Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 (16 page)

She rewarded that sound with another cutting blow on his other cheek. Sharp enough he fisted his hands in the sheets. He gritted his teeth, trying to control the sounds. He didn’t want to scare her off. He wasn’t
hurt
hurt. Not at all. But something about her whipping him made him want to simply throw his head back and groan with the sheer agonizing bliss of it all. Not from the pain, not exactly. But because she was finally embracing what she was with him.

She moved from one cheek to another, a steady, methodical rhythm and path, over the swell of each cheek, down the bottom of his ass, careful not to strike his balls. Not yet at least. Down his hamstrings. He was sweating now, his muscles tensing up, fighting the urge to quiver and jump at every little blow. Too much flinching and she’d stop. She’d be afraid of hurting him too much.

“Your body isn’t talking to me, Jeb.” The next blow almost lifted him up off the mattress. She must have changed her grip, the angle, something, because the crop caught him right under the ass cheek and went up toward the ceiling. He actually…yelped. That sounded better than whimpered. “Is that a yes, or a no?”

She popped his other cheek and he made the sound again. He couldn’t help it.

“That’s better.” She chuckled, pausing to rub her palm down his back. “Good, you’re sweating now. Are you having to work to stay put? Because next time I can tie you down if that helps.”

He shuddered, unable to control his reaction.

“I take that as yes. Good. Tyrell wasn’t ever much into bondage. He just wanted me to whip him. But I think it might be interesting to see how many ways I can make you helpless.”

He pressed his face against the mattress but she still heard the guttural sound that escaped.

She came close enough to lean against him, letting him feel the heat of her body against his thigh and flank. To know she was so close… He couldn’t help but start to reach for her.

The sharp crack of the crop on the tender skin just above the backs of his knees told him to stay put. “Are you starting to figure it out yet, Jeb? Do you finally understand why I delayed this as long as possible?” She leaned down over him, pressing her breasts against his back. “I’m going to hurt you. Really hurt you. And you’re going to let me do it. You’re going to groan, curse, and yeah, you might even cry. But I won’t stop for the simple reason that I fucking
like
to hear you scream. Is that really what you want me to do? Because you can tell me red right now and this little scene is over.”

“No,” he gasped out. “Don’t stop.”

“Then don’t hold back on me. If it hurts, I need to know. I want to know. It’s not going to make me stop. I’m only going to beat you harder.”

Poised against him, she waited to see if he’d bail. She’d given him some pretty hard whacks so far, and if he wasn’t used to punishment, if he wasn’t into pain…

He let out a growling groan and twisted his hands deeper into the bedding. “Then do it. Beat me harder. Do it!”

The words tore out of him, his tone rising, echoing with intent and command. Nothing got him more riled up than when she was hurt…
Or when I need something that he can give.

She pushed up off him and brought the crop down in the hardest blow yet. The snap of hard leather itself made him flinch as much as the pain in his flesh, and he didn’t try to hold back the groan this time. His entire body shook with the force of it, his chest rumbling deep and vicious, his hands scrambling in the sheet like he was determined to tear his way down to the coils inside the mattress itself.

Keeping the angle aimed upward as if she were trying to hit a ball out of the stadium, she gave him another blow. Another. God, the sounds he made. He growled and cursed as she’d threatened, twisting his entire body beneath her blows, but he didn’t give his safe word. Such a big, strong gorgeous man. He could have pushed up off that mattress and jerked the crop from her as easily as taking candy from a baby, but he endured. Simply because she told him to. And it wasn’t just pain for him. He humped the pillows, his buttocks flexing and driving his hips like he was going to plow his way to China.

Plow
me
to China.
She bit her lip hard, trying to keep her desire in check, but she was so wet she could feel her thighs slipping against each other.

She wanted him like this, reckless, driven mad by pain and desire until he rammed into her completely out of control.

So close. She managed another blow, another, watching the way his big body gathered, coiling, higher toward explosion.

“Ginny!” He roared, pushing his upper body up off the bed though he didn’t completely abandon his position. “If I don’t get in you soon, I’m going to die.”

“Then get in me.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He rolled off the stacked pillows, seized her around the waist, and fell back on the bed with her on top of him.

“You,” she panted. “On top.”

He rolled her flat, hauling her up higher in the bed. But despite the urgency of his words, he slowed down as soon as he started to enter her. Still mindful of his size, even after receiving arguably the hardest whipping of his life, he still fought his own need in order to take care of her.

