Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WayWard Wind (3 page)

They stared deeply into one another's eyes and when the hand between their bodies moved, he saw her gaze waver, her eyelids flicker. He knew in that moment she was surrendering to him.

"I'm a virgin," she told him.

He nodded for he had suspected as much. It was part of the reason he'd chosen to exact his revenge on Dalton in this way. "Then its well past the time you weren't," he said in a throaty voice.

She made no comment to his brazen words. Instead she swept her tongue across her lips once more and Harper felt his shaft harden painfully. Freeing his cock finally, he swept it down the folds of her sex, allowing her to feel the moistness that clung to the aching tip. She drew in a shuddering breath but no longer fought him. He could see the hollow at the base of her throat throbbing wildly and could not stop himself from placing a kiss there.

"Oh," she whispered.

He released her wrists and she lay there for a moment with her arms still crossed over her head, but then she hesitantly lifted her hand toward him. Though he shied away slightly from the contact, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Please don't hurt me," she asked, holding his gaze.

His attention went to her lips and before he knew what he was doing, he had lowered his head to claim her mouth. He nibbled on her lower lip until she opened for him then he thrust his tongue gently inside as she tightened her grip on his hair. He felt the hesitant flick of her tongue against his--testing, experimenting--and then he pressed deeper into her mouth. He tasted her and lost himself in the sweet honey of her mouth.

Her arms curled around his shoulders as her fingers slid through his hair. It was a sensuous feeling that had him staring down into her soft green eyes. When she tentatively smiled at him, he answered that smile with a gentle one of his own.

"You're not such an ogre after all," she said and swept her gaze over his handsome face.

"Aye, but I am," he said and though he tried not to, he brought pain to her when he eased his cock inside her tight sheath. He filled her, stretched her slowly, but when he broke through the fragile membrane, she gasped and tears filled her eyes.

Peyton tensed against him, her fingers tugging at his hair. "You hurt me," she accused.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say and it was the first time in years he had apologized to anyone. "It couldn't be helped, wench, but it won't ever hurt again."

She wasn't so sure for his member was so large inside her it felt as though he were ripping her apart. It was uncomfortable, but just beneath that layer of discomfort was something that made her wanted to squirm beneath him, to push against the invading hardness that filled her. Her womb clenched as he slid his hands beneath her rump and lifted her up for a deeper penetration and there was burgeoning pleasure beginning to build. Her eyes grew round as her body grew accustomed to his shaft, seemingly drawing it deeper yet into her.

Slowly and as gently as he could he began to move inside her until he felt her body reacting to the depth and rhythm of his thrusts. He was pushing them firmly toward that wondrous place where bliss and lust and desire dwelt. The aching in his groin was intensifying and her juices were flowing as he pumped faster into her sleek warmth.

"Put your legs around me," he said.

Peyton obeyed him, bringing her legs over his.

"Damn it, no, wench," he said, his shaft working like a piston inside her. "Around my hips! Drape your legs around my fucking hips!"

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, hooking her ankles together to keep her feet from sliding off his hard rump. The action brought him farther into her and began to elicit a sensation that was so pleasurable, so exciting, her fingers dropped from his hair to his shoulders as her fingernails dug into the muscles there.

"Oh--" she gasped. "Oh--oh, what
is
your name?"

"Sloan," he hissed as he felt the walls of her vagina suddenly grip him with such force he lost his breath. The staccato pulses rippled along his shaft to cause him to pump faster, harder, his knees being ravaged by rocks beneath the coarse blanket.

"Oh!"
Peyton suddenly cried out. She had not been prepared for what happened to her in that moment. The tremors inside her, the tight little squeezes that clutched at his member stunned her and as the intensity of the release shot through her, her fingernails drew blood from his flesh.

He heard her scream his name, felt her muscles strongly milking him and he spilled into her as thickly as a randy teenager. Though he'd had a couple of women after his escape from prison, neither of them had given him the pleasure this one had and when the last of his cum pulsed from his cock, he collapsed atop her, panting, sweat running down his flushed face, his heart thudding dangerously fast and hard in his chest.

