The Gunfighter's Pursuit (Ride Hard Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  “Hell no,” Emma shouted over her shoulder as she scurried across the floor only rising when she was halfway across the schoolroom with several pews between them. Brushing the dust from her palms. “You need to leave. Now,” she added for emphasis.

  Horn took in her disheveled appearance. Bruised lips and flushed cheeks. Her bosom rising and falling with her agitation. Her chignon was lopsided with more curls hanging loose than confined within its pins. Smudges of dirt marred her light green calico dress. The hoop bent and misshapen. She was a beautiful mess.

  Grabbing the thick, brass CS buckle plate at his waist, Horn unhitched his gun belt. “Hell no,” he taunted as the heavy, leather belt with its two Colts hit the scarred wooden bench. Horn took one intimidating step toward her.

  Emma held out one hand. “Now…now…that is far enough,” she said in her sternest, schoolmarm voice.

  Horn took another step. The ching of his spurs an ominous warning.

  Emma backed away several steps, grabbing the coarse handle of a broom resting nearby. It was crudely made from a fallen tree branch and some twigs but it would have to do. “I’m warning you! Someone such as you can have no business with me! You need to move along!” Emma leaned forward, waving the broom in front of her in what she hoped was a threatening manner.

  “Little lady, we got plenty of business together,” Horn drawled as he moved around one of the pews. “Starting with your punishment for lying to me.” True this had become more about him seeing the creamy skin of her backside bent over his knee than learning what secret she hid, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t curious.

  Emma straightened. Rolling back her shoulders, she declared starchly, “How dare you call me a liar, sir! I am Glendolene Rimmel. You are no gentleman if you question the word of a lady.” Committing quite nicely to her lie.

  Eying her from beneath a lowered brow, Horn replied, “Finally something we can agree on.”

  Emma had a spark of hope. Perhaps he finally believed her.

  “I am no gentleman,” he finished.

  Emma harrumphed.

  Horn shrugged out of his black leather vest.

  “Oh! Oh! No! No you don’t! I…I demand you put back on that garment!”

  Horn’s only response was a chuckle as he slowly rolled up his cuffs, exposing thickly muscled forearms covered in dark hair, while never taking his eyes off her.

  “And here I was about to demand you take off that garment,” teased Horn with a suggestive look at her dress.

  Taking advantage of Emma’s moment of shock, Horn’s long arm reach grabbed the broom from her feeble grasp. Raising his knee, he handily broke the thick branch in two, tossing the useless halves into the dust.

  Casting a furtive glance to the right, Emma realized the door was only a few paces away. She could make it. True the school house was an old homesteader cottage far outside the town limits but still, she might have a chance of hiding in the underbrush by the nearby creek. She had no choice. She had to try. If he learned her true identity, he would turn her over to the law and she would hang for sure.

  Emma Fairfax, murderess!

  Horn realized her intent even before she did herself. The moment he saw those narrow shoulders turn to flee, he reached into his boot. Drawing out a heavy, ten-inch blade with a carved stag’s antler handle, a powerful flick of his wrist sent it smoothly slicing through the air. The blade cut cleanly between the door and the frame, jamming it shut the very moment Emma’s fingers touched the cool iron door handle. Pulling in vain on the twisted piece of metal, she did not hear the heavy footfalls behind her.

  Two, large flattened palms pressed against the door on either side of her head. A warm, solid wall of muscle bore down on her shoulders and back. The scents of floral and gunpowder intertwined as they swirled about their embraced bodies.

  “Don’t move,” Horn rasped against her ear. The heat from his breath sending a tremor across her shoulders.

  Reaching for his knife, Horn effortlessly pulled it free from its mooring. Flipping the handle, he changed his grip till the sharp edge of the blade was facing upwards.

  Emma’s body was jerked backwards as he grabbed a fistful of her green calico dress right at the lower back where the material gathered into a slight bustle. There was a sickening rending sound. The sharp, heavy blade of his knife had easily sliced through the thin, linen of her dress.

  “No!” cried out Emma as she tried to turn around.

