The Gunfighter's Pursuit (Ride Hard Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh.

  Horn reached over the edge to retrieve the soap and linen. “You can make it up to me by letting me wash those magnificent tits of yours.”

  Emma grimaced. “You really shouldn’t use such crude language like that.”

  “Would you prefer nips, ninnies, nupies, mammies…”

  “Stop! Stop!” laughed Emma. “You are jesting with me.”

  “This isn’t a jest,” Horn growled.

  Emma gasped. The hard ridge of his arousal rubbed between her legs. Horn rocked his hips in a slow rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth. As the warm water gently lapped about her. Swish. Swish.

  She watched as if in a daze as he fisted the soap, working it into a sudsy lather. The little bar of fancy Turkish bath soap looked so dainty in his large, tanned hands.

  Dropping the bar over the edge, Horn palmed her plump curves. Emma’s head dropped back as she released a deep throated moan.

  Horn kneaded her flesh harder. Digging his fingers into her creamy skin. Pressing his palms in wide circles over her nipples.

  Of their own accord, Emma’s hips started to shimmy.

  “That’s it, baby,” breathed Horn through clenched teeth. “Press that cunny along my cock.”

  It was impossible to take her body again. Twice was enough for an innocent such as her. He needed to break her in slowly, like a shy filly. Her sweet thighs pressing down on his shaft was all the release he was going to get. That was fine with him. Seeing the mixture of pain and pleasure play across her beautifully expressive face was enough…for now. Horn ran his hands downward to span her ribcage. Jesus, she was so tiny. So slight in his arms. He cupped the delicious weight of her ample curves.

  “Ask me to pinch your nipples,” he ground out.

  Emma groaned in response.

  “Emma. Tell me to hurt your nipples,” he commanded harshly.

  “Hurt me, Horn,” she breathed.

  Horn captured each nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Emma’s body tensed, her back arching.

  Horn waited. Gently rolling each peak. Caressing. Cajoling.

  The moment he felt her body slacken. Her guard down. He pinched. Hard.

  Emma cried out.

  Horn’s mouth crashed down on her own, swallowing her cries. His tongue sweeping in. Tasting her pain. Still he kept the pressure on her nipples.

  Emma’s mouth broke free. “Oh god! It hurts! Let go! Let go!”

  In her pain, her hips started to bounce up and down, increasing the pressure and friction on his shaft.

  “No.” Was his only response.

  Finally, he relented. Relishing in the beautiful cherry red hue of her nipples as the blood rushed back into them.

  The throbbing painful pressure in her breasts was only matched by the building strain of his shaft pressing against the already swollen lips of her cunny. Emma clutched at his shoulders. Her fingernails digging into his flesh.

  Horn blindly reached for the soap again. Lathering his hands. Once they were covered in a rich, creamy lather, he pulled her close. Gritting his teeth against a growl when her wet breasts crushed against his chest. Hugging her close, he ran his hand down her shapely back.

  “Lean forward,” he demanded roughly.

  Emma braced herself against his shoulders and leaned more fully against his chest. His coarse hair tickling her now sensitive nipples.

  Horn dipped his hands lower, cradling her ample bottom.

  Emma’s body tensed as she whimpered against his neck. She was still sore from his spanking earlier.

  Horn smoothed his hands over her wet skin in large soothing circles. With each sweep, his fingertips crept closer to the cleft of her bottom. Finally, he ran his right fingertip along the seam. Teasing her.

  Emma squirmed. Her bottom cheeks clenching closed at the intimate contact.

  Horn’s response was swift. Flicking his wrist, he gave her one harsh spank. The sound cracking like a whiplash. Water splashing over the high rim of the tub.

  Emma let out a startled shout as she raised up on her knees out of the water.

  “Do not clench your bottom,” he warned.

  Emma whimpered. Horn could feel her nod her head yes against his neck as she settled back down to cradle his cock between her thighs.

  He returned his soapy fingers to the cleft of her bottom. Applying increasing pressure with his middle finger, he wedged it between her bottom cheeks. Pushing deep, he sought her hidden opening. Using the tip of his finger, he traced the soft ridges around the puckered entrance.