"My Lord," she said and as he lay there with his cheek against her shoulder, he could feel her heart thundering. She had yet to unhook her legs from around him and her arms still cradled him tightly.

He grunted and pushed up from her, wriggling his hips to get her to release her hold on him. When she did, he rolled off her to lie beside her, still dragging harsh breaths into his lungs. Flinging an arm over his eyes he lay there listening to the rumbling thunder and pouring rain, the shrieks of lightning and tried hard to get his racing heart under control.

"Is it always like that?" she asked him and he could feel her looking at him.

"I don't know about how it is with a woman's first time but my first--and my last--one wasn't even close to being like that," he said.

"It was as enjoyable for you as it was for me, then?" she asked.

He lowered his arm and turned his face toward her, his brow furrowed. "What do you think, wench? I'm lying here dying and you ask if I enjoyed it?"

She flounced her skirts down and sat up, wincing a bit. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said.

Harper just stared at her. "Hurt me?" he echoed then snorted with disdain. "Woman, you didn't hurt me!"

She was squirming on the blanket. "No, but you hurt me. Am I bleeding?" she asked. "Something is all gushy between my legs."

He sighed. "That would be my cum, wench," he said. "Aye, you'll be bleeding a bit but nothing of any significance. I broke your maidenhead not your cunt."

She looked up. "My what?"

"Your pussy." At her confused look, he drew in a long breath then exhaled slowly. "Your vagina."

"Oh," she said then blushed hotly. "What is cum?"

Some hateful part of him made him sit up, thrust his hand under her skirt and between her legs. Though she gasped with outrage and batted his hand away, trying to evacuate him from under her clothing. When he brought his hand out from under the skirt, he held it out to her, his fingers slick, a slight tinge of pink mixed in with his juices.

"That is cum," he growled. "It's what comes out of my cock when I squirt inside your cunt. It's semen, wench."

Peyton looked down at his hand. "That's what makes babies. Sort of like bull semen makes calves."

"Aye, it's what makes babies but it's man semen," he said and realized her gaze had fallen to his pants where his limp cock lay crooked in exhaustion outside his fly. He cursed then reached down to stuff himself back into his jeans, tugging the zipper up with more force than necessary to hide himself from her avid view. "Will you stop looking at me?"

Her breasts were bare because he had ripped her bodice and chemise open. She thought it only fair that she see him if he was going to ogle her--which he was doing as she tugged at her torn clothing.

"Oh, hell," he said and began unbuttoning his shirt. He stripped it off and threw it at her. "Put it on."

Thrusting her arms through the sleeves that hung a good two inches past her fingertips, she was buttoning the front of the shirt when he got up from the blanket and stomped over to his saddlebags. She gave him a cursory look, glanced down, then her head shot back up as she stared at his bare back.

"Whatever in the world happened to your back?" she gasped.

He was rummaging for his only other shirt—soiled and wrinkled and smelling to high heaven—so he didn't look around at her. "Numerous run-ins with a cat," he answered dryly.

"A cat did that to your back?" she asked, tracing the wicked marks crisscrossing his flesh. "What kind of cat? Was it a tiger or a ...?"

"A cat-'o-nine tails, wench," he said with exasperation as he pulled on the dirty shirt, grimacing at the feel of it against his skin as he rolled up the sleeves. "A whip."

Her face took on a strained expression. "Someone whipped you, Sloan?"

"Aye," he barked. "They do that to convicts who don't tow their fucking line."

"Convict," she repeated. "You were in prison?"

"Five really terrific years," he answered. "Something else I have your father to thank for."

"What did you do?"

"Not a damned thing," he replied through grinding teeth.

"They don't put innocent men in prison," she said and when he lifted his head and gave her a hateful glare, she lifted her chin. "Well, they don't."

"And I suppose you still believe in fairies and trolls, eh, wench?" he questioned with a sneer. "Must be nice to be so damned sure the world is just the way you view it. Your father teach you that?"

