Cochise: A Montana Bounty Hunters Story

by Devlin, Delilah

  I ducked as I got closer to the cabin and kept my head below the windowsill. One quick dart upward, and I stared into the skinny slit. I couldn’t see much, just a rickety table and an open beer can. I ducked down again. “Can’t see if he’s the one inside.”

  A string of whispered curses sounded in my ear. “Going around front. No back door. A window on the north and on your side. Stay at yours.”

  Like hell. With my back to the side of the cabin, I edged quietly toward the front of the cabin.

  Three hard knocks sounded, followed by, “Fugitive Recovery Agent! Jeremy Bullock, come out with your hands up!”

  I strained my ears, listening for sounds coming from inside the cabin then heard a huge crash as Bulldog kicked in the door.

  Beside me, the shutters burst open and a booted foot appeared over the windowsill. “Got a runner,” I whispered, as I edged back to the window.

  “Goddammit, Jeremy, fucking get back inside that window!”

  Jeremy tumbled to the ground then bounced back up.

  I unclipped my telescoping night stick and jerked my hand to extend it.

  Jeremy’s head turned at the sound, but before he could turn his body too, I swung out the stick and caught him behind the knees. Down he went.

  “Oh, my fucking knee!”

  A growl sounded behind me, and I glanced back to see Bulldog grip both sides of the window a second before he propelled himself through it.

  Although I had a head start, he reached Jeremy first, flipping him to his belly and kneeling on his ass as he snapped handcuffs on his skinny wrists.

  When he stood, Bulldog reached down and gripped Jeremy by the collar of his jacket to pull him to his feet.

  Lord, I loved it when he got physical. All that manly power on display. Jeremy only limped a little as Bulldog propelled him back through the woods toward the truck.

  Over his shoulder, Bulldog said, “Lock up the cabin. Make sure he didn’t have a flame going. And be quick.”

  I didn’t mind that he barked orders at me. Adrenaline was still spiking his system. When he came down, he’d be quiet. Blame it on me giving him another scare because I hadn’t stayed where he wanted me to be. Twice.

  I quickly went through the cabin, closing the window, turning off the propane heater. As I passed the cot in the back, I noted a stack of porn magazines, the topmost featuring a girl with wooden clothespins attached to her purpling nipples. Ouch. I wrinkled my nose as I let myself out of the cabin and pulled the door as far closed as I could in its splintered state.

  Clothespins? Had to hurt.

  * * *

  Later, after we’d dropped off Jeremy and were heading home, Bulldog glanced across at me. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

  The man wasn’t big on conversation. His words always got straight to the point. “Nothin’.” I still had clothespins on my mind, and now I wished I’d used the toe of one of my boots to flip a few of the pages.

  He grunted.

  I smiled. His eyes were narrowing, and although we were only fifteen miles away from his place, I knew he was looking for a secluded spot. He flipped his turn signal and made a hard right. I guessed a spot behind a convenience store was private enough for what he had in mind.

  As soon as he punched the button to kill the engine, he hopped out of the cab and circled the truck. With the passenger side facing a concrete retaining wall, and with no security lights illuminating the back of the store, he jerked open my door, grabbed my legs and swung them outside. Then he pushed me back against the console as he went to work getting me out of my pants.

  “Hey, it’s cold! What’s this for?” I said, playing my part. I had to resist or neither of us would have any fun. And Bulldog played his. Maybe, too well.

  He’d gone silent. His hands moved with lightning speed, opening my belt, unzipping and dragging my pants to my thighs. Then he stepped up on the running board and grabbed my waist, forcing me to my belly. Feeling a flutter of alarm because my legs were constricted, and he still hadn’t said a word, I gasped as he pulled me outside, fitted my boots to the running board then slipped his hands between my legs. When he’d managed to get his own pants down, I’d never know, but suddenly, his cock was pushing against my pussy, no searching or shimmying in, just a straight thrust that “popped” into place once he’d pushed through my lips.

  I realized he was half-standing on the running board, too, his legs spread wide around mine. He shoved his hands beneath me, working them under my shirt and bra until he was cupping my breasts, his large hands squeezing as he pumped inside me.

