Authors: Robin Gideon
“Yes,” Garrett replied, his voice a thin, hoarse croaking
sound.
He watched as Pamela massaged his arm until it was relaxed then did the same for his other arm. He wondered if this was some bizarre, absurdly pleasurable form of torture. Never in his life had he felt less capable of satisfying a woman, nor more desirous of doing so.
“So, will you relax?” Pamela asked, leaning over him, one
hand on his naked chest, the other on his flat abdomen just
above his thrusting cock. Despite being ignored
for the past few minutes, his cock had lost none of its rigidity.
“I’ll try,” Garrett replied. “But that’s all I can promise.”
Pamela reached low, curling her fingers around his shaft once again. “I suppose I’m making it hard for you,” she said then smiled wickedly. “There’s a word for that, isn’t there? A double something-or-other.”
“Double entendre.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Garrett swallowed,
struggled to moisten his lips, and then finally whispered, “Quite so, I’m afraid.”
She kissed his chest, letting the tip of her tongue follow
a line from one nipple to the other, moving just above the tight bandage wrapped around his battered ribs. For only
an instant, Pamela squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she thought about the pain and fear Garrett must have known when the men attacked him, clubbing him to the ground and then brutally kicking him.
She moved lower on the bed again, sitting near his knees. His cock filled her hand with its strength, and as she
touched him, she felt an odd sense of power. Garrett, even
though battered and in pain, could not resist responding to her
feminine charms.
It didn’t matter to Pamela then that he had known many women,
most of them probably more skilled and certainly more experienced in the art of lovemak
ing than she. What did matter was that he was in her bed—
and was responding to her caresses despite his pain.
“You are such an exquisite man,” Pamela whispered, her
breath washing over the inflamed tip of his cock.
She kissed the plump crown of his cock, softly, quickly, tentatively. With
her right hand resting lightly upon his stomach, she felt him suck in his breath and unconsciously hold it. For a single instant, a myriad of conflicting emotions went
through her as she wondered whether she was doing some
thing wrong. She simply didn’t know, and there wasn’t anyone other than Garrett to ask, though putting such a question to him was completely out of the question.
She inhaled deeply. He smelled of fresh soap and clean
water, despite the faintly disquieting odor of the disinfec
tant she’d gently patted on the stitches over his eye.
She tasted his cock then, putting her tongue to him,
and again his body tightened up, all those finely honed
muscles in his legs, arms, and chest knotting with excite
ment. This time, however, the flinching was accompanied by a soft, rather strangled sigh of pleasure, and Pamela’s con
fidence was heightened.
In a playfully scientific manner, she went about calmly
experimenting with him to find out exactly what he en
joyed the most and what he didn’t care for as much, judging his satisfaction by how he breathed or held his breath, by how he held his body, tense or easy, and by the myriad
little reactions he displayed.
She discovered that rational, coherent thought and ob
servation were infinitely easier to sustain when one was
doing the pleasing. Memories of her own wild, incoherent
thrills when Garrett had kissed her pussy and sucked with such skill on her clit spurred her on.
A warm flush of excitement flooded through her as she recalled the spine-tingling excitement she’d known as the joyous recipient of Garrett’s exquisite skill, and this fu
eled her desire to satisfy Garrett more than he’d dreamed possible.
She took his cock into her mouth deeply, feeling his passion pulsing through him, taking delight in the way his flesh throbbed with tension.
Pamela looked up into Garrett’s face, and when her gaze met his, he looked away, closing his eyes.
After a moment of deliberation, Pamela leaned away from
him slightly. “Do you like to watch me?” she asked.
Garrett looked at her. His tongue went around his mouth to moisten lips now dry from his ragged breathing. “Yes,”
he admitted finally, his gaze darting from Pamela’s smoky green eyes down to the small hand, which continued to move over the length of his now-moist cock.
“I like it when you look at me,” she replied, her tone
more confident than her emotions. Actually, she’d felt scrutinized, but she wanted whatever Garrett wanted.
She leaned down to kiss him once more then sat up
right at the edge of the bed. In a calm, matter-of-fact fash
ion, with no haste at all, she began unbuttoning her shirt.
Once she’d stripped it off, she neatly folded it and placed it at the foot of the bed. Then, with calculated languor,
Pamela unfastened the ties of her chemise and stripped it off
to reveal her breasts, her nipples aroused and erect.
“I like it when you caress me with your eyes,” she explained in a whisper. “It makes me feel pretty, womanly.
Sometimes I don’t feel very womanly, I guess, because of the clothes I wear and the way I’m built. When you’re a tomboy, people don’t think of you as womanly.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how absurd those words sound in my ears. You not feminine? Lordy, woman, you’re turning me inside out
.”
Only his battered, broken body prevented him from tak
ing her in his arms and throwing himself upon her—and
she knew it. And that was why, with calculated calm, she
was taking her sweet time about everything she did. She had removed her shirt and chemise slowly to reveal the pink-tipped breasts, knowing how that always incited Garrett’s desire.
