"Stop it. I'm not ready for this,” she gasped, regaining some of her spirit. He grabbed one shoe and started work on the second. She clutched a wad of his hair and pulled.
"Quit that,” he smacked her bottom, feeling the silken skin under the rough calluses on his palm. When she twisted to kick him, he caught her foot, pulled off the second shoe, and then her bloomers.
"You surely do have long legs.” He stared at the alabaster flesh stretching from her toes to where her legs split into a delicious vee at the apex of her thighs.
Bent over like a man shoeing a horse, he began working his way back up her leg, nuzzling her dimpled knee, kissing the inside of her thigh, brushing his lips across her lower curls, inhaling her scent. All the time, his movements were accompanied by her squeaks of shocked distress.
He didn't have it in him to be mad about the hair pulling when he stood upright. She looked like a wild woman, ready to go toe-to-toe, bare-knuckle brawling with him.
"I am not ready for you to begin,” her face was flushed and her hair had fallen loose from the sedate bun she had worn earlier. What had once appeared brown in color when skinned back the way it had been was now revealed to be strands covered with a dark oily mixture that didn't match her lower curls at all.
"Too late, we already started,” he growled wondering why he'd thought her plain. Her delicate skin had a rosy hue, and her breasts were plump fruit ready to be enjoyed. Each nipple was surrounded by a brown aureole from which the nub thrust jauntily at him in response to his touch. His mouth watered as he looked at them.
"Get in the tub,” he told her gruffly.
"You cannot tell me what to do.” And then ludicrously, she crossed her arms and stared defiantly up at him, challenging his right to order her into the tub.
"I can and I just did. You told me you'd do anything to get your friends back. Well, this is what it's costing you."
It was his turn to cross his arms and stare at her. He looked at the creamy white flesh, and the softness of a woman's body. His cock bobbled, pointing at her strongly.
I want that, I want that, I want that ...
His voice was a guttural growl when he answered.
"You've taken up my time and already owe me. You can either take a bath with me or bend over the nearest bale of straw right now while I settle our account."
She glared, but he ignored her hostility, focusing instead on the flush that warmed her skin. “Until I say otherwise, you'll follow my directions. Now get in the tub."
He concluded that he might have to wrestle her into the water and stepped closer, dropping his hand to her nipple, thumbing it to attention. He palmed the plump melon and squeezed, “Looks to me like you're ready for me, Naomi."
"What are you doing?” she gasped, displaying real horror as her nipples reached for him. For a minute he thought she might run bare naked from the barn, screaming like a banshee.
He timed the moment her glance dropped lower and she remembered that her full glory was exposed to him. “Ohhh...” she moaned and covered the pale silken curls with one hand, wrapping her other arm across her breasts as she backed away from him.
"Better be care—” his warning was too late. He caught a glimpse of creamy pink flesh between splayed thighs as she lost her balance and fell backwards into the half-filled horse trough. Not one to miss an opportunity, he climbed in behind her and pulled her, sputtering, to the surface.
"Like I said, the tub's plenty big enough for both of us. Now settle back down and enjoy yourself. I'm sure going to.” He surrounded her slim hips with his thighs and rubbed his cock against her back while cupping her breasts in his hands.
She was breathing in small pants, her ribs moving against the edge of his palm. He pulled her head back and fit it against his chest.
Chapter Five
It wasn't the way Naomi had thought it would happen. She had already been with this man through the dusk into darkness. It was time they needed for traveling.
But the bounty hunter seemed intent on coupling with her before they set out on the trail of the Comancheros. There was no getting his attention. He was like Pa Lancaster's terrier after a rat—only this time she was the rat, and it appeared he might be going to devour her. She tried to reason with him.
"Mr. Wolf, we need to get on the trail of the men who kidnapped my students. Surely we could conduct this part of our transaction after we have completed the rescue."
It was a difficult proposition to sell since as she spoke, he ignored her suggestions, exploring the valleys and hills of her body. His fingers ran willy-nilly up her ribs, seeming to count them, possibly to make certain she was real.
