by Brook Wilder
Yet doubts still circled her mind. Her newfound carefree attitude took a blow as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to still the frantic pounding of her heart in her chest. What was she really doing there? She could have left. She should have left.
He’d given her the choice. She could have taken her chances in the wild. Because deep in her bones she’d known where it would lead if she went with him. She had known from the moment he touched her, from the moment he caught her after Goat had tossed her from the saddle.
He’s a criminal, Elsie, her inner voice reasoned. He’s part of a motorcycle gang that stole from your father. He’s got tattoos! He’s not someone you can trust! Elsie wanted to shake her head. She knew this was totally out of character for her. No, this was totally out of character for the old Elsie. But the new Elsie felt alive, really alive, for the first time in a long time. She felt in control and free. And the new Elsie knew exactly what she wanted.
She blinked her eyes open slowly, forcing away any last lingering doubts, forcing away the voice of old Elsie that still hollered in her head in a vain attempt to make her be rational and logical. But for once in her life she just wanted to stop thinking through every single detail of her choices, and just… feel.
And by God, did Hatchet make her feel!
Desire and need was a potent cocktail that made her drunk on him, and every touch just brought her higher and higher, lifting her towards some unknown cliff.
“Baby, you’re killing me here.” Hatchet groaned the words more than spoke them. And Elsie looked up at him, really looked at him, and she could read the same fire raging in him that was burning her up.
“Hatchet, I… I need to tell you something,” Elsie whispered, lifting one hand up and sweeping a tendril of hair out of his face.
“What? What is it?” He was panting, struggling to pull back. The sight of him trembling with effort warmed something inside her, adding to the heat that was already burning up her insides like a wildfire
“I’m…” Elsie swallowed against the sudden ball of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “I’m a virgin.”
Hatchet stared down at her for so long she was worried he wouldn’t say anything at all. But then she saw it. His dark eyes softened on hers and his touch grew gentler. When he swept his lips over hers the kiss was filled with tenderness, and that surprised the hell out of her. She hadn’t known Hatchet long or at all really, but he didn’t strike her as the ‘tender’ type.
“If you want me to stop. If you really want me to stop, just say the word and I’ll stop.” His voice was deep and gruff as he spoke, but his eyes were soft on her face as he waited breathlessly for an answer. “But if you want more…”
He said the last with a strained voice, but she could see what the effort cost him. She could see the lines of agony etched into his handsome face. The way his jaw was clenched. The tremor that still shook him as he held himself above her.
It took her a moment and all the courage she possessed, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Because it was what she truly wanted. This wasn’t what someone else wanted for her, what someone else ordered her to do.
This was all for her.
Elsie slowly nodded her head and Hatchet let out a sharp breath, but still he didn’t move.
“Say the words, baby,” Hatchet growled, his dark eyes focused and intense on her. “Say them out loud.”
“I want you, Hatchet. I want all of you.”
“Thank fucking god.” Hatchet said the words like a prayer, or maybe like a curse, but he wasted no time shucking his tight-fitting jeans, pausing a moment to dig a small foil packet out of the wallet in the back pocket, and then he was back, settling on top her.
Elsie closed her eyes, waiting for the thrust, the pain, but all she felt were his hands, his fingers slowly caressing her, driving her wild for him once more. He didn’t stop until she was writhing uncontrollably, her hips hitching hard against his touch. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She wanted more. She needed more.
“Please, Hatchet. I need… I need.”
“Don’t worry, baby. I know what you need.” Hatchet whispered the words against her lips before ripping open the foil packet, rolling on the condom, and then settling once more in between her thighs. He moved slowly, lining his thick hardness at her slick entrance. But all Elsie could think was too damn slow.
With a thrust of her hips, Elsie pushed herself forward and wrapped her legs around him, so he had nowhere to go but inside her. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. There was no pain, only the most incredible, beautiful pleasure that swept over her and threatened to overwhelm her.
“Look at me,” he ordered gruffly. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
Elsie drew a deep, trembling breath before she could do as he commanded and, when she did, she was mesmerized by the look of awe on his face.
“Blue,” Hatchet said, staring intensely into her eyes. “They’re blue.”
She lost track of time after that. Lost track of everything but the two of them. It was if the rest of the world had just fallen away and all that was left was Hatchet and the pleasure he drove through her body. Elsie had no choice but to respond with all of herself, grasping for something inside of her that was just out of reach.
With every thrust from him, she drew closer and closer to the edge until, finally, it all became too much. On a cry that tore from her throat, Elsie arched her back, her whole body tightening, every muscle convulsing as if she had been struck by lightning. She heard Hatchet’s moan of pleasure as his climax hit him at the same time and the sensation of his cock pulsing deep inside of her pushed her even higher. He held her trembling frame close to him as he came, and she knew that it would a long, long time before either of them returned back down to earth.