His voice a hoarse whisper, Garrett said, “You’re going to kill me.”
Pamela smiled at Garrett as she finished carefully folding
her chemise and placing it neatly upon the foot of the bed.
“No, my darling, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to
show you just exactly how alive you really are.” She took his arousal
in her hands again, loving the heated pulse of his
passion against her palms. “I’m going to teach you many
things,” she continued, her gaze locked with his as she leaned forward once more, her breasts firm and warm against his legs. “And for starters, I’m going to teach you that you must never underestimate me.”
The warm wetness that surrounded the crown of his erection forced Garrett to close his eyes.
“No, I want you to look at me,” Pamela said, her lips brushing against the crest of his cock. “I don’t want you thinking of some other woman while I pleasure you.”
“My darling, thinking of anyone else is impossible.”
“Just relax.”
No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how de
termined he was to at least break even in this bizarre battle
of wills with Pamela, he could not remain calm, could not
relax, could not, in fact, do anything but surrender himself to her—completely, passionately, irrevocably.
His climax was volcanic.
Chapter Twenty-One
Angie Darwell wanted to kill, and she very likely would have if her father hadn’t been in a similarly lethal frame of mind. Since the death of her mother, Angie had realized it was her job to make sure the elder Darwell’s deadly impulses were kept somewhat in check. She didn’t have to be told this, she simply understood it, so whenever her father was savagely angry, she forced herself to remain calm in order to put a damper on his foul temper.
“It can’t be as bad as all that,” she now said, leaning
against Jonathon Darwell’s heavy desk and looking down at
him as he sat in his enormous, leather-covered swivel chair.
“It damn sure is. The point isn’t that I can’t collect on
the money that’s owed to me. The amount’s small change,
any way you look at it.” He looked up at his beloved daughter, but he felt no compassion whatsoever. “The problem is that the people no longer fear
me. The Midnight Phantom broke into the Gen
eral Store and stole the debt ledger. It’s not the money I’m worried about, it’s that people now know I can be defied without their suffering for it.”
Jonathon balled his hand into a fist and raised it high
above his head, about to smash it into his desk. Angie moved
quickly, grabbing his fist with both of her hands.
“That’s enough, Papa,” she said
. A man out of control always
excited and touched something responsive within her.
“You can’t undo what has already been done, and hurting
your hand isn’t going to fix anything.”
Angie kissed her father’s hand then set it gently upon
his desk.
“You’re right, of course. You’re always right, Angie,” he
said quietly. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably break your fist.”
He laughed then because he knew she was right. Once
his anger had abated, he began rationally and calmly
dissecting the problems that had been plaguing him lately.
“Stealing the general store ledger was a slap in the
face, but in reality, it was nothing more than that. An insult, not really a threat.” Jonathon was speaking more to himself
than to his daughter.
“That’s absolutely right.”
Angie was pleased. Her father’s color and disposition had
at last returned to normal, and he sounded pleased with
her for calming his temper. She wanted him to owe her.
“And now that I’ve got Jedediah on the Phantom’s tail,
it’s only a matter of time before he’s hanging from the end
of a rope.”
“Any man Jedediah Bragg captures doesn’t hang from
the end of a rope, he just gets buried,” Angie said as she
crossed the room to pour herself a cup of coffee. “But
the Midnight Phantom isn’t the only problem we’ve got.”
“Oh?” Jonathon replied, unaware of how solidly Angie
was inserting herself into the situation.
“There’s also Richard,” she said. As she turned to her
father, she consciously schooled her expression to indicate that she didn’t like having
to tell the painful truth, but it simply had to be put out in
the open. “He’s been…I don’t exactly know how to say
this, and in fact it might be completely in my imagina
tion…but he’s been bothering me lately, Papa. Often.”
“If you didn’t run around in just your pretties, maybe
he wouldn’t bother you.”
“Would you say the same thing to Richard?” Angie asked.
There was no hesitation because she had this all
well re
hearsed
. “Of course you wouldn’t comment on what little he wears, not even when his robe is open and his belly is
hanging out.” She looked away as though terribly of
fended. “What you just said makes me feel I’m somehow
to blame.”
Angie went to the office window and looked out, pleased
with her performance thus far.
“It’s my house just as much as it is his,” she continued,
after a suitably theatrical pause. “I shouldn’t feel as
though…as though I need a lock on my bedroom door
just to keep my own brother out.” She turned eyes that begged for understanding to her father. “He even hired
some of the boys to beat up Garrett Randolph. He did this
because he knows I want to be with Garrett when he moves
into the governor’s mansion.”
Jonathon’s brows furrowed with confusion. “But
Richard’s known all along that you intend to marry Garrett.
Everyone in Whitetail Creek knows that.”