For a man who had
needs
, he was certainly taking his time. And now she was held captive between his thighs, and unless she turned around and risked bumping that waving protrusion of his, she couldn't see his eyes.
She needed to be able to read his eyes; the rest of him was just a blank slate, but she knew his thoughts when she looked into his eyes.
But it wasn't to be. He held her, her back to his chest, and controlled her body in spite of her will to resist.
Her clearly developed plans were delivered as moaned suggestions suborned to his will. While she marshaled her arguments, he explored her body, top to bottom.
When he slid his hands between her thighs, she stiffened her legs and made her back rigid. Still, he gave her a reprieve from his lower exploration to press his thumbs against her nipples. She expelled her breath in a loud, thankful breath, only to gasp in shock. Not finished with her nipples, he rotated them, before pinching each nub between finger and thumb.
She had never felt anything like that in her life. Even in moments of her own self-explorations her breasts had remained—well—breasts. They had become something else entirely, cradled in his hands. They ached, itched, tingled—they seemed to have a life of their own, demanding that she turn and rub them against his skin.
Unable to stop, she arched her back, shoving her flesh against his roughly callused palms. “Ahhh,” the groan of pleasure escaped her lips before she could suppress it.
Heat flared in her belly. He cupped her flesh in his large hands and whispered in her ear, “Pretty.” He lifted each one and squeezed the plump mounds intimately. “I want to taste these."
Taste—God yes, I want him to taste them.
Struggling to control her responses didn't help, because he was everywhere. She backed away from the merciless hands cupping her breasts, but her thighs and rump bumped and ground against his male length. The tactile assault confused her.
He nibbled and bit at her ear, her neck, her shoulder, under her jaw. All the time he murmured, sometimes in words she understood, sometimes in a language foreign to her. She had no time to protest or refuse, swept along on the tide of his passion.
And the feelings that he stirred in her had never been roused before. She didn't know the correct behavior. Her woman's book of etiquette and decorous behavior had never discussed
this
. Cooking plentiful meals, sewing ruffled curtains, pouring afternoon tea ... but not the feel of a man's hands on breasts, as his mouth sucked hard on the crease between neck and shoulder.
She was certain that no mention had ever been made of the frustrated feelings, almost anger, that swamped her and made her fierce. She wrenched free and turned violently on his lap, “You will listen to me now,” she exhorted him fiercely, straddling him, her knees bent on either side of his narrow hips, her breasts heaving her protests and outrage. But words would not come.
"Thank you,” he closed his lips around the pointing nub of her nipple, milking it erotically, teeth scoring the swollen button before sucking it into his mouth, cheeks concave from the pull.
"Oh, my God, now what are you doing to me?” Her words spilled out as a moan instead of a protest. He didn't stop what he was doing, and instead, put his hand back on her other breast, teasing that nipple in time to the pull of his lips. Naomi clutched his shoulders, holding onto him, back arched into the pleasure he gave.
The solid erection she'd touched before was stiffly reaching for her and determinedly nudging against her cleft. He dropped his hand to her hip, and she knew it hadn't been accidental.
Charlie Wolf held her, but this time his shaft prodded her until her nether lips parted and he rubbed against her tender folds. Startled out of her sexual haze, she froze.
"Let's see what happens when we do this,” he murmured. Her eyes followed the trail of his hand as he slid it down her ribs until it rested on her stomach.
With his other hand, he rubbed his shaft against the slick flesh inside her folds, sliding it against the sensitive nub at her apex. She jerked, feeling as though a flash of fire had jolted through her. He seemed pleased at her uncontrolled response and grinned, “Like that, do you?"
She was fascinated by the smile on his face. He looked nothing like the stern bounty hunter who had ridden into town leading a string of dead men. He continued brushing back and forth across the spot that tingled, until she pushed back, needing more.
"That's it,” he directed her. “Give yourself to me. Let me in."
Let him in? This is going to be a “he's too big, won't fit, this is going to be a disaster” in.
Naomi stared into his eyes. Deliberately, holding her gaze, he pressed his hand on her stomach, moving the other to her hip.