  This wasn’t a comfortable fuck—friction built quickly because he rubbed through my pussy lips and slapped my bottom with every thrust, but my clit was being neglected, and I had no way of angling my body to make sure he struck it at least now and then.

  And then he pinched my nipples, squeezing the tips between his thumbs and middle fingers, hard. I was reminded of that pinup’s purple nipples, and instantly, I arched. “Harder!”

  He stroked harder, causing the truck to squeak and rattle.

  “No, my tits!”

  His fingernails dug into the tender bits, and I flew, letting loose a breathy screech.

  Two more pumps, and Bulldog emptied himself inside me.

  Then as though nothing had happened, he backed away. I heard the sounds of him putting his clothing back together then he picked me up and turned me to sit in my seat—my bare ass on cold leather—and buckled me in.

  His face still set in tight lines, he marched around the cab and climbed into the driver’s seat. He didn’t spare me a glance—me, with my pussy leaking all over his leather and starting to shiver because now that the heat of the moment had passed, I was fucking freezing.

  I didn’t dare complain as he backed out of the dark space and onto the road.

  Fifteen minutes later, he tapped his garage opener and drove inside. “Don’t move.”

  I watched as he entered the mud room just off the kitchen then reappeared a minute later, his hand cupped around something. He opened my door and waited as I slid my legs toward the opening. “Hold these.”

  I held open my hand, and he deposited two ancient-looking wooden clothespins on my palm. My nipples sprang, and I glanced up at Bulldog’s face.

  His eyelids were sleepy-looking, his sexy look. His jaw was hard. “I saw the magazine, too,” he said. “It’s why I had you go back inside. I didn’t give a fuck if the place burned down.”

  “So, back there, you weren’t really mad…”

  “You didn’t tell me what was wrong. I’ve told you before—you want something, you just tell me.”

  I licked my lips and stared down at the clothespins. “They’ll hurt.”

  “And we know you like a little pain.” He flicked a finger at one of my spiked nipples.

  Even through the shirt, the sting shot a dart of lust straight to my pussy.

  I gave a little gasp. “If it’s too much?”

  “Trust me?”

  “Always,” I whispered. Me trusting him had never been a problem.

  Giving me no more warning than that, he gripped my shoulders and pulled me forward. Then he hefted me over one of his brawny shoulders. As he strode through the house, I curled my fingers tightly around those clothespins. At any point, I could have dropped them. He wouldn’t have said a word.

  Once inside the bedroom, he set me on my feet. When he began stripping, I knew I better not be wearing a stitch by the time he finished. I tossed the pins toward the bed and removed everything.

  He lifted his chin toward the mattress, and I reached out to pull back the coverlet. I tossed it to the end of the bed then crawled into the middle, kneeling there with my hands on my thighs and my engorged nipples impudently lifted. A tremor rippled through me as my gaze strayed toward the pins.

  Now, Bulldog had used clamps before. Cute ones with little bells that dangled and rang every time I quivered or jerked. But they’d been covered with rubber and could be adjus
ted to my tolerance for pressure.

  “Look at me.”

  I blew out a breath between my pursed lips and lifted my gaze. Lord, even after all these months, he took my breath away.

  It wasn’t that he was particularly handsome. His features were too rugged—his nose crooked, his jaw hard. His body was a study of grayscale tats cloaking his massively muscled chest and arms. Just the thought of the power he delivered with his hard ass and thighs when he fucked made me wet.

  He climbed onto the mattress on his knees and swiped up the clothespins. “Sure about this?”

  I swallowed hard. My nipples were already spiked, already sensitive from the way he’d pinched them earlier, but I gave a nod. Then I watched as he plucked one nipple, pinching around the base to extend the tip. He squeezed a clothespin, then opened it wide around the tip and slowly let it close. At first, the sting felt familiar, no big deal, but my eyes widened as he let it go.

  “Too much?”

  With the liquid pooling between my legs, my body didn’t seem to think so. “No.”

  He released it altogether, and I hissed air between my teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...”