  “Please, Horn. Don’t,” whimpered Emma. “It feels wrong.”

  “That sounds awfully close to a no,” warned Horn sharply.

  “I just…I just…,” mumbled Emma.

  “What did I tell you about the word no?” Horn’s tone was deliberate and curt.

  “That I wasn’t allowed to use it,” responded Emma mournfully.

  Horn thrust his soap, slicked finger into her bottom just past the first knuckle. He could feel her body clench and clasp in resistance as her mouth dropped open in painful shock. He pushed to the second knuckle.

  “Oh! God! Ow! Ow!”

  It was the strangest pain Emma had ever experienced. Invasive and humiliating. Oh so much worse than his spankings!

  Horn pulled his finger back but still left the tip within her tight heat. Applying pressure to the delicate rim, he swirled his finger around the edge. Forcing her open wider.

  “Please! Please! Oh god! It hurts!” Emma started to shiver despite the water’s warmth.

  Once again thrusting in past the second knuckle, Horn hooked his finger as he pulled on her flesh. “You feel this tiny, little hole of yours?”

  Grimacing in agony, Emma could only nod.

  “One day soon, I’m going to want to push my cock inside that hole. Since it’s even tighter than that cute cunny of yours, I have to prepare you.”

  The thought of his part inside of her there made Emma feel faint with trepidation. He was just so very…big. It was hard fitting him inside of her the regular way.

  “What if I promise to be a really good girl?” she asked hopefully. “Do you have to…to…you know…”

  “Say it.”

  “I…I…”

  “Say it,” he ordered fiercely. “Ask me if I have to put my cock up your bottom.”

  Emma hesitated.

  Horn pushed a second finger into her ass.

  Emma cried out. It felt like the jagged pierce of a knife.

  Ruthlessly pulsing both fingers in and out of her dark passage, feeling the tight ring of muscle tremble and start to weaken.

  “Say it.”

  “Do you have to put your cock up my bottom?” she squealed. Her bottom felt lacerated and lashed. The intrusion of his long, thick fingers as they pushed and prodded deep inside her felt wrong and forbidden.

  “Now, baby. We both now, one day you are going to be a very bad girl and deserve an extra special punishment,” he said fiercely as he nipped at the delicate loop of her earlobe. “Forcing you to take my big cock up your tiny bottom will help you learn your lesson.”

  That undisciplined, stubborn streak which too often got Emma in trouble, once again reared its ugly head. “What lesson is that?” she prodded.

  Horn forced a third finger into her impossibly tight, clenched hole. He could actually feel her slight protective muscle quake and throb from the effort to keep him out.

  Emma howled in agony. Against his orders, she rose up on her knees. Water splashed about them as she flailed her fists, pummeling its fluid surface. Clutching the slick, metal edge of the tub, she tried to escape. Horn wrapped his arm around her waist, securing her to his firm chest. Still she wriggled and thrashed…all the while screaming and yelling for release.

  Throughout her struggles, Horn’s fingers kept up their unrelenting assault on her tortured bottom. Thrusting in. Deeper. Deeper still. Circling and twisting. Opening her. Training her.

  Finall
y, she relented. Collapsing. Falling weak into strong arms. Her cheek resting against his wet skin. Breathing heavy from her fruitless exertions.

  Horn carefully pulled his fingers free. With his other hand, he caressed her bottom and upper thigh in large, soothing circles.

  “The lesson is simple, Emma. Obey me or else.”

  Emma shivered despite the warmth of the bathwater and the protection of his arms. The lesson may be simple but the man teaching it was complicated. Saint or Sinner? Protector or Punisher? Emma was learning he was a little of both.

  Lifting her in his arms, Horn carried her to the bed. Without bothering to dry her off, Horn began to lick and kiss the droplets of water off Emma’s inner thighs, slowly making his way to her still sore cunny.

  “Horn, what are you…” Emma rose up on her elbows, still uncomfortable with the idea of him there.