  Horn pushed his hips against her lower back. The hard ridge of his arousal unmistakable.

  “I said don’t move.”

  Cutting through the canvas straps holding her hoop skirt in place before sheathing his knife back in his boot, Horn fisted the dress material in both hands and tore outward. The dress being thin and overly worn, it tore like wet paper. Soon, trembling, creamy white shoulders were exposed to his avarice gaze. Her tiny waist was hugged in by a simple, unadorned, white corset. No lace or silk ribbon. Somehow the lack of frippery and finery just added to the beautiful sight. Her pantalets were equally simple. An almost sheer, white linen. So sheer, he could make out the cleft between her bottom cheeks and the hint of a shadow that defined the delicate under curve. Black wool stockings and tiny feet encased in black kid slippers completed his intense scrutiny.

  Emma stood there trembling. Despite being scandalously unclothed in the middle of the schoolroom, she knew it was not from the cold. Although she was loath to admit it, fear was also not the reason. Make no mistake. She was afraid but there was something else. This man was like those traveling mesmerists who entertained crowds by controlling hapless victims with the power of their minds. She felt like one of those victims. As if her mind were not her own. As if her body were not her own. Even with her back turned, she could feel his gaze. Feel the heat of his body. She should be afraid. She was afraid. And yet. Yet.

  Horn ran the tips of his fingers across the top of her right shoulder. Moving downward, he traced the slightly red outline where the corset dug into the delicate skin of her back. Leaving the warmth of her skin, he touched the cool cotton of the corset, wrapping his hand around her small waist. Liking how he could wrap his hand around front to back with ease, she was so tiny, so delicate, like a warm, living doll. Continuing his exploration, he moved his hand to caress her bottom, gently cupping the underside.

  Emma sucked in a breath, trying to shimmy away from the invasive touch, like a shy filly.

  “Don’t,” he warned against her neck. “Now my beautiful, little liar, I am going to take you into that room yonder, strip off this scrap of linen and give this impertinent bottom the spanking you so richly deserve.”

  Once again, Emma tried to jerk away from his touch. Horn squeezed her bottom cheek in warning. She stilled.

  “I know you don’t think I have the right to punish you. I don’t give a damn. I’m taking the right.”

  “Please. Please just leave me be. You don’t understand,” whispered Emma.

  Burying his face in her loose, rose water scented tresses, he murmured a determined, “No.”

  Something about this woman had immediately gotten under his skin. Whether it was her feisty spirit, her luscious curves or the lure of mystery behind that falsely innocent smile, he didn’t know. What Horn did know was he wasn’t letting her go until he was damn well good and ready. And that meant showing her who was in charge…right now.

  Enfolding his hand around her upper arm, Horn swung a startled Emma around. Before she could get her bearings, he had placed a shoulder into her mid-section and hefted her high. Lifting her as if she weighed no more than sage brush, Horn turned and walked the few steps to her private quarters behind the heavy, woven blanket. Leaving her torn dress and hoop skirt behind in a puddle on the floor.

  Placing Emma on her feet, but keeping a restraining hand wrapped around her arm, Horn eyed the slight, wooden spindle chairs placed by the table with skepticism. Opting instead to knock some books off a sizable old dynamite crate that was propped up in th
e corner. Dragging it to the center of the room, Horn sat down and was about to pull Emma over his lap when she resisted.

  Pulling back with all her weight, she exclaimed, “You cannot be serious in this endeavor?”

  Horn’s only response was to yank on her arm, sending her small body tumbling over his lap.

  The time for talking was over.

  Hitting the hard, unrelenting pressure of his thighs, at first knocked the wind out of Emma…at first.

  “I demand you release me! This has gone far enough! You have no right! I say you have no right!”

  She had such an adorably Eastern way of jawing thought Horn. All proper and prim.