Ready for him to start thinking like a gentleman again, she brought the crop down across his back. It wasn’t a good blow from underneath him, but the tip snapped on his swollen ass, reminding him of exactly how hot and sore he was. “Fuck me hard, Jeb. As hard as you can shove that big, glorious dick into me. If you want me to come, you’re going to have to work for it. Slam that cock into me as hard as I just whipped you.”

He planted his hands on either side of her head and pushed deeper, working his hips so hard he pushed her across the mattress. She hit him again, urging him onward, forcing him to abandon all niceties and politeness until not a shred of civility remained. His face twisted with lust, dark and hard as he slammed into her. His shoulders and neck corded with strain. With every thrust, he let out a deep, growling grunt, louder, driving her mad. She clawed his back and buried her teeth in his shoulder while his muscles bunched and drove him into her.

Her body shattered. Release scattered everything in her head, exploding like a glass dropped from a twenty-story building.

It took her awhile to realize there was someone—actually a lot of someones by the noise—cheering outside their door.

“Victorious! Victorious!”

Jeb groaned. Spread out on top of her, he tried to lift his head but evidently didn’t have the strength. “Stupid name. Why’d I ever name her that?”

She wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the way his bristling goatee and mustache stabbed into her throat. “Because she always gets her man.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Lady Always Gets Her Man
by Chris Waters

Waking up bound hand and foot should have been an enjoyable experience.
Had
been quite the unforgettable experience in Denver, in fact, and something Ransom had vowed to willingly submit to as soon as he caught up with Victorious again.

He tried to turn his head but his skull felt like a fragile cracked eggshell. Nausea churned his stomach and he had to concentrate hard not to throw up.

Self-preservation told him to lie as still and quiet as possible until he figured out what was happening. He heard the low murmur of a voice, not close by and not clear enough for him to recognize who spoke, but it was a woman. Not Victorious, he thought, but he couldn’t place it. A man had hit him. He had to assume someone had also taken out the sheriff too or he wouldn’t be here. Unless the sheriff was in on it too and had completely played him.

I don’t think so. The jealousy was real. The interest in learning more about what I knew about his lady. If I’m here, Brazen must be too.

So Victorious was on her own in whatever hand she was trying to deal.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The woman spoke louder, coming closer. Ransom’s heartbeat accelerated but he held himself completely still. The woman went past him and he fought not to breathe any quicker or deeper for fear of betraying himself. “You’ve sure complicated things, Sheriff. I had no intention of bringing you in so quickly.”

“Ma’am.” Brazen’s voice sounded funny, like his tongue and lips were too swollen to work correctly. Damn, the man must have put up quite a good fight.
Better than I managed.

“Miss Raynes assured me she could keep you reined in,” the woman continued. “Evidently she underestimated your curiosity. Or perhaps it’s your fault, Mr. Savage.”

Ransom didn’t move, blink or breathe, even when the woman trailed a finger over his back. Until that moment, he didn’t realize he was naked. Now he felt the breeze on his back and genitals. He was bent over some kind of rough wood with a rounded surface. A barrel, he guessed. Goose bumps broke out across his skin and he couldn’t suppress the shudder, even though it betrayed him. Naked, vulnerable, bound. Usually that was the stuff of his most erotic fantasies.

But not with any woman other than Victorious. Was the sheriff stripped similarly? That didn’t make him feel better.

“She seemed to have things well in hand until you rode into town.” The woman must have been smiling, because her tone changed to sly amusement. “Though maybe I made a miscalculation in believing her claim to fame.”

“I never claimed any fame, Mrs. Townsend.” Victorious didn’t sound appalled or upset to find two men with whom she had intimate carnal knowledge beaten and tied up. “I simply gave you my name.”

“Victorious Raynes, Mistress of Pain.” Mrs. Townsend didn’t raise her voice, but she dug her nails into Ransom’s shoulder, as if the very title offended her. “Infamous Lady of the Night at the Red Door Saloon in Omaha.”

Ransom wanted to wince at all her dirty laundry getting hauled out in front of her fiancé. Had she told the sheriff of her past? Sure, he might have known she had a criminal record, but did he know the rest? If she truly loved the man and had hoped to build a life here…

This bitch was tearing it all down brick by brick.

“Among other places,” Victorious replied, as casually as if the woman had asked her if she wanted another cup of tea. “I don’t usually claim those years at the Red Door, but that was the best way to gain your attention.”

“And here we are, my attention wholly focused on you.” Mrs. Townsend released his shoulder and he couldn’t help but suck in a deep breath, relieved she’d ceased touching him. “Two willing slaves bound and ready for your attention. Show me how you gained the title of Mistress of Pain.”

Victorious laughed. “That’s your test? That’s how you want me to prove my willingness and trustworthiness to join your empire?”