His anger made her blink and she didn't know how to answer. She watched him snatch up the canteen and take a long drink of water, spilling some down his chin as he drank. He hadn't buttoned the shirt and the water dripped down his broad chest, spiking in the dark hairs nestled there. She couldn't seem to take her eyes from that particular sight until his voice made her jump.

"Stop looking at me!" he yelled.

For the life of her she couldn't imagine why he didn't like her looking at him. Where else was she to look?

Almost as though his anger had caused it, the rain increased in volume and sound. The fire sputtered as wind came howling through the entrance. In the distant was a low, rumbling sound like that of a freight train.

"I don't like the sound of that," he said and went to the entrance, trying to see out past the sheer curtain of rain.

The sky was black from horizon to horizon although it couldn't be much past four in the afternoon. With the increase in lightning forking through the heavens and the sudden onslaught of hail dropping to the ground, he was fairly sure a tornado was in the vicinity. As rain blew against him, he moved back into the cave, listening to the low roar coming toward them.

"That's not good," Peyton said.

"Get up and move farther back into the cave," he told her, bending down to pick up his blanket. He took up his horse's reins and followed Peyton, putting distance between them and the entrance. He barely noticed her stepping out of her torn drawers and kicking them aside.

Beneath them, the earth shook and a few scrabbles of rocks tumbled down the cave walls. The fire was blown out by an abrupt gust of wind barreling from the entrance, plunging them into near darkness. The roaring sound was right over them now and the horse began to whinny and sidestep in an effort to break free. It was all Harper could do to hold on to it as he crowded Peyton against the wall, shielding her with his body as debris came swirling through the entrance.

Something hard hit him on his right thigh and he cried out, but he continued to block Peyton while sand swirled around them. He used his free hand to cup the back of her neck, pulling her face against his shirt to protect her as he turned his head away in order to breathe. The pressure inside the cave was fierce and when it suddenly dissipated, his ears popped uncomfortably.

"Is it over?" he heard her mutter.

"I think so, wench." He had her tight against the cave wall, his body pressed into hers, his hand still on her neck so that when she lifted her head and looked up at him in the darkness he could feel her gaze on him. "You're looking at me, again," he complained.

"I can't see you," she said, "but I can sure smell you."

He could smell himself and it bothered him. After all the years he'd spent not being allowed but one bath a week--and sometimes not even that often--he had sworn he'd never be or feel or smell dirty again.

"I can smell you, too," he said in a husky voice, but it was a scent that was doing unbelievable things to his lower body that he shouldn't allow at that moment. He released her and stepped back, putting distance between them.

Peyton shrugged as he moved toward the entrance where light was once more glowing. "If you smell me, it's just your stink on me," she said with a sniff and followed him to where the rain was now a gentle cascade.

Harper smiled at her remark and was very aware of her there behind him. He almost wished she'd put a hand on his back.

"Are we going to ride out, do you think?" she asked.

"If it stops raining," he said. "I've no desire to ride around in a wet, smelly shirt."

"Makes sense to me," she said and went to the fire to see if it could be fanned into life again.

"Glad you approve," he mumbled as he joined at the fire pit and set about re-lighting the fire.

"You know that wasn't nice what you did," she said and when he looked over at her, she cocked a shoulder. "Raping me. That wasn't nice."

"Nice?" he repeated. "No, I guess it damned sure wasn't."

"I said no but you didn't listen," she reminded him. "Gentlemen are supposed to ...."

"I'm not a gentleman," he snapped. "I thought we covered that before."

"Yes, but rape ...."

Harper frowned. "Well, it wasn't exactly rape, wench. After a bit, you weren't putting up much of a struggle."

She thought about that for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together. "No, I suppose technically speaking it wasn't." She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "I
was
curious and as you said, it was time I ceased being untried. I am, after all, a grown woman." She gave him a steady look. "And I found I enjoyed what you did there at the last."

He snorted at that comment, moving back as the flames finally took a good hold on the kindling. He sat down with his ankles crossed, knees drawn up and spread apart within the scope of his arms.