The Gunfighter's Pursuit (Ride Hard Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  Giving her a wolfish grin, he said, “That was all I needed to know.”

  He pounced.

  Capturing Emma around the waist, Horn rose and carried her the few steps to the bed. Placing her in the center, he crawled over her prone form.

  “Wait! What? I…”

  Horn ignored her protests and concentrated on her body.

  “Tell me where it hurts,” he purred against her skin.

  “I…I….” she breathed, unsure how to answer.

  “Tell me where I hurt you?”

  Horn had her caged in. His arms resting on either side of her head. His eyes appeared like bits of shining onyx. Dark, deep, hard.

  Horn leaned down and flicked the tip of his tongue along the seam of her open lips. “Tell me, Emma.”

  “My…my breasts,” she barely whispered.

  “Here?” asked Horn as he placed a chaste kiss on the top swell of her left breast.

  Emma shook her head no.

  “Here?” Horn gently licked the under curve of her right breast.

  Emma shook her head no.

  “Here?”

  Horn opened his mouth and breathed his warm breath over her still throbbing nipple. Even the soft current of air causing a ripple of heightened awareness.

  Emma nodded her head yes.

  “And why does it hurt Emma?”

  “Because you punished me there.”

  Horn smiled before flicking his tongue across the pearled peak.

  Emma’s back arched as her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his upper arms. The sensation from the touch of his tongue so intense she couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain. Perhaps both.

  Horn moved over to her other breast. This time taking the tortured nipple into his mouth. Sucking deep.

  Emma screamed. This time her fingers clawed at his arms as her feet kicked out and her hips bucked. It was too much.

  “Stop! I can’t! You have to stop!”

  “As you wish.”

  Horn shifted his hips down, moving over her body. Settling between her legs, Horn inhaled her sweet scent. Rose water again. Her warm skin held just a hint of it. Using his thumbs, he spread her cunny lips open, exposing her hidden bud.

  “Wait! You can’t!” Emma tried to close her knees as she started to shift her hips back. This was beyond all else. It was too much. She couldn’t have him kiss her there!

  Horn lightly bit the soft inside of her thigh. Emma instantly stilled.

  “Settle down, little one. You just lay back and do as you’re told. I need to kiss you everywhere you hurt.”

  “But….”

  “Hush.”

  This final command was whispered against her opened cunny. The vibrations sending a shiver up her thighs and across her stomach.

  Emma reluctantly leaned back. Powerless to stop him.

  Everything became a blur of swirling, spinning sights, sounds, scents and sensations. The feel of his tongue. The clutch of his strong fingers as they pressed against her thighs. The smell of woodsmoke. The pop and sizzle from the logs in the fire. The harsh scrape of his stubble along her soft skin. The rushed almost rhythmic sound of their mixed breathing. The press of the worn quilt balled in her fist. The stark sight of his dark, wavy hair next to her pale skin. It all spun and whirled about her till it blended into one surge of emotion.

  Horn licked the sweet taste of her release from his lips. He would never tire of doing that to her. The adorable sounds she made. How her thighs quivered and tensed beneath his hands. The way her bottom kept clenching every time he flicked his tongue a certain way. Yep, he would definitely be treating himself to another taste of her soon. But for now, he had waited long enough to get an entirely different taste of that body.

  Leaning up on his haunches, Horn fisted the hard, length of his cock. There was no point in trying to stretch or prepare her with his fingers. It wouldn’t compare to what he was about to force her to endure and besides…he wasn’t waiting another moment longer to claim what he now already considered his.

  Positioning the large, bulbous tip at her small entrance, he thrust his hips forward. Her body resisted. He thrust harder. The powerful force of his shaft pushed through her body’s meager defense as the head drove inside.

  The first stretch and sting of pain broke through Emma’s pleasurable haze. Reaching her hands down, she tried to push against his hips, a feeble attempt to forestall the inevitable. A feather trying to stop a steaming train.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “Taking what’s mine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. The effort to not thrust hard and deep, to hold back, at least for now, costing him dearly.