  All those proper and prim sentences became a stuttering, jumble mess the moment she felt Horn’s large, warm hand on her bottom. His fingers bent inside the crimped waistband of her pantalets. Slowly he pulled on the thin material. Slowly it revealed her white, tender flesh. Giving the pantalets a quick tug over the raised, lush curve of her derrière, Horn left them tangled about her upper thighs. Ignoring Emma’s futile attempts to raise herself up and off his lap, Horn took a moment to appreciate the indented curve of her lower back and how it raised softly to become her sweet, dimpled bottom. Unable to resist the lure, Horn traced the path with his index finger, from her back, over the rise of her bottom, down the cleft, making sure to apply just the right amount of pressure so the tip would sink in between the two glorious globes. He knew the gesture would shock her into momentary complacency. He was not wrong.

  Emma nearly choked on her own gasp. Spanking her like an errant child was one thing. Although she had never been spanked in her life and certainly was not happy about her predicament, Emma thought she knew what to expect. His finger. Touching her…there. In that way. No.

  Horn raised his arm and brought the first slap down hard on the top of her right buttock. Emma reared up. Her back arching. Her mouth open in a silent, shocked scream. Almost instantly, the perfect impression of his hand appeared on her pale skin. His mark.

  He followed with another slap to the same buttock, this time on the tender underside. By now Emma had found her voice.

  “Oh my god! No! You have to stop! You can’t!” she pleaded. Her small hands clinging to the loose fabric of his denim pants in desperation.

  Horn turned his attention to her other buttock. This time switching it up. Hitting the soft under curve first, then the rounded top. By now her bottom was blushing a bright pink.

  “Why are you being punished?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried.

  Horn swatted the lush tops of her bottom, watching as they bounced with each hit.

  “Answer me.”

  “Please!” she sobbed. The pain was more than she had expected. Small children were spanked all the time. She had assumed as an adult it would be something easily endured. She was wrong. It was not only the indecent feel of being exposed over a man’s lap. It was the burning, itching pain that radiated across her skin after each strike. It was the tortured moments in between when she could count the seconds with each pulsating throb.

  Horn grabbed her by the hair and shifted her whole body forward till she was teetering slightly off his lap. This forced her kicking legs straight and her bottom at an even higher angle. What was worse, it exposed her vulnerable upper thighs and just a hint of her delicate cunny to his ministrations.

  “I’m warning you, Emma,” he growled. “Stop lying.”

  Dammit. The more she resisted, the more Horn became convinced she was in real trouble. The idea twisted his gut. She needed to tell him the truth so he could handle it. This wasn’t a mere curiosity anymore. If she was in danger, she needed to confide in him. He was no one’s idea of a hero, but he was her only option. Well, the only option he would allow her.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed.

  “You can’t or you won’t.”

  Horn raised his hand and waited. He watched the delicate tremble that rippled through her body. Heard the shuddering indrawn breath.

  Emma Fairfax, murderess! “I won’t,” she stuttered in burst of honesty born of stubbornness.

  Horn swiftly and furiously lowered his hand. Targeting the sensitive juncture at the top of her thighs. In her new position, her delicate cunny was exposed to the flat of his hand. The sting was unbearable. The humiliation was worse.

  “Please. It hurts! Stop! Stop!”

  “Tell me what I want to know.”

  Emma obstinately bit her lip.

  Horn clenched his jaw.

  Renewing his efforts. Her bottom glowed a bright red as he peppered it with swats. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin. This was no longer just a punishment. It was a clash of wills. He was taking it further than he intended for her first spanking but the stakes were too high.

  Her skin was on fire. It felt as if her very bones were going to melt. Everything burned. What was worse than the physical toll was the emotional chaos swirling in her breast. Just as when he kissed her, Emma could feel the overwhelming urge to give into the force of nature that was this man. His power. His strength. It drew her like a flame. She was being spanked by this stranger and yet somehow his painful punishment made her feel protected. It was madness!

  Horn lowered his hand. His harsh breathing and her hiccupping sobs an oddly rhythmic sound bouncing off the bare walls of the small room. Splaying his fingers wide, he ran his left hand up one slender thigh. Again, she trembled. Emma clenched her thighs and bottom cheeks tight in response.

