Taming His Wild Girl (Wild Whip Ranch Book 2)

by Lee Savino

  Suddenly, I was crying again. I clapped my hands over my mouth to stop sobs from bursting out, but the tears rolled down my face uncontrollably.

  “Hey, hey…” Joel let go of Odette and put his arms around me. “Come here.” He drew me into his arms, pressing my head against his chest. “Did it stir up some bad memories?”

  I nodded, crying too hard to speak.

  He stroked my hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s just—it’s just hard sometimes.”

  I pulled away from him at last.

  His eyes were full of intelligence and understanding. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll just put Odette away, then let’s go inside and have a talk.”

  I nodded dumbly, and watched as he pulled off the bridle and unfastened the saddle. Odette tossed her head and whinnied, glad to be free again from the constraints. I smiled through my tears, and stroked her neck one last time.

  Inside, Joel made cups of tea and made me sit down on the couch. It was warm in the house, but out of nowhere, I started shivering. Without my saying anything, Joel disappeared and returned with the soft plaid blanket, which he laid across my knees.

  “I’m not going to let you go, Isabelle,” he said, looking at me seriously. “I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot, and things are not always going to be easy. But I’m here for you, I want you to know that.”

  I nodded, and buried my face in my mug.

  “You can trust me. Do you know that?”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t bring myself to. The concept of trust had been absent from my life for a long, long time.

  “Isabelle?”

  At last, I looked up and met his gaze. It was so full of emotion that it startled me. “Yes, I think so.”

  “It will come in time. I guess you don’t know me so well.” His expression softened. “I always feel like we know each other real well, since we met when we were both so young. But I guess the truth is, we’ve only ever spent a couple of weeks together.”

  I laughed weakly. “I guess in a way, I feel the same.”

  To my surprise, he reached for my hand and clasped it in his. “Then what is it? Sometimes you look at me like you think I’m the enemy or something.”

  “I-I…” I stammered, opening my mouth and closing it again. Of course I didn’t see him as the enemy. I was just scared that the real enemy was going to come and take me away from here. Maybe try to hurt both of us. That Joel would just get sick of me, decide he didn’t want my fucked-up self around anymore. And how did he not have a wife or girlfriend? He was literally the hottest guy I’d ever laid eyes on. He’d even gotten my mom a little giddy, and she’d made some dorky comment: That young man must have girls beating down his door.

  I smiled at the memory. Despite everything.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that my mom liked you.”

  He rubbed the back of his head. “Well, she did at first.”

  He gave my hand a little squeeze and I thought how much I liked the rough, calloused feel of his fingers. Fingers that had already been inside me, and made me come so hard.

  “I guess I’m just overwhelmed,” I said lamely.

  He nodded, looking like he wanted to ask some more. More than anything, I wished I could tell him about what the thugs really wanted from me, but there was no way. It was too dangerous.

  “I think we could have a pretty good routine going here,” he said. “Taking care of the horses together, working on the yard. And…” He shifted the angle of his hand and laced his fingers through mine. “Something tells me you’re in need of a firm hand. Am I right?”

  A wave of heat engulfed me again. Even the motion of his fingers sliding between mine was erotic. Everything about Joel Hudson turned me on. And when he touched me like he owned me, I was crazed with lust.

  When I didn’t answer right away, he slipped his hand out of mine and laid it on the bare skin of my chest, above my shirt button. He pressed just a little, but it was enough to pin me against the back of the couch. “Like this, little one. You need it.”

  “I do?” I faltered.

  “Tell me you don’t.” He lifted his hand and lightly encircled my throat.

  I lifted my jaw, feeling vulnerable, yet calm.

  “Your pulse is fast, Isabelle,” he murmured. “Why?”

  “I’m scared. But kind of excited,” I admitted, sensing that the truth was the only answer right now.

  His pupils dilated, flooding the irises, and I saw his jaw twitch. There was no mistaking the desire in him.

  “Excited is a good place to be,” he said. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Do you know that?”

  “I guess…”

  He shook his head. “I’ll need more than I guess. But I’ll take it for now. Until you know me better.”

  He dipped his head and kissed me on the lips. It was a gentle, exploratory kiss, as if he was feeling me out. Then he drew back and gazed at me. I felt like a captured bird, awaiting its fate.

  Keeping his hand on my throat, he began to unbutton my shirt. Despite the size of his hands, he worked deftly until the buttons were undone all the way. He tugged my shirt from my shoulders and it fell away. He ran his hand over my upper body, my stomach, my rib cage, then over the lacy fabric of my bra. I forced myself not to react when his thumbs chafed my aching nipples.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. He reached behind me, and with the same deftness, he unhooked my bra and slipped it off my shoulders too. I heard his intake of breath as my breasts were revealed to his gaze for the first time. I could see my nipples in my peripheral vision, hard as pebbles and angled up toward his gaze. He pinched my left one, and I gasped in surprise and pain.

  “I could feast my eyes on your body all day, but something tells me you like a little pain. Am I right?”