  Staring downward, at the one nipple with the tip protruding from the pin, I drew short breaths until the stinging eased.

  Bulldog toggled the tip, and I closed my eyes. The pain and the stimulation felt divine.

  “Ready for the next?”

  This time my nod was quicker. Again, I watched his big fingers pinch my nipple to extend the tip, then clamp it, slowly releasing the full pressure. When he toggled it, my jaw dropped. “Bulldog…”

  “Chris,” he whispered.

  He liked it when I used his real name during sex.

  “Chrissss…”

  “Get on your knees. Watch yourself in the mirror.”

  I crawled onto my hands and knees and then raised my head. The clothespins attached to my nipples looked obscene.

  Bulldog crawled behind me and placed his hands atop my ass.

  I lowered my chest until my tips were inches from the mattress but my ass was high.

  “What did I tell you to do at the cabin?” he muttered, stirring his hands atop my skin, warming it.

  Oh, goody! He hadn’t forgotten. “I didn’t stay where you told me to.”

  He raised a hand and slapped it downward on my right cheek. The blow jerked me, made my breasts jiggle, and the pins tighten—or maybe it was blood rushing to the tips to further engorge them. Didn’t matter, it stung. Felt fucking amazing.

  “You knew I had him. The cabin was tiny. I was on his ass, but you had to confront him.”

  I met his gaze in the mirror and lifted my chin. “I know. I was thinking about later. What you’d do…”

  Again, he swatted—this time the other side. “I had him. You didn’t have to risk getting hurt.”

  “I wasn’t in the least bit of danger from that skinny shit—”

  Whack!

  “Fucker, that hurt!”

  Whack!

  I groaned and leaned my head against the coverlet as he popped me again and again—stinging slaps, thuddy pats—and all the while my breasts shivered, and the pins squeezed tighter until I was a mass of burning need. My ass was on fire, but my pussy convulsed, releasing a stream of fluid that wet my bare mound.

  And then he cupped me, fingers sliding inside to swirl. His thumb caressing my clit. His hand fell away, and I braced. The next slap, and the next, landed against my cunt.

  I gave a tiny, kittenish mew. I could come so easily. If only he’d let me.

  “Raise your head. I want to see your tits.”

  My back sank as I lifted my head. In the mirror, my breasts looked larger, the clothespins almost comical.

  Bulldog crawled closer, and his thighs flanked mine. He pushed down my ass and pressed his cock against my folds. With a single, straight thrust, he rushed inside me.

  My expression, even to me, was desperate. My eyes glittered with unshed tears. My body shivered hard.

  Bulldog reached around me, unclipped the pins, and cupped my breasts, his large hands nearly encompassing the globes. Then he stroked, moving in and out, his gaze locked with mine in the mirror, watching my face as an agony of sensations rocked through me.

  The sudden rush of blood to my nipples felt cold, until he spread his fingers and squeezed the tips between them. They were so engorged they remained visible as he massaged. Then his thrusts grew harder, sharper, and I had to grip the mattress and reset my knees to keep from falling forward.

  My gaze remained glued on him. His features tightened, grew scarily feral. His lips peeled away from his teeth. His sexy snarl fascinated me. As did the play of muscles, bulging, growing more defined as sweat built.

  Suddenly, he pushed me forward, his cock sliding free. I rolled and scooted away, forcing him to chase me. A hand clamped around my ankle, and then he crawled over me, again, like a big cat, his mouth dipping to my skin. His tongue lashed, trailing upward, flicking my clit. He bit my mound, my belly, then paused at my breasts.

  “Too much!” I gasped as his lips closed around my ravaged nipple.

  But he gave tender laps of his tongue and gently sucked the tip.

  My legs moved restlessly; my belly undulated. I needed him inside me. Needed him to finish this. Needed him to say he loved me…

  He plied the other breast with tender strokes and sucks, but I was whimpering now with need.

  At last, he moved upward and rested on his elbows. He brushed hair from my sweaty face and bent to kiss my mouth. A soft kiss. Lovely, because it was so rare.

  He lowered his chest and reached back to snag my knees, bringing them upward, forcing my legs higher until they pressed against my chest.