"Nowww,” he growled at her, pressing downward at the same time he thrust his hips upward. She felt the tip of his engorged flesh breach the opening to her body and
in
took on a whole new meaning.
He used his chin to scrape aside the wet hair from her shoulder. She was embarrassed at the way its pomade-covered-length lay in limp clumps. He didn't seem to notice, nibbling on the bend in her neck. She was wrong; he did notice. “What the hell do you have on your hair?"
His tone was insulting, and even in this moment, poised above his shaft, ready to change her destiny, Naomi had to have the last word. “Does it really matter right now?” He snorted, derisively, she felt, and her already sunburned cheeks burned hotter. She crouched helplessly, aware of his flesh intimately touching hers, her body's heated response telegraphing her desire.
She shivered when whiskers along his jaw brushed the tender flesh on her neck. She was focusing on that when he moved the hand on her stomach lower, petting her nether curls before sliding his fingers between her legs, brushing that bit of flesh that was so sensitive.
They needed to talk; she had his attention, now she needed to remember what they were talking about.
Oh, yes, her hair.
"My hair is curly, wild, unless I pomade it.” He looked up from the nipple he was biting and frowned at her.
"No more,” he grunted and then went back to scraping his teeth across the end so erotically that she melted and squirmed on the flesh invading her core. She panted, clinging to his shoulders, trying to gather her thoughts at the same time she stopped her descent onto his shaft. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs against him.
"No, ma'am,” he said sternly, lips and teeth removed from her breast, where he had been giving her so much to think about. “You'll not keep me out of this sweet honey. This belongs to me tonight. Open for me, Naomi."
She obeyed, closing her eyes as she let her legs fall apart, stiffly enduring as his fingers touched and pressed intimately, learning the shape and size of her parts. His manroot throbbed against her flesh, and she wondered how she would ever be able to take it inside of her when just the tip burned and stretched her opening.
He probed gently, pressing her downward so that his shaft pushed inside of her entrance. He was breathing heavily and rasped into her ear, “Shoot, teacher, you're not even broken to ride."
She struggled to reply, “I would prefer not being compared to a horse,
if
you don't mind.” But the words that she'd meant to be caustic came out as a weak whimper.
She felt his chest vibrate against her and knew without looking that she'd made him laugh. He kept his hand pressed against her belly, holding her still when he pushed his finger harder against the nubbin he stroked. Her almost relaxed muscles clenched around his flesh as he inched deeper inside of her.
Trying to expel the foreign intruder, her body strained away from his touch. “You're too big,” she protested. But it didn't matter; he was inside of her, and she still straddled his thighs, his rigid pole connecting the two bodies.
Abruptly he reached for the soap. His voice was harsh when he handed her the bar. “My back needs to be scrubbed. Reach across my shoulders and get at it."
His rough order offended her, and she meant to use that as an excuse to climb out. Instead, he drew her toward him until his turgid member slid higher inside of her. “Stop that,” she ordered him and twisted, trying to disconnect their bodies and scramble out of the tub of water.
Gravity and the slippery trough conspired to aid him in breaching her flesh. She slipped and fell down on his shaft, impaling herself fully. His groan of pleasure accompanied her shocked gasp.
She cried out and clutched his shoulders, leaning against his strength for solace from the pain he'd given her. Her face pressed against his chest, hiding from his gaze.
He rubbed the white suds across her shoulders and down her back, easing her closer, fitting himself deeper.
"Why is this purported to be such a grand thing?” she asked petulantly before she could stifle her words. She'd made him laugh again, and his chest moved under her cheek. He kept stroking her back, patting her like she was a child. Well, she wasn't a child any longer.
That last thread of innocence that had tied her to her childhood had just been severed—in a tub of water with a savage. She drew in a deep breath and pushed upward, levering away, she felt the scrape of his flesh internally as she began to withdraw.
"Whoa, there, teacher.” He grabbed for her hips, his soapy hands sliding on her wet skin before he brought her back down, filling her with his cock again. “We're not done yet."