Ransom hoped his mouth wasn’t hanging open with shock, but he was dreadfully afraid he gaped like a fool. Mrs. Townsend, the mayor’s wife, wasn’t just a lackey…but the Specter? A woman?

“I don’t doubt your willingness to pocket some extra gold,” Mrs. Townsend replied. “But the people I trust into my most intimate circle are very few indeed. They say you were the Mistress of Pain, so I brought along a variety of implements for your consideration. Impress me, Miss Raynes, and then we’ll talk business. But first, I must know. How did you come to suspect me?”

Ransom turned his head, even though his skull throbbed, so he could see Victorious. Maybe he could catch her eye and figure out her plan. She had to have a plan.

She stood just feet away, still dressed in her prim and proper frock. He had no idea where they were. Some kind of storage room, since crates and barrels were stacked to the ceiling. Shelves lined the wall behind her. A high bench against the wall had several items laid out on it, evidently Mrs. Townsend’s “implements”. Lots of metal, heavy chain, leather.

God, it made him shudder with anticipation.

Victorious turned to face him with a crop in her hand.

His heart lurched. The ground fell away when she looked at him. It didn’t matter that he was trapped and helpless in the clutches of the infamous Specter. Not as long as Victorious was here.

Even more, she chose him. When her fiancé was similarly trapped and bound, she came to her old lover instead.

“The Specter always disappears as soon as anyone gets too close. That told me it had to be someone smart but also well placed in the community. Someone no one would ever suspect. I started down by the border and visited everywhere the Specter had been rumored to inhabit and just listened to gossip. If you listened hard and long enough, you soon heard about the beautiful golden-haired angel that swept into town, stole someone’s heart, and then broke it when she left for no apparent reason. Typically someone high in the community. Bankers. The only attorney. And yes, mayors. Then, lo and behold, I found out the mayor of Halltown had just taken a brand new pretty wife and I decided to stay and make your acquaintance.”

“That’s it? Petty gossip is how you found me?” Mrs. Townsend laughed, shaking her head. “Though how did you know to approach me as the infamous Mistress of Pain?”

Victorious twirled the crop in her hand casually. “It’s amazing how many dead were left behind in the golden-haired angel’s wake. From all the marks and bruises on the bodies, she must have had a very good time indeed.”

“I must admit surprise at such a clever and supposedly sadistic woman’s choice of implements. Out of all of the wonderful whips, clamps and pincers, you choose a simple crop? Mistress of Pain indeed. Perhaps Mistress of the Riding Stable is more appropriate.”

Victorious gave her a small, tight smile. “Reserve judgment until you’ve seen me in action. I’m quite effective with the crop, am I not, Mr. Savage?”

His heart pounded faster, his fingers involuntarily curling into fists. He fought to keep his face smooth and unaffected, but the simple sight of her with that blasted crop in her hand was enough to bring back the hours he’d spent under her care. The exquisite way she delivered blow after blow in a precise pattern, the rhythm timed to the beat of his heart as arousal spread through his body. That crop could take him out of this world and send him to the warmest, safest, most incredible place he’d ever been. A place where she told him when to breathe. And he didn’t need to even think beyond her next command.

“So I see.” Mrs. Townsend shook her head. “But I don’t want to see you work on him. I want to see what you can do with our good and worthy sheriff.”

Victorious narrowed her eyes, her mouth tightening with displeasure. “Sheriff Brazen isn’t into pain.”

“How do you know? Perhaps you simply need to broach the subject with him.”

“I’ve never played with him. Not like this.”

“Then it’s a very fitting test, yes? Meanwhile, I’m going to see how well you broke in Mr. Savage here. He’s looking rather fuzzy in the eyes already. Are you ready to play with me, pet?”

He wanted to say no, but with the game afoot, he kept his mouth shut. No answer was better than rejecting her outright and possibly fouling Victorious’s plan. But damned if he wasn’t dying to have a clue to how she was going to pull this off. Because he trusted her completely. She was going to get him and the sheriff free. Somehow.

“I prefer a cane myself,” Mrs. Townsend said in a casual, businesslike voice that made his skin crawl. Until he registered her implement of choice, and then his skin felt too tight for his body. He’d never been caned before but he’d heard tales. He could endure it, he had no doubt, but he didn’t want to endure for this woman.

Only Victorious.

She looked at him steadily, measuring his anxiety. He had no secrets from her.

Holding his gaze, she gave him a single nod.
Yes. Do it. I want this.

That easily, she gave him the ability to endure whatever torture Mrs. Townsend would give him. Willingly and gladly. Simply because Victorious gave him the order.