  His glance cut to my breast, hidden now. Without being told, I reached into the space between them and brought my breasts out, squished as they were.

  “I love your tits.”

  “Because they’re big?” I gasped.

  He gave a savage shake of his head. “Because they never lie.”

  “I never lie, Chris.”

  “You also never obey.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And yet we’re here.”

  “Hold your legs.” When I clutched the backs of my knees, he reared backward and cupped my ass, holding it still as he prodded my opening.

  The feel of his blunt round knob entering me again was so exquisite, I bit my lower lip to keep from crying out.

  When he leaned over me again, he braced on his hands and powered hard, his hips slapping, grinding. He thrust so deep and hard my breaths came in ragged gusts. When he quickened the motions, I watched enthralled as his eyes lost focus and his mouth opened. A long, stretched rumble accompanied the hot spurts of come that filled my channel.

  I reached for his face, pulled him nearer, then lifted my head to kiss him. “I’m soaked inside. Flooded,” I whispered.

  “Sorry,” he gritted out, still quivering in the aftermath.

  I rubbed my cheek against his sweaty one. “Hmmm. Thought that was the punishment.” I was teasing, because he never left me wanting.

  He rested his head on the pillow beside mine for a long moment until I made a wheezing sound.

  He moved back, reluctance in his grimace as he pulled free and let me lower my legs. Then his gaze sharpened. He reached for two pillows. “Lift your ass.”

  I shook my head. “That really will be too much,” I whispered. I knew, because his oral always blew my mind.

  But his gaze only narrowed, so I lifted my ass and let him shove two pillows beneath it. While he arranged my thighs just so, I cupped my breasts out of a need to comfort myself.

  Then he was there, his face between my legs, his mouth and tongue flicking, toggling, biting. But he never touched my clit. My nude outer lips were sucked until they swelled. My inner lips were mouthed and tugged until I felt the electricity arc all the way to my toes. All the while my clit hardened, the hood sliding slowly away, leaving the nubbin exposed to the cool air.
The lightest touch would set me off—but that was not his intention. And I didn’t dare give in to the urge to fly—not without his okay, because he took pride in stripping me down to a quivering, slobbering mess. Fucker.

  Not that I didn’t love every minute of his relentless torture. My belly was already shivering, my thighs jerking every time he surprised me with flick or flutter. When his thumb entered my ass, my shoulders rolled off the bed. “Chris!”

  That came out a little too high-pitched for my pride’s sake, but I had no control. My fingers clipped my nipples and jiggled my breasts—a distraction from the fact his fingers were finding their way inside my other hole, and he was fucking them in and out.

  At last, he raked a callused thumb across my naked clit, and I shouted.

  “Not yet,” he warned.

  My head thrashed, and I let go of my breasts to reach for his head. I sank my nails into his golden-brown hair and raked his scalp.

  Bulldog spit on my clit, then using his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed around the base, forcing it outward like a little penis. Then he wagged his flattened tongue across the tip.

  My hips jumped at the motions. Heat spread outward from my pussy, cramping my womb, causing my nipples to tingle.

  When he spit again, and then began to milk my clit, jerking it off with tiny, pinching rubs, I raised my legs into the air and let them fall open, toes pointed. I was unable to breathe, to speak. I reached out my arms and let them fall against the mattress, surrendering everything. The need centered on that tiny spot was so intense it was painful. So beautiful, I began to cry.

  And then he latched his lips around my clit and sucked, his fingers fucking my pussy and my ass.

  I sobbed.

  “Now, baby. Come now.”

  I breathed in then screamed, pleasure unraveling inside me. Waves of lush heat lapped over me. My breath returned in quivering inhalations, and I lay limp against the humid sheets.

  I realized Bulldog’s arms surrounded me, and I turned to nuzzle against his skin, exhausted but also triumphant. As though I’d climbed Everest and survived.

  Bulldog’s hand smoothed over my back and hip. His breathing was even. He was waiting for me to recover. For what? To talk? I doubted it. For our next round of sex? God, I wasn’t sure my heart could take it.