  “Unclench your cheeks,” he ordered harshly.

  She didn’t obey.

  Horn pinched one sore bottom cheek. Emma yelped in response but unclenched her cheeks.

  Slowly stroking her thigh just above the wool stockings, up and down, up and down, with each pass his fingers reached higher…then a little higher.

  Emma’s breathing changed. Gone were the hiccupping sobs. Now with each pass of his hand, as it neared the guarded entrance to her cunny, her breath would hitch. Hold. Silence. Tensely waiting. Only when he lowered his hand once more down the silken length of her thigh would her breathing resume.

  Now Emma knew she was quite mad. First she felt protected by a man who was causing her pain and now…now she felt…she didn’t know what. Strange sensations blossoming from deep within her belly. A fluttering chaos of emotion with each sweep of his hand. What was happening to her? Was she truly going mad?

  Horn grit his teeth against the rising tension in his cock. The pressure of having her lush curves press down on its engorged length without having the release of sinking into her tight, tiny body was driving him insane. He needed answers first. Sensing her confusion, knowing her guard was down, he pressed his advantage.

  Placing one restraining hand on the rounded curve of her left buttock, relishing in the heat radiating from the punished skin. Horn continued to stroke the underside of her thigh, this time pushing his fingers between her knees as he made his wicked path towards her cunny.

  “I know my sweet little bunny is scared but I’m not going to relent until you tell me the truth,” he whispered darkly.

  Another quiver from her responsive body. Horn’s fingers reached the top of her thighs, this time he didn’t stop. Taking two fingers, he gently stroked them downward over the portion of her slightly, swollen cunny lips which were exposed by her position over his lap. He knew they would be particularly sensitive to his touch after her spanking.

  Emma drew in a sharp breath.

  Swirling his two fingers, he teased her tight, slick entrance. Jesus, he thought. She’s ready for my cock. Never would he have imagined a woman such as she would be dewed and ready after such a harsh punishment. This woman continued to surprise. Forcing two fingers in to the first knuckle, Horn groaned. It was obvious she hadn’t had a man in a while. Her body was clenched and snug. He had long ago abandoned the thought she was untouched after her response to his touch in the alley yesterday. He knew raw desire when he saw it. Oh she was full of sass and defiance, but those big
, beautiful green eyes couldn’t hide her attraction.

  Emma shifted her hips. The feeling of having his fingers press inside of her, where it ached, just seemed to increase her torment.

  Horn groaned. He was close to snapping his reins.

  Moving his fingers in circles inside of her tight body, he accused, “You’re not Glendolene Rimmel.”

  “No!” burst out Emma. Unable to keep her lie straight a moment longer while his hands were on her, inside of her.

  It was good enough for Horn…for now.

  Hoisting Emma upright, Horn’s mouth crashed down on her own in a brutal, controlling kiss. They both tasted the acrid, metallic sting of blood before he would relent. Placing his hands along her jaw, he looked down into her bright, green eyes, growling fiercely, “You will tell me the rest, later.”

  It was not a question.

  Swinging her around, taking note of the rest of the room for the first time, Horn was pleased to see she had a large bed and not just a pallet on the floor. Built with a heavy lumber frame and a crosspatch of rawhide ropes, there was a thick, tick mattress filled with fabric scraps and feathers. Horn bent Emma over the bed. Her nose buried in the quilt. There would be time later to explore her body. To lick those luscious breasts of hers. To taste that cunny. To kiss away the pain of his punishment. For now, he needed to sink inside of her. Needed to feel the tight clasp of her body.

  Reaching down, Horn tore at the brass buttons of his denim pants, freeing his cock. While the thought of forcing her body to open and accept all ten inches of his cock in one brutal thrust filled him with a primal blood lust, one shred of humanity held him back. Stroking his thick, turgid length, Horn took a deep breath. Knowing he would have to go slow. She was too small, too tight. It had been too long since she had had a man between her thighs. One more man he would have to track down and kill he thought with a dark smirk. He knew there was no Black Bart but somehow the idea that there had been any man before him really chewed at his gut.