  “No! No! You can’t! We aren’t…well…we…”

  Emma struggled to fight him off with her hands. Horn grabbed her wrists and pinned them down to either side of her head.

  Tossing aside the last vestiges of the man he was…the man who would care he was about to take a woman’s maidenhead, Horn refused to listen to her pleas. This was the man he was now. The man the war made. The man being framed for murder made. The man who learned you took what you wanted. The man who learned you held on to what you had through force if you had to or it was taken from you. Whether she liked it or not, she was clearly in trouble and clearly needed someone to watch out for her. He was that man…and this was his price.

  “You’re not allowed to say that word to me. I know you want this, Bunny. There’ll be pain but we both know you’ll like that part too. Say it. Say it now.”

  Emma stubbornly turned her head to the side. She knew he would stop if she truly begged him. Despite his stern demeanor, there was something there, buried deep beneath the jaded years of war and bitterness. A protective kindness he hid behind the easy charm and harsh commands. Her body was responding to that as much as his touch. To this ache…this yearning to feel safe again. The promise of shelter in his strong arms. But it was all an illusion. He was the law. She was a criminal. Was she about to give up her maidenhead to a man she could never see beyond tomorrow? In this very moment, did she care?

  Horn thrust forward slightly then pulled back. Thrusting forward again. The pressure building. The tense pressure.

  Emma moaned. She didn’t want to think. She was tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Tired of running. She only wanted to feel. To feel pain. To feel pleasure. To feel him.

  “Say it. To not would be lying,” he warned. “Don’t make me get the strap.”

  Emma’s bright green eyes lit with willful fire. Then Horn thrust further still. His weight bearing down on her.

  “Yes, damn you! Yes!” she shouted.

  Horn thrust to the hilt. He could feel her flesh tear. Feel her body struggle to accommodate his girth. Feel the tightness as it stretched and strained and still he thrust. She screamed in pain and still he thrust. He was a man possessed. A man intent on possessing.

  This was her true punishment for her sins. Not the spanking. Not the leather strapping. Not even him…but this. It was as if she were being cleaved in two. She pulled on her wrists to try to break free but all in vain. The more she struggled, the harder he drove into her. The muscles of her thighs started to pinch and cramp from being forced open so wide by his driving hips. Her poor body felt sore and bruised.

  Emma shook her head from side to side. “Stop! Stop! Please! It hurts! You have to stop!”

  Horn released her wrists. Emma felt a rush of relief. Finally, he was listening to her pleas.

  He moved his hands to beneath her knees. Pulling them upwards, he tilted her hips up and back. His thrusts increased in speed.

  Emma panicked. The shifted position seemed to make her even more vulnerable to his assault but then something changed. His part slid in deeper at a different angle. Every time he pulled back, then thrust forward, the friction caused a shiver deep in her belly. A building tingling. A pleasurable shudder rippled through her.

  “Oh!” exclaimed a shocked Emma.

  Her body clenched around
his cock. Already impossibly tight, the involuntary clasping down on his shaft was almost his undoing. She was so goddamn tight. Tight and warm and wet. He was a bastard. A soiled dove would have a hard time riding a cock like his and here he was plowing into a virgin as if she were a painted cat. Yet, each time his conscience pricked, she would look at him with those green eyes filled with the most haunting mix of desire and pain or her body would quiver or those lips would open on a gasp and he was lost. The animal nature in him would take over.

  “That’s it, little one. Tighten around my cock. Take it. Take it,” he groaned against her neck.

  Her hands now free, Emma drove her fingers into his hair. Pulling. Wrenching.

  The tension built as his thrusts increased in speed. Emma’s hips rose to meet them. Her whole body rocked back and forth from the force of it. The same lightheaded twirling feeling began to overtake her. As if all the senses became one beautiful burst of colorful pleasure.