Elsie collapsed as exhaustion pulled her into slumber, and the last thing she remembered was Hatchet’s arms wrapping tight around her as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms to carry her up a flight of stairs and lay her down gently in a soft bed. It dipped slightly as he climbed in next to her. And, through it all, he never once let her go.
Chapter 7
She could see him. He was standing right in front of her, his shirt off, his tattoos jumping as his muscles flexed and his hands clenched into fists. Elsie could see the desire, the painful need etched across his too handsome features. He wanted her. And she wanted him. Suddenly she was standing there, right next to him, and they were both completely naked.
Skin against skin, the friction stoked a fire between them that raged out of control, but she didn’t care. She had exactly what she needed, exactly what she wanted. As far as she was concerned, the rest could all burn away if she could just get a taste of the pleasure she knew he could show her.
He reached out with one hand, touching her and sliding his fingers across her soft skin as she opened her mouth to moan in ecstasy. This. This was what she needed. Just the two of them, together, driving both of their bodies up and over the edge. And then she blinked, and everything was gone. Hatchet was gone. The pleasure was gone.
Suddenly she could feel the soft mattress beneath her and the warm sunlight on the backs of her eyelids.
It was morning.
Elsie woke slowly, lazily. It took her a long moment to remember where she was. And then it all came crashing back. Tracking the missing cattle. Getting thrown from Goat’s saddle and being caught by the handsome stranger. Being kidnapped by the handsome stranger and subsequently aiding him, riding with him to his house.
And then, of course, being seduced by the handsome stranger.
She flushed bright red at the memory and, as she moved, the evidence that it had really happened was there in the new soreness between her legs. It had been real. It hadn’t been a dream after all.
She must have been out of her mind. She must have completely lost it. It was the only reason Elsie could think of for acting so out of character the previous night, but even as she thought about it, she knew she’d d
o it all over again without changing a single thing. Something indelible had changed inside her. And she couldn’t make herself care.
Reluctantly, Elsie blinked open her sleepy eyelids and nearly gasped when she looked beside her and saw him there. A part of her had still secretly wanted to believe that it had all been a dream. A hallucination brought on by the fall from Goat’s saddle. Or maybe she’d never left her room at all and the whole thing had just been one big fantasy. But fantasy could never look that good.
Elsie grinned to herself at the thought and blushed prettily when Hatchet turned his head, catching her mischievous expression.
“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice still gruff and hoarse.
The sound sent shivers of memory tingling across her skin. His drawl was thick enough to swim through and it made her smile, picturing him as some modern cowboy who was at ease, whether he rode his motorcycle or his horse
“Maybe I had something to with it?” he asked, his brown eyes shining as he met her gaze.
As he turned towards her, Elsie could only stare up at him as the sunlight caught on his tanned skin and cast shadows across his sharp features.
“Maybe,” Elsie said softly, that smile back hovering around her lips. She couldn’t help it. She felt… happy. Free somehow, in a way that she hadn’t felt in a long time. That’s real ironic, considering you were kidnapped last night! But she just pushed the irritating voice of old Elsie to the back of her mind, focusing only on this new, carefree Elsie that she’d become.
Old Elsie would never have asked someone she didn’t know a personal question. Old Elsie also wouldn’t have slept with someone she didn’t know, either. But this was new Elsie. Brave Elsie.
“So how did you get the name Hatchet, anyway?” Elsie's voice was still husky with sleep and the remnants of her dream. “I’m assuming that’s not the name your parents gave you.”
“No,” Hatchet let out a small, cynical laugh. “Definitely not. Harold and Lynn Shaw were stand up, good Christian citizens. They came from a small town…”
“Like Mayville?” Elsie interrupted, thinking of the small town she’d lived in for the past ten years. Hatchet paused, thinking, and then nodded slowly.
“A lot like Mayville, actually.” He sighed, rolling onto his back, but as he spoke his voice was easy, his cadence even. “Lincoln.”
Elsie tilted her head, so she could hear him better. “What was that?”
“My name. My real name I mean. Lincoln Shaw of Fort Charles, South Carolina.”
“So,” Elsie said with another mischievous grin. “That’s where you get your drawl from.”
“Hah! Look who’s talking,” Hatchet exclaimed, looking over at her in mock effrontery, but she could read the laughter in his dark eyes. “You’ve got a drawl so heavy I can practically see it when you talk.”
“No. You’ve got a drawl,” Elsie explained, “I’ve got twang. There’s a difference.”
“Uh-huh.” There was a note of disbelief in his voice, but Elsie chose to ignore it.
“But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
“And what question is that?” Hatchet snaked one arm out and around her still naked waist, drawing her close to him and distracting them both.