“Yes, Papa, that’s true. Only now it’s something more
than that, and you know it. Garrett’s a lock for mayor,
but that’s just a stepping stone.”
“What’s your point?”
She hadn’t an
ticipated that her father would question her reasoning. That worried her since she’d always believed she could exercise
more control over him than now appeared possible.
“You know how much money could be made by having
me inside the governor’s mans—”
“What’s your point, Angie? I’m the one who taught you
the profitability of family political connections,” Jonathon
said a bit testily.
“I think Richard wants me. Maybe he was trying to im
press me by having Garrett beaten—you know Garrett went
sniffing after that little whore, Pamela Bragg—or maybe he
had it done because he knows I want to be with Garrett,
and he’s jealous.”
“I don’t know…” Jonathon looked away from his daughter. “That
just doesn’t seem much like Richard. He’s not a bright man,
but he’s never really been attached to anyone or any
thing. Other than himself, that is.”
Icy fear stabbed through Angie. Her teasing and tormenting of Richard had produced his insistence that she follow
through with her veiled agreement, but she had al
ways assumed that her father would unquestioningly take
her side and then give Richard a stern talk or, even better,
kick him out of the mansion. She simply assumed he’d get sent to New York
or San Francisco or anyplace where he could drink beer and indulge himself with the prostitutes he so enjoyed. Either way, Angie hadn’t anticipated Jonathon questioning
the validity of what she claimed.
“Whatever you think is best, Papa,” she said meekly,
her heart racing. “I just thought you should know. You
know I tell you everything.”
She left the room before Jonathon could ask her any
more questions.
* * * *
Pamela was sitting on the porch, sipping a cup of coffee, leaning back and feeling good about life. In the days that had passed since Garrett had been
attacked, his recovery had been astonishingly swift and very soon would be nearly complete. Earlier in the day,
Doc Jamison had stopped by, and his professional assess
ment of Garrett’s recovery confirmed Pamela’s. The stitches over Garrett’s eye were removed, and it didn’t seem as though there would be much of a scar. Garrett’s own assessment was that there was no reason in the world for
him to stay in bed when there was so much for him to
do, but every time he’d tried to get up, Pamela pushed him
back into bed. When he still resisted, she reissued Paul’s
threat of putting him into Doc Jamison’s private clinic in Whitetail Creek until he completely recovered from his wounds.
Pamela knew Garrett wasn’t yet the man she’d known. Not
by any means, no matter what he said. His strength and
stamina hadn’t returned, though he was now getting up
for his meals and was walking around on occasion.
His appetite was nearly normal, though, after eating, he
was always tired.
Still, Pamela was comforted to see the twinkle of mischief return to his eyes, to have to dance out of his reach as she
passed by, to feel a naughty hand on her buns or brush
ing her breasts. He even teasingly promised that it would
never happen again—as he was reaching for her!
Once having learned she could satisfy his desires without forcing him to strain his already damaged body, Pamela
had become positively insatiable. Despite Garrett’s protests,
always variations of “I’m too weak to fight you,” she en
joyed her newfound sensual skills. And Garrett found them
delightful.
Out of the corner of her eye, Pamela saw movement. In the
distance, riding on horseback over the crest of the hill and
through the tree line was Angie Darwell.
Pamela’s anger flared at first. Angie was an outrageously determined woman, and this time, without carriage or
bodyguards, she seemed prepared for a fight. Pamela won
dered whether Angie’s change in mode of transportation
had to do with her suspicions concerning what kind of
woman Garrett found most beguiling.
As Angie approached, the long, white plume in her small
hat became visible. Pamela smiled. How fitting for a preening
peahen to have a feather in her cap. But then, how ridicu
lous she looked in her gray wool jacket, frilly white
blouse, and matching oversized skirt, made especially vo
luminous to accommodate riding a horse.
Pamela rose to her feet. This kind of confrontation would
be met standing.
“I see you’ve come alone this time,” she called out as
Angie reined in her gelding, stopping aggressively close so
that dust swirled around the porch and Pamela.
“I’ve come to talk to Garrett,” Angie stated sharply. The
implication was clear—she did not wish to speak with Pamela.
“He’s sleeping.” Pamela’s pulse quickened, but she ignored
that. For some reason, Angie didn’t seem quite the threat she had earlier. “Come back another time.”
Angie Darwell scowled at her, dismounting despite Pamela’s
instructions.
“You’ve had your fun,” Angie said, standing very close.
Her posture indicated she was secure in her superior breeding and in her abil
ity to intimidate. “It’s time for Garrett to get back to his own
kind.”
A smile crooked Pamela’s lips.
“
His own kind
?”
She
enunciated each word with disdain
. “Let me guess, you’re included in that select
group, but I’m not.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “Look, you know society just as well as I do. Frankly, I don’t resent Garrett for step
ping out of his own circle for a while. I understand that men like him need to, um, experiment. It’s in their blood,
and women of my class simply have to accept and under
stand that.”