  I pressed my lips together, unsure what the right answer was. Wondering what he meant by a little. The spankings he’d given me had hurt like crazy, but they hadn’t brought me anywhere near to my limit. And deep down in my soul, I knew he was right. Pain was the only thing that would take me out of myself fully. Allow me to forget.

  He gave me a light slap on my left breast, and then my right.

  Ow! It stung, and the stinging points connected with my clit in a line of fire. He slapped them once, twice, more, making them tremble under his touch. Then he cupped them one at a time, as if weighing them in his hand.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured again. It was weird, this combination of adoration and roughness. I didn’t understand it. All I knew was that it drove me crazy, and I wanted more of it.

  “Get up,” he told me.

  I obeyed, scrambling to my feet. Finally, when I was standing up straight, he released his grasp on my throat. He adjusted his position on the couch until he was sitting with his legs apart, the bulge in his crotch impossible to miss. My gaze flickered to it and away again, and that deep pulse of yearning beat between my thighs.

  “Take down your jeans and panties,” he told me.

  I fumbled with the button on my jeans. I already felt as self-conscious as hell with my boobs exposed to him.

  “Come on,” he said with a hint of impatience.

  Hands shaking, I pulled down the zipper and shoved my jeans and panties down in one go. It was kind of perfunctory—nothing like the strip club where everything was a slow, slow tease. And I sensed he wanted it to be different for that reason.

  When I went to step out of them, he stopped me. “No, stay like that,” he said. “Let me look at you. Hands behind your back.”

  Another hot wave of shame went through me as I clasped my hands behind my back, and I dropped my gaze, unable to look at him as his eyes roved over my naked body. I was all shaved, except for a tiny strip—it was necessary at the strip club with the G-strings I had to wear—and I knew he could see everything. Could see the way my inner labia peeked out just the tiniest bit. See how wetness coated my inner thighs. My che
eks and my pussy throbbed in one beat of ashamed desire.

  “Look at me,” he commanded. It felt like my eyelids were made of concrete as I raised my gaze and finally met his.

  “You’re perfect. Every bit of you. Now, step out of your clothes and lie across my lap.”

  I was grateful to get out of the constraining clothes that pooled at my ankles and I clambered across his lap, my bare skin chafing against the rough fabric of his jeans.

  I pressed my burning face into my hands while he adjusted me to his satisfaction, tilting me forward, lifting my ass up high in the air. I wondered how much of me he could see in this position. Wondered if he was picking up the scent of my arousal.

  I was still wondering when his hand came down on my ass.

  Slap!

  I flinched, but I kept my lips pressed together, determined not to make a sound.

  “This—between us—this is play, Isabelle. And like all kinds of play, we need to have some rules.” He gave me another, almost casual slap on my other cheek. “I need to understand your limits. So we need a safeword. And if you say that word, all play is going to stop. You understand?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled through my hands.

  “You need to choose it. What is it?”

  I thought for a moment. “Orange,” I said, thinking of a girl I’d met a few years ago. She’d told me she was into BDSM, which I’d thought was totally weird. How naïve. She’d told me that orange was a good safeword because it didn’t rhyme with any other word.

  “Good,” he said, sounding pleased, and he stroked my ass. “Don’t forget it.”

  He kept up his rhythm of slapping me and stroking me, so I didn’t know what was coming next. Soon my nerve endings were on fire, not knowing if they were going to be soothed or inflamed. Suddenly, he landed a hard slap at the top of my thigh.

  I sucked in a harsh breath.

  “That hurt, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I whimpered. It hurt, but the pain seared me in the most beautiful way.

  “Are you close to using a safeword?”

  “Nowhere near.”

  “How about this?” He slapped my other thigh, way harder. A violent kiss.

  “No,” I panted.

  He kept going, each slap harder than the last. Every time, the question was posed—are you ready to safeword? He was so careful with me. Each question, each searing slap, stoked the fire inside me higher.

  My ass was ablaze, like I’d sat in a nest of hornets, but still I refused to give in as his hand got harder and harder.

  “Now?” he demanded.

  “No,” I whispered, but tears sprang to my eyes.

  Slap! The next one came sooner, and I hissed. They got faster and faster until there was barely a break between each one. My vision blurred with tears, and I was gasping for breath.

  “Stop,” I muttered at last.

  He paused and then his hand came down softly on my burning flesh. “Do you mean that?”

  “I don’t know,” I gasped.

  “Let’s see. Your ass is good and red, and—” he pushed my thighs farther apart, “well, you’re even wetter than last time.”

  I groaned as he cupped my sopping wet pussy.

  “Drenched,” he said in a crooning tone, and started to stroke me.

  I was spent, helpless. Incapable of doing anything apart from pressing myself into his hand, like a cat on heat. He had an expert touch, teasing, caressing my labia, skating around my aching clit.

  “You like that?” he said.

  And I did. I liked that I couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything. I was aware of nothing but the touch of his hand.

  “Lift up a little.”

  I obeyed, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. Now his finger, moistened with my wetness, slid up to my little hole, the place where no one had been before. I gasped as he pressed his finger against it. But when he circled around and around the sensitive area, I tensed up, part of me wanting him to penetrate me, the other half terrified.