“I, uh, I asked about your nickname. Hatchet. How’d you get it?” she repeated her question, forcing her eyes to stay on his face instead of wandering further south.
She could feel that he was just as naked as she was under the light blanket and it turned her mind to mush. Thankfully for her mental faculties, Hatchet pulled back after a moment, putting a few much-needed inches between them as he flopped back onto his back. She had a feeling he didn’t want to look at her as he spoke, and she wondered why for a moment. But then he started speaking.
“My childhood wasn’t… great,” he said softly, “After high school I knew I had to get away any way I could, so I did the only thing I could think of. I enlisted.”
“Army?” Elsie prompted when he went silent.
“Marines.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and she waited for him. “I served two tours in Afghanistan. When I was in boot camp, though, my DI put me on barber duty. Needless to say, I wasn’t very good at the job and I lasted for about two days before they bitched enough to have me reassigned. After that, everyone started calling me Hatchet and it just… well, it just stuck.”
“So, they called you Hatchet because… you gave everyone bad haircuts?” Elsie asked, shifting around her opinion of this man who was much more complicated than she’d first assumed.
“I resent that. I gave terrible haircuts,” Hatchet laughed. “But yeah, that’s how I got it.”
“And what about now? With, uh, what did you call him, Jackrabbit?” Elsie asked, watching him closely. “Another funny name.”
“Well, that story is Rabbit’s to tell. He served with me, back in Afghanistan, and now…” He trailed off, finishing with a shrug, but Elsie wasn’t content with that.
“And now what?”
“And now we run together, okay? After I got back things were… different.” Hatchet spit out the words, and Elsie could see the deep-rooted pain they still caused him, “It was hard for me to get a job, and then… well.” He paused to give her a sideways look, “Well, I lost the job. And then it was damned impossible for me to work anywhere else. Rabbit helped me out. Introduced me to some people.”
“Some people, huh?” she asked softly.
“You sure do ask a lot of questions, baby,” Hatchet said, turning to her with a well-worn smile, “I can think of a few other things you could do with that mouth.”
“That’s not my name, you know,” Elsie said icily.
“What’s not?”
“‘Baby.’” She snorted again for good measure. “Neither is ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ or ‘sugar’ or anything else you might’ve learned from the Marines.”
Hatchet laughed, leaning down to kiss her lips, getting distracted along the way as he trialed soft kisses across her cheek, her ear, her neck.
“Oh yeah?” he whispered, and his hot breath tickled against her. “Then what should I call you? Because honestly, I’m not too picky.”
“I bet you aren’t.” Elsie fought to keep the smile from her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Hatchet continued to leave lines of kisses on all the parts of exposed skin he could reach, and her interest in talking started to wane as the same desire from the night before sparked back to life, just as strong, just as intense as it had been.
Finally, she said. “My name is Elsie. Elsie Grace McLaurel.”
She had barely gotten the words out before she felt Hatchet stiffen in her arms. It was as if she’d said some magic words that had turned him into a stone statue. Elsie tried to turn her head to look at him, to ask him what the hell was going on, but she was trapped by his muscular frame.
“McLaurel?” He whispered her name, repeating it over and over, so soft she could barely hear it.
“Hatchet? What’s going on?” she started to ask but jerked back with a gasp as he turned his head sharply to look at her, his dark eyes intense and burning into her own.
“Please tell me your daddy isn’t Mark McLaurel? The owner of Gold Creek Ranch?” There was a note in his voice that she hadn’t heard before, not even when he had been tying her up and threatening to take her with him. It was harsh and brittle as if the slightest breeze could make it shatter into a thousand pieces. A part of her was scared by it. By him. But that was the old Elsie. The new Elsie tilted up her chin, met him stare for stare and refused to back down.
“He is,” she said on a nod, “Mark McLaurel is my daddy. But what does that have to do with anything…?”
“Just stop. Stop talking.” Hatchet ground out the words as he leapt from the bed and hastily threw on a shirt and a pair of jeans that had been draped over the chair in the corner.
“Hatchet. I don’t understand…” But
before she could even finish speaking he held up a hand, cutting off her words.
“Just stay here, alright? Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” Hatchet shot her an angry look from beneath furrowed brows before stalking from the room and slamming the door behind him.
***
No. No, no, no. It was impossible. It was fucking impossible. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be Elsie fucking McLaurel. But he knew it was true and the enormity of the pile of shit he’d just landed in hit him straight in the chest.
He realized with a start, then, why she seemed vaguely familiar. He’d actually seen her once before, although he doubted she’d recognize him. She’d been young at the time, Well, younger anyway. All knees and scrawny legs. It had been when her father had swindled the previous owner out of the farm and had come down to do the dirty work of firing everybody himself.