  Horn could feel his shaft swell. His balls tighten. The pace of his thrusts slowed but they increased in power. One bruising push after another till with a roar he found his release. Placing an open mouth kiss on her shoulder, he stayed buried deep inside her wet heat. Branding her with his seed.

  After what felt like hours but what could only have been minutes later, Emma opened her eyes to find Horn staring down at her with that intense dark gaze of his.

  “I think it is past time you tell me your real name and what you’re running from.”

  Chapter 6

  Emma Fairfax, murderess!

  Emma watched with wide eyes as Horn got out of bed and padded over to the fire naked. Testing the kettle water with his finger, he placed a small linen in the fire warmed water. After wringing it out he brought it back to the bed.

  “Ease back onto the pillow for a moment. Let me take care of you.”

  One moment he was basically demanding she confess her murderess past as he spanked her and now he was ministering to her with the patience of a saint. Would she ever understand this man? After gently wiping away the evidence of their lovemaking, Horn paced across the room to retrieve his denims. Tugging them on but neglecting to button the flaps, he dug through his saddlebag for his pile of cornshucks and pouch of loose tobacco. Crouching by the low light of the fire, he rolled himself a smoke. Snatching a small twig from the fire, he used it to light the end. The earthy, acrid scent of tobacco smoke filled the room.

  “Careful. That one has a hair trigger,” he warned without turning around.

  While assuming he had been distracted by preparing his smoke, Emma had crept out of bed and sneaked across the room, quietly picking up one of his Colts.

  Horn rose and braced his back against the stone mantle. Taking a long drag, he just stared. There she stood. Naked as a jay bird and bold as brass in the middle of the room. Her hair in wild disarray around her shoulders and down her back. The creamy, pale skin of her neck and breasts bore the red marks from his stubble. There was just the faintest outline of a bruised handprint on her thigh. Just about every part of her body, both inside and out, bore his mark. His brand.

  And there she stood…with a gun on him…for the second time today.

  If he could just get her to stop trying to kill him…he just might fall in love with this amazing, obstinate, beautiful woman, thought Horn.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” stated Emma as she tried to hold the heavy Colt steady.

  “Seems to me trouble keeps finding you anyway,” drawled Horn as he took another drag from his smoke.

  Motioning towards the bed with the gun, she ordered hesitantly, “Step back over there.”

  “Baby, if you wanted me back in bed, all you had to do was ask.”

  “Stop jesting!”

  Horn tossed the remains of his smoke into the burning embers of the fire and padded over towards the bed under Emma’s watchful eye. When he was a safe distance away, she took a few hesitant steps. Keeping her eyes on him, she skimmed her hand over the floor, searching for her clothing. Her fingertips felt the familiar soft wool of her skirt. Clutching at the material she straightened up and backed away.

  “What exactly is your plan? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  She did mind. She minded a great deal. Mainly because she didn’t exactly have a plan. She only knew that she couldn’t tell Horn the truth. Couldn’t risk being hauled off to jail or worse. She needed to get the hell out of here. For now, that would have to do as a plan.

  It was a good plan, she reassured herself.

  Struggling to hold the gun on him and put on her skirt, Emma huffed as she tried to respond, “Well, I’m going to borrow your horse and get the hell out of here. I will leave your horse at the next town over once I catch the train. I’m no horse thief.”

  Horn smiled. She really was adorable. Here she was half dressed holding a gun on him and her main concern was making sure he didn’t think she was horse thief.

  “In this snow?” he asked calmly.

  The question so stunned Emma she actually dropped the skirt back around her heels. Turning her head, she glanced at the sliver of window pane visible through the faded, calico curtains. The snow had continued to fall throughout the night. In the pale glow of the moon, she could see it was now piled practically to the window sill.

  This was a terrible plan, she told herself.

  “Well, we’ll just have to wait out the storm. Then, I’ll leave,” said a visibly agitated Emma. “But don’t get any ideas!”

  Horn held up both hands in a placating gesture as he smoothly took a step closer.