  “It’s your reward,” he said with a seductive wink. “Don’t your students get a reward for learning their lesson?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well?” His warm breath caressing such an intimate, sensitive spot sent a ripple of pleasure through her whole body.

  Emma fell back among the quilts and feather pillows. “Who am I to argue with the teacher?” she acquiesced.

  The rest of the evening was a blur of colors, scents, sounds and touch…all within the rosy, glow of the firelight.

  Chapter 8

  Emma gripped her tin mug and tried to derive the same pleasure from the dark brew she had a few days ago.

  “Do you not like your coffee?” asked Horn. “I tend to make it pretty strong. As they like to say on the trail, if a horse shoe sinks in it, it ain’t strong enough yet,” laughed Horn. At Emma’s continued silence, he offered, “I could add more sorghum to sweeten it up? Might also be able to rustle up some molasses. Think a saw a jar of it somewhere.”

  Nothing.

  “Or I could just put you over my knee, flip up your skirts and spank that gorgeous bottom of yours till you beg for mercy and swear to god above and the devil below that I make the best coffee west of the Mississippi.”

  “Sounds good,” responded Emma absentmindedly.

  After a long awkward moment, Emma abruptly stood up.

  “You have to leave!”

  “Because you don’t like my coffee? Come now, darlin. There are plenty of other things I do right that you do like,” teased Horn.

  “I’m serious, Horn. The snow is starting to clear. It is likely the children will return today. You must leave!”

  Emma had been distracted all morning. She had been holed up with Horn for the last six days while the snow storm raged outside. While she was certain what they had been doing was far too scandalous and sordid to be called romantic it had been…well…there were no words. Life changing? Wonderful? Love? Lord, she didn’t know. Dangerous? Certainly! Stupid? Without a doubt!

  But this morning they awoke to bright sunshine…and harsh reality. As suddenly as the snow came, the warm Arizona sun was banishing it away. It was likely the children would start returning to classes if not today than definitely by tomorrow. They could not find a notorious gunfighter sipping coffee over the breakfast muffins with their school teacher when they did!

  Ignoring the painful tightening in her chest at the thought of Horn leaving, Emma convinced herself it was for the best. After all, how did she truly see this ending? Mrs. Notorious Gunfighter? If he wasn’t a criminal, he was close to being one. She had just narrowly escaped the hangman’s noose. It would be the height of foolishness to run straight into the knot now, especially for the love of a man who probably was incapable of loving her back. Besides, he probably had a woman like her in every mining camp and boom town in every territory and state throughout the western half of the country. Each one thinking they were special to him.

  No. For once she was going to be smart. She wasn’t smart when she followed her brother out here. Not when she allowed him to talk her into robbing those coaches. Not when she decided to lie to these townsfolk instead of trusting in their Christian kindness. Not even when she decided to try to frighten off someone like Horn with a few measly bullets. No. For once she was going to be smart. She was going to send Horn away.

  “You have to leave,” she repeated firmly.

  Horn’s jaw clenched. Slowly rising to his full, towering height, he crossed the few steps to stand before her. Grasping her chin, he forced her head back to meet his gaze. Stubborn, sage green clashed with dangerous, dark brown.

  “Now listen here. I don’t know what kind of bee got into your bustle but I’m not going anywhere. Understand?”

  “You can’t stay here. The townspeople will talk.”

  “Who gives a damn? Let ‘em talk.”

  Emma broke from his grasp and paced away. “I give a damn! I’m the school teacher here! I can’t be associated with any scandal.”

  “Really? Ms. Glendolene Rimmel?” he snarled.

  “Well!” huffed Emma. “Any more scandal.”

  Horn’s boots pounded loudly across the thin boards of the cabin as he stalked after her pacing form. Grasping her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Let’s get something straight right now. You’re not the one calling the shots. Besides, you’re going to be long gone so what do you care?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you continue being a school teacher, stuck, unprotected, in this cabin out here in the middle of nowhere in this podunk town did you?” scoffed Horn.