  “Want me to finger your ass?” he asked.

  “Joel I’ve never…” I began, suddenly panicking.

  “It’s okay,” he told me. “That’s for another time.” He lifted me up, so my back was pressing against his chest. “What do you want?” he muttered in my ear, one hand caressing my breasts, the other sliding between my legs. Two thick fingers pushed inside me, and I gave a ragged moan.

  “I want your cock,” I whispered.

  “Here?” He pushed in deeper.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say and I spread my thighs wider, making space for him.

  He added a third finger and began to pump in and out. It wasn’t easy to take, and it kind of hurt, but it felt real good all the same.

  “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Then ask me,” he growled.

  A thrill went through me at his words. “Please, I want you to fuck me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “I need you to fuck me with your big thick cock,” I said in a loud voice.

  “Then show me.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant at first. Then he lifted me up, off his lap. “Spread your legs for me,” he told me.

  I lay back on the couch and, blushing crimson, did as he said, spreading myself wide for him.

  He gave a low sound of desire as he got to his feet and stripped off his shirt, his jeans, and then his boxers, displaying his incredible body to me. Now it was my turn to feast my eyes on him. He was perfect—every bit of him, from the big muscles of his pecs and biceps, to his amazing washboard stomach, to his strong thighs. And then his cock: long, thick, and rock-hard for me. Had I really had it in my mouth? It was so big, it didn’t seem possible.

  He arched over me and, with one rough thrust, pushed himself all the way inside me.

  I cried out, half in pain, half in pleasure, as he opened me wide, my muscles yielding to accommodate him.

  “Jesus,” he groaned. “You feel incredible, Isabelle. You’re so tight around my cock.”

  He kissed me hard and deep as his dick began to plough into me. It was just like I’d fantasized in my teens, only the real thing was so much better.

  Joel, the sexiest guy in the world, arching over me, his big thick cock buried inside me. He closed his hand around my throat again and leaned back, watching himself fucking me.

  My vision blurred, and I felt lightheaded. All I was aware of was his cock pounding into me again and again, and his strong hands holding me exactly as he wanted me. He maneuvered me into all kinds of positions, lifting my legs up over his shoulders, then turning me over on my side. His dick went so deep, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge.

  Suddenly, he pulled out. “Get on your hands and knees,” he growled.

  He made me arch my back and spread my knees apart, and when he seemed satisfied with my position, he entered me from behind. I yelped like a wild animal as his cock penetrated me deep inside, and his pelvis slapped up against my ass.

  He gripped my hips with his hands, and screwed himself into me. I was a ragdoll, helpless to the onslaught of his thrusts. He pounded into me, harder and harder, and then he reached forward and grabbed a hank of my hair in his fist.

  And I tipped right over the edge. My orgasm barreled at me like a bullet train. Gasping and crying, I climaxed around his cock as he fucked me hard and fast. I buried my screams in my hands, but he seemed to know, anyway. When the orgasm had trailed away, he pulled me up and, keeping his arms wrapped around me, fucked me faster and faster, until with a deep sound of satisfaction, he came inside me.

  He collapsed back against the sofa cushions, bringing me with him, his cock still buried inside me. “My girl,” he muttered in my ear. “My little one.”

  I rested my face in the crook of his neck and closed my eyes, pure bliss shivering in my veins. Whatever the future held, this was the most perfect moment of my life. Nothing hurt. Everything was beauti
ful.

  Chapter 10

  Joel

  What the hell was that noise?

  I blinked in the darkness of my bedroom, trying to untangle the sound from my sleep.

  That terrible, strangled scream tore through the air again.

  Isabelle? I jumped up, stumbling across the room.

  Then I laughed, and fell back into bed. The dang cockerel from the next-door farm, that’s what it was. I groaned, grabbed my phone, and groaned again. 4.30 a.m. A whole hour before I had to be up. And it was still pitch dark outside. I’d never been woken up by the cockerels before, because I usually slept like a log—at least I did before Isabelle Stevens reappeared in my life. Ever since then, I’d been tossing and turning all night long. Worrying about her. Wondering what was going on behind those intelligent, watchful eyes of hers.

  I hoped she was sleeping well now. That scream she’d let out two nights ago was about the worst thing I’d ever heard. It was tortured, full of terror and desolation. I wondered if she still relived the accident. Or if she was remembering the horrors of working for those thugs.

  Last night had been something else. Having sex with her, claiming her, had been better than my wildest fantasies. She was every bit the kinky princess I’d always longed for—and more. There was such a need in her to submit, to be punished. Did it all come from a place of darkness? Maybe I would never know. Maybe she didn’t know herself. I only hoped that it was helping her.

  I remembered looking at her when she was a teenager, and feeling all that repressed need in her. A need for her body to not be a thing of perfection for once, but free and uninhibited. And I loved that she wasn’t shy about her body. I guessed the strip club had gotten her used to displaying it. But when I’d ordered her to strip for me, she hadn’t hesitated, and I knew the sight of her standing in front of me naked, panties around her ankles, was something I’d never forget.