The first blow made him flinch, his breath catching on a cry before he could stifle it. Bloody hell, it felt like a knife slashed across the backs of his thighs, not a piece of wood.

“I see Miss Raynes must have babied you,” Mrs. Townsend purred. “I bet she started out nice and soft, heating your skin gently, patiently, until you were squirming and begging for more.” She leaned down and let her breath tickle across his ear and cheek. “I shall not be so easy.”

He turned his face away and his gaze collided with the other prisoner. The sheriff was nude, similarly bound across a large wine barrel. His face looked like someone had beaten him with an ax handle. Repeatedly. One eye was so swollen he surely couldn’t see out of it, and his lips were torn and misshapen. His other eye was wide, his rapid breathing raising his back in anxious bellows.

Ransom remembered the first time he’d allowed a woman to make him helpless. The first time a woman had hurt him. That feeling of sheer terror…and desperate yearning that had torn him apart. He’d denied that side of him for years before he let it out. Had Brazen ever had such thoughts? Or was this whole situation just torture to endure until Victorious’s game was played? For the first time, Ransom felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. If he wasn’t into submission…then this could be pure hell. Not only was his fiancée a witness as well as participant in his demise, but one of her old lovers too. A man’s pride could only take so much, and Sheriff Brazen didn’t appear to be the kind of man who’d relish this memory, assuming they managed to escape with their lives.

“I do like to start out nice and soft,” Victorious said, matching the other woman’s seductive purr. “It’s amazing how much more pain a man can take when it’s mixed up with the pleasure. Have you ever had pain in the bedroom, Sheriff?”

He gave a slight shake of his head but didn’t take his good eye off Ransom.

“Then I’ll make sure to mix in lots of pleasure this first time, so that you ask me to do it again and again.” She ran her hands over the man’s back and shoulders, down his arms, back up to and along his flanks. Ransom knew the strength in her hands. She’d test a new horse’s soundness of limb the same way, looking for any flinching of pain or any swelling or tenderness that might tell her where to concentrate her crop…and where to avoid. Surely she hadn’t been a shy and modest little lady in the man’s bed, but from the flare of surprise in Brazen’s good eye, neither had she been as forthcoming about her personal desires. He didn’t dislike a firm touch, though. Far from it, if his restless shifting was any indication.

Ransom missed what she did to make the man draw in a loud, shaking breath, because Mrs. Townsend laid into him with that cane. Sharp, cutting blows landed down his hamstrings in quick succession, too fast for him to draw breath or brace himself for the next blow. In a matter of seconds, she dropped him. Deep.

The place he sank—or floated—to was the in between. The place between pain and pleasure, where they were both. She hurt him to the point of pleasure. She gave him pleasure to the point of pain. All of which he endured for Victorious and her alone. Peace unfolded inside him. A heavy calm relaxed his muscles and slowed his heartbeat until he sagged in his bonds.

“Impressive.” Mrs. Townsend paused her torment, letting him bob on the waves carrying him out to sea. “She did at least train you well.”

He pried his eyes open. The sheriff still looked at him, not missing a thing despite whatever Victorious had done to him. Judging? Somehow Ransom didn’t think so. His gut insisted there was another reason. Curiosity, perhaps, but there was a darkness in the man’s eyes. A growing tightness in his mouth, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

“Let’s move up to something more fun, shall we?”

Mrs. Townsend’s words drew his attention back to her. For her, more fun would mean more pain. If the woman started with a cane and a heavy hand…

“I had these custom made by a blacksmith down in Mexico.” She pulled on long, tight black gloves that reached her elbow. “The finest, softest leather imaginable.”

She trailed the backs of her fingers over his buttock, along his flank and shoulder to dance a gentle path along his arm. His muscles quivered, waiting for the pain, but the leather was indeed exquisitely soft and pliable. Then he saw the palms of the gloves—where tiny silver pins glinted in the lantern light.

His throat went tight, his belly cold with dread.

“Soft.” She drew her hand back and landed a swat on his buttock. “Hard.”

He made a sound, some kind of cry or curse, he wasn’t sure, but it hurt his throat. The pins sank into his skin like hundreds of vicious bees. Not deep, but just enough to send his nerve endings jingling with frantic anticipation. He’d never felt anything quite like it. Not so many small pains all at once.

She settled in to deliver a firm spanking, making deliberate use of both buttocks. Normally a simple hand spanking wouldn’t have done much for him at all beyond the embarrassment factor, compounded by witnesses watching his debasement. But those gloves made every swat feel like a thousand. He squirmed, sweat burning his eyes, his lungs panting with hot, dry air. He usually refused ties to keep in position for punishment, but his wrists were already burning from fighting the ropes.