  Emma could only stare. Part of her thrilled at the notion Horn had given any thought to her or their future together. Unfortunately, that was not the part which won out. “Let me? Let me? Who says you get a say in where I stay or what I do?” she challenged.

  Horn moved both hands to her bottom. Pressing her hips forward, he ground his erect shaft against her soft flesh. “I say,” he growled. “I’m through talking about it, Emma. I have to go into town. My business will be done here in a few days. When I move out, you’re coming with me. End of discussion.” His mouth captured her own in a kiss more about possession than passion. He was staking his claim.

  Horn took a step back. Belting his Colts around his narrow waist, he grabbed his black Stetson. Securing it on his head, he gave Emma one last warning glare. “I will be obeyed in this.” With that he left.

  Neither the gentle sway of his horse nor the rhythmic clip, clop of its step could soothe Horn’s anger.

  Damn, stubborn woman!

  Wouldn’t it just fucking figure, thought Horn. His whole goddamn life he’d had women clinging to his shirttails. Trying to get some Holy Joe’s sling on him. He’s lost count of how many parson’s traps he’d snapped. Now, he finally finds a woman and it’s her clambering to get away.

  She was the perfect infuriating mix of innocence and fire. Stubborn but sweet. Independent and self-reliant but desperately needing of a man’s protection and help. Not some delicate parlor flower but also no jaded thorn. A woman who has experienced evil but not been tainted by it. Who would understand the devil in him but not judge him for it. The type of woman a man holds onto…and that was precisely what he intended to do. It rankled him that she did not see it the same way. God dammit. He shouldn’t have to explain to that woman that what was his, he kept. And she was his!

  Horn rode into the miner’s camp in a foul mood. His meeting with Laster had been delayed by the storm. Now that it was finally to occur, the fool man had insisted on this miner’s camp a few miles outside of town.

  Hitching his horse to a rickety post, Horn headed towards the largest tent. Best bet that would be the saloon. It was the only tented structure with the luxury of a plank floor. Still, like the rest, it was just a bit a muddied canvas stretched over some poles. Horn had to bend in half as he entered through the low flap. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dingy, dim interior. The make-shift bar was just a plank of wood on top of a couple of old dynamite crates. Knowing that at the best of towns, whiskey could still ju
st be some old tobacco soaked in turpentine there wasn’t a chance in hell he was risking whatever rot gut they were serving here. With a look of distaste, Horn turned away from the bar and surveyed the rest of the gloom. Even in a room filled with dusty and dirty miners, Laster stood out.

  With a rueful shake of his head, Horn headed straight for the man’s table and sat down.

  “Laster.”

  “How did you know it was me?” whined the cattle baron. “I was very careful with my disguise this time.”

  The last time Laster was dressed in what he thought a cowboy out on the range would wear. The clothes so new they glowed like a new double eagle. Now he went in the opposite direction. He was covered in so much muck and dirt even the miners in the bar kept their distance. You couldn’t even make out the color of his skin. Every time he moved, cracks appeared in the mud caked on this clothes.

  “I have to say. I am impressed,” offered Horn. And he was. It took a lot to get a scornful look of loathing from a rough and tumble crowd like this. Laster had succeeded in spades.

  “Your little problem with the Black Canyon stage has been taken care of. The head of the snake, Clayton Hase, is dead. The rest of his crew is either dead or with Sheriff Doolin.”

  “Are you sure? I heard tell there was some young kid, the brother of one of the crew that got away.”

  He must have heard about Emma, thought Horn.

  “I’m certain. It wouldn’t do to question my word, Laster,” responded Horn dangerously.

  The man instantly backed down.

  “Good then.”

  Laster reached into his pocket for a small pouch. It rattled with the distinctive chink of metal. Gold coins.

  “You know my price, Laster.”

  “I was hoping you’d change your mind,” whined the coward.

  “I didn’t.”

  “He’ll know it was me!”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “Be reasonable, Horn,” begged Laster.

  “I’m digging that man’s grave. I can just as easily dig two,” threatened Horn.