest of the low. A despicable bastard. Crow bait!”
“What wife?” roared Mason.
Annabelle angrily pointed to the open door of the second bedroom. After fleeing from his presence and the confusing emotions their quiet morning together had wrought, Annabelle had taken solace inside the cabin.
She wandered room to room, letting her fingertips glide over the various objects and furniture. Once again, she marveled at the cozy, feminine touches that made it feel more like a home rather than just a bachelor cabin.
She had always imagined herself in some stately mansion in Phoenix or San Francisco. A society maven presiding over dinners and exciting theatrical events. The wife of what’s-his-name, the banker’s son. Funny, she couldn’t seem to recall his name. A few days ago, she was going to elope with him. Vernon! That was it…Vernon. Annabelle screwed up her face at the thought. Not just of Vernon but at the life she had planned for herself. She thought of her mother. Her mother had everything a woman could ask for…a nice home, a wealthy husband, a fashionable wardrobe…and yet, Annabelle could not recall her being happy, truly happy.
Was she heading towards the same mistakes her mother made? A hollow life filled with frippery and finery but little else? Had Mason done her a favor by preventing her marriage to a pale, milquetoast of a man? Annabelle walked into the kitchen. She imagined herself learning how to make pies and preserves. Imagined a life filled with warm baking smells, the laughter of children and the strong arms of a man wrapped around her waist. Not any man, Mason.
This was insane! She couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. The man was a bounder! A reprobate! Probably a gunslinger!
Annabelle was chastising herself for her wayward thoughts when she made her way to the closed door. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t coming, she tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. She stepped inside and froze. There was a small bed. At the end was a hope chest. It was opened with various dresses, stockings and underthings scattered about. It was the wardrobe of a young woman. Annabelle dug her hands into the folds of the skirt she was wearing. These were probably the unknown woman’s clothes. After making special note that apparently he could have given her a corset and pantalets, she spun around to look at the rest of the furnishings that is when she saw it…a cradle. Her hand rested on the smooth wooden edge. She touched the small, knitted blanket resting on the bottom.
The bounder, reprobate, gunslinger was fucking married!
Mason threw his head back with a roar of laughter.
“This isn’t funny,” fumed Annabelle.
Mason nodded his head. “Yes, it is.”
“You told me the couple who owned this place were elderly,” she pushed.
“Yes, but I didn’t mention their young daughter-in-law and her child,” he said with an amused smile as he crossed his arms over his chest, gaging her reaction.
“Oh,” said a deflated Annabelle.
Mason watched her eyes change from violet to a dark cornflower blue. No longer angry, she looked at him apologetically. She had been jealous. He was sure of it. Interesting.
“How was I supposed to know?” she asked defensively, twisting her hands nervously in the folds of her skirt.
“For starters, you could have asked,” he offered as he uncrossed his arms and started to advance on her.
Annabelle took several steps back till she felt the hard surface of the living area wall behind her. He continued to advance. Leaning both forearms against the wall, high above her head, caging her in. Annabelle had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. In their smoky depths, just below their amused surface there lingered something darker.
Leaning close, he kissed her high cheekbone before sliding his lips to her earlobe. Nipping it slightly with his sharp teeth, he seductively whispered, “What do you want your punishment to be, my adorably bad girl?”
Annabelle’s eyes grew wide. Punishment? Oh, no!
She ducked under his arm and scurried across the room, once again placing a chair between them. Mason pushed off from the wall and turned to face her. His eyes glinted with determination. His jaw set.
“I don’t want to be punished!” she asserted petulantly, stamping her foot.
“It’s not up to you,” he darkly intoned, taking a slow step towards her.
Annabelle turned to run. Mason caught her from behind. Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he pulled her tight against him. His hard cock pressed against the delicious curve of her lower back. Spanning his right hand, he slid it from her waist, up her middle. Over her flat stomach. In between her unbound breasts, the tips of his thumb and pinkie teasing the inner curves. Fisting the soft material, he pulled roughly, sending the button flying, tearing the fabric open.
Annabelle cried out. Pulling up onto her tiptoes, she squirmed, moving her hips and shoulders to escape his grasp. The movement only inflaming him more. Running both hands down her small shoulders to her wrists, he forced her arms over her head. Using her torn blouse, he twisted the fabric till it knotted tightly, securing her wrists. Turning her to face him, he placed a hand under her jaw, tilting her head back. Looking down into her eyes, he could see fear…and desire. She would probably faint dead away before admitting it but she got a thrill from the feel of his hand disciplining her. It took away her accountability. She didn’t have to look too deeply into the pleasure she got from his touch if she could tell herself it was forced on her. So be it. He was more than willing to oblige.
“Release me,” she ground out, pulling on her binds.
“No.”
Mason’s mouth crashed down on hers. His teeth biting her lower lip when she tried to block him out. She opened her mouth on a gasp. He swooped in. His tongue tasting. Plundering. When he finally raised his head, her lips were dark and swollen. He took a step forward, forcing his thigh between her legs. Rubbing the top against what he was certain was her aroused pussy. Annabelle awkwardly stepped backward, trying to fight her reaction, to fight him.
Mason let her retreat. She stepped back, holding her bound wrists before her defensively. For her every step back, he took one forward. Annabelle desperately wanted to look behind her. To look for a way to escape but she didn’t dare take her eyes off him…couldn’t take her eyes off him. To her consternation, she bumped against the wall.
Mason smiled.
“Please! I’m sorry I threw the figurine at you!”
“And the vase,” he said.
“And the vase,” she reluctantly admitted.
“And the horseshoe.”
“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry.”
“You will be.�
��
His words sent both a thrill and chill up her spine.
Mason grabbed her hands and stretched them upwards, hooking the fabric securing her wrists over a wrought iron hook in the wall. Annabelle hurriedly looked side to side. There were several hooks in the wall for hanging heavy coats and belts. At her feet, was a basket filled with laundry.
Mason reached around her waist and unbuttoned the small wooden buttons holding up her simple skirt. It fell to her ankles. With no underthings, she was left in only her black stockings. They were supposed to be knee stockings but she was smaller than the daughter-in-law so they reached over her knee to her lower thigh. After walking in the barn, she had already taken her boots off and left them at the door.
She looked exquisite. Her body stretched out, all that creamy soft skin on display as if she were offering herself to him. Her beautiful, thick hair falling in disarray over her shoulders, the curls cupping her breasts. Her slim thighs only partially hiding the sparse honey-brown curls covering her sweet cunny.
Mason started to unbutton his own shirt, hating the restrictive feel of the fabric. Pulling it over his head, exposing his bronze, sculpted chest, he ground out huskily, “Tell me to punish you.”
Annabelle uttered the foulest curse she could think of. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the plan, Calico.”
Mason reached down into the laundry basket, pulling out several clothespins. Rolling the smooth wooden peg with its two prongs along his palm he looked thoughtfully at Annabelle.
Having no idea what he planned, she jutted out her chin with a mutinous glare. All horns and rattles, the stubborn little thing!
Mason traced his fingers along her collar bone, than shoulder, gathering her thick locks up before pushing them aside, exposing her right breast. Leaning close, he pulled her pink nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.
Annabelle moaned despite herself.
Raising to his full height, he reveled in how her skin glistened from the attentions of his wet mouth. Taking one of the clothespins, he traced the pale rose halo around her nipple. The stimulation of the wooden edge, causing her nipples to harden even further.