  “So you intend to hold me at gunpoint the whole time?” asked a bemused Horn.

  What was worse than terrible, thought Emma. Horrible? Atrocious? Disastrous? None of those words seemed to capture her truly wretched situation. It wasn’t her fault really. She wasn’t raised to be a criminal for heaven’s sake! Her education consisted of bad needlepoint, piano and running an efficient home, not how to get away with murder or keep a big, hulking gun fighting lawman at bay!

  “That sounds like a good plan,” responded Horn reasonably as he seemed to relax against the bottom log beam of the bed. Crossing his arms over his bare chest. His strong, muscled, bare chest. Focus Emma!

  “Yes! Yes, it is,” said Emma pointedly with more conviction than she felt.

  “Would you like to know what would make it a better plan?”

  “No!” huffed Emma stubbornly, switching the Colt to her left hand as her right arm was tiring.

  Horn watched as she awkwardly covered her breasts with her right arm as she once again tried reaching for her skirt on the floor with the same hand while still keeping the gun trained on him with the left. The clumsy move gave him a glimpse of her cute bottom. The marks from his spanking had faded; that would have to be rectified.

  Emma took in his calm demeanor. The man really was infuriating. Standing there half naked. His hair ruffled with a devil-may-care smile on his lips, looking as if he didn’t have a problem in the world. As if there wasn’t a gun pointing straight at him! You would have thought they were chatting at the post after church. Stuff and nonsense! What was she supposed to do now? This man was dangerous to her. In more ways than one. Did she really think she could hold him back till the storm abated? That could be hours…perhaps days. Truthfully, Emma had absolutely no idea. Up until a few hours ago, she would have thought the idea of snow in the Arizona desert ludicrous, so what did she know?

  Lord, she had really made a mess of things. It was all so very tiring. Following her brother out West. Losing all their money. Turning to robbery. Watching her brother get murdered. Killing Clayton. Being forced to lie to all these good-hearted townspeople. And then Horn shows up…and he sees right through all her lies. Despite all his stubborn, infuriating, mule-headed, domineering ways, in some twisted way it actually felt like he was refusing to be swayed out of some misplaced form a chivalry. As if he was trying to save her from herself. But what if she was just seeing what she wanted to
see? What if she so desperately wanted a protector, someone to care, someone to take over some of this burden that she would take anyone? Even a dangerous notorious gunfighter? Could she take that chance?

  Emma looked at Horn’s handsome face. No. She couldn’t. She had already let her guard down and given him far more than she should have…given him what should have been kept safe and hidden for a husband’s eyes only. She needed to get out of this cabin. Spending even another hour in his presence was too unsafe.

  “Fine,” she reluctantly relented. “What would make it a better plan?”

  “Bullets in the gun.”

  Startled, Emma took her eyes off him to check the gun’s chamber.

  That was a mistake.

  Horn lurched forward. Seizing the wrist which held the gun, he pulled her toward him. Her body crashed into his own. Swinging around, he propelled her backwards. She hit the bed pallet with a thud. Before she could roll away, he was straddling her hips. Her arms pinned to her sides.

  It all happened in a flash. His relaxed pose was merely the pause before the pounce.

  “So I never had the upper hand with you. Not even for a moment,” observed a dejected Emma.

  Horn brushed a curl away from her cheek. Giving her what almost looked like a sympathetic look, if notorious gunfighter’s were capable of such an emotion. “Oh, now. I wouldn’t say that.”

  Holding her gaze, Horn raised his arm straight out to his side. He fired a single shot.

  The sound reverberated like rolling thunder around the small cabin. There was the stench of sulfur and gunpowder. Without even looking, he had shot the bud clean off a single dried rose she had in a small cup across the room.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You lied to me!” she accused with narrowed eyes.

  “Well, I guess now we’re even,” he countered.

  Emma closed her mouth in a pout. Even she had a hard time arguing against that point.

  “I am through being patient, Emma. Out with it.”