The Outlaw (Montana Men Book 3) (8 page)

"There." Finn ran a hand down my damp back. "Just as I thought. These bright pink globes, the handle coming from your ass. Taut nipples. Hands tied. You're so beautiful. And when you came, I will never forget this sight as long as I live." His voice had lost that sharp bite, the disappointed tone. Now, it was deep and carnal and soothing.

Coming around, he knelt before me and brushed my hair back from my face. At some point it had come loose. "This might hurt a little," he warned, undoing one knot, then the other from my nipples. The blood rushing back to the tips had me groaning, but Finn cupped both of my breasts in his palms and soothed the sore nipples by his soft hold. Next, he undid the ropes on my wrist then stood.

Taking me about the waist, he lifted me off the saddle rack and pulled me into him. I could feel the beating of his heart against my cheek, the hard ridge of his cock against my belly. My dress had slipped back down, but the fabric caught on the handle of the darner in my ass. I was too replete to do anything about it.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I nodded against the front of his shirt.

"I'm taking you back to bed so I can fuck you properly." He stepped back, looked down at me.

"But the thing...my ass," I sputtered, even as I clenched down on it.

"It stays in until we get to our bedroom."

My wits were returning and so was my modesty. "My dress."

"Yes, it appears that one is ruined, too." Finn was not upset, quite the opposite in fact. He was grinning, clearly pleased by the sight of me.

The dress was parted exposing my corset. It pushed my breasts up high, the nipples now puffy, yet a bright cherry red. "Someone might see me," I countered.

"The men are all in the south pasture until lunch."

"But...I thought--"

"No one will ever see you as I do, Caro. Ever. What we do is private."

"But--"

"You belong to me and me alone."

FINN

The sight of Caroline after her punishment, after her orgasm, was a vision I'd never forget and I told her so. I'd been angry with her, but I'd never punish her when angry. That had dissipated and only disappointment remained. Disappointed that she would think so little of me. But then I realized she really knew nothing of me. We were practically strangers. But everything I'd said, every action I'd taken with her thus far, whether it be to protect or pleasure her, it had shown my true character. Even with that, she was wary.

This meant that what she said about her past -  how cruel her father had been, how no one had ever wanted her, how she had been bad - were all indications that she was more injured than she shared. Not physically injured -  I'd seen, touched and tasted every inch of her body and she was perfect – but emotionally. The well of her fears and doubts was deep.

What had her father done to her? She'd said he had never touched her inappropriately, but that he was intending to do so. Had someone else? In order to move forward, and not punish her for doubting me for the rest of our lives, I needed to get some answers from her. For now, though, she'd had enough. It was time to fuck her and make her forget.

I carried her back to the house, careful not to bump the handle that stuck out from her ass. She held her bodice closed out of modesty, but the image in my mind remained. When I'd left her strapped to the saddle rack the first time, I'd gone out and spoken to Frank, who'd taken the men away from the stables for an hour. He knew I’d needed privacy and granted the request readily enough. Even though Caroline didn't know the men wouldn't come upon her, I knew. No one would see her. No one would touch her.

Ever.

Once in our room, I stripped her down, bent her over the bed and pulled the plug from her ass. She'd groaned as it had come out. The way her ass was able to stretch around the widest portion was indication that she was ready for my cock. She was a quick learner, her body responding easily. I would continue to use the largest plug until I felt she could handle my cock. I wanted the first time I breached that virgin hole to be perfect for her. It was the ultimate claiming.

The lubricant glistened in the sunlight and I watched as her ass winked closed. Her pussy was swollen and slick as well, eager for my cock. She might have come once already, but she most certainly wasn't done.

"I want a little girl with blond hair like yours." I stripped off my clothes as I spoke. Caroline remained as I'd placed her, standing at the side of the bed, bent over, hands on the quilt. She watched as I tossed my shirt to the floor, and pushed down my pants. My cock was hard and throbbing, curved upward to almost touch my navel. The tip seeped with my need and I spread the liquid down the length.

"Or a boy with curly red locks," she countered.

I stepped close and nudged her opening with my cock, the slickness coating the head, then pushed deep, filling her in one stroke. Her ass was still a bright pink from my palm. The sight of that had my balls tightening and my orgasm building at the base of my spine. This was going to be quick. I couldn't last after watching her nipples get tugged, her ass turn red and that big plug fill her.

"No. We're going to make that little girl." I gripped her hips and started fucking her, all gentleness and control slipping away. One hand slipped back and my thumb slid easily into her ass, still slick and loose. "Right...now." I gritted my teeth as I came, groaning from the intensity of the pleasure.

Caroline followed. She couldn't help but do so. I knew how to wring an orgasm from her body. I knew every nuance of her needs. She was mine.

***

It was that evening, as we sat on the porch, Caroline in my lap, when Frank brought a package. Caroline tensed and began to climb from my lap at his approach, but I held her still. She wore a pale green dress Mrs. Campbell had collected for her from town; the one she'd donned this morning now needed repairs to the buttons down the front. If I kept up with current pace, she would be out of serviceable dresses in three days time.

"Ma'am," Frank tipped his hat at her. "This came for you."

I nodded my head and Frank came up the steps and handed it to her.

I looked at the writing on the brown paper.
Mrs. Horace Meecham, Sr. Apex, Montana Territory.

"How did you come by this?"

"It was Bradley who collected it." He was one of the younger ranch hands. "It was part of the mail that went to the mercantile. Meecham spread the word that you'd stolen his bride. The town's unsure of the story since you haven't offered up any type of rebuttal. When Mr. Borman saw Bradley, he asked after the truth. The man runs the mercantile which, as you know. is the center of town gossip. He didn't want to give the package to Bradley without confirmation that you, Mrs. Masters, were indeed here. Even after Bradley confirmed, he had Stevens vouch for the marriage."

"Sounds like quite a day for Bradley."

The young hand was quiet and not one to gossip. He barely spoke at all.

"It was good for him," Frank grinned. "Although I don't rightly expect him to go to town again for some time."

"Thank you for bringing it to me," Caroline said.

Frank smiled warmly at my wife, tipped his hat again. "My pleasure, ma'am."

"Please thank Bradley as well."

He nodded and left them alone.

The question was, who sent the box and what was in it?

CAROLINE

I knew who'd sent the box. It could only be Mrs. Bidwell, as she was the only person who knew where I'd gone. I had no family and my friends - acquaintances really- never knew of my departure. I, myself, had only known of it for a few days.

Positioned on Finn's lap as I was, I couldn't just walk off and open it in private.
Nothing
was private between us. After what he did to me in the barn, there were no secrets.

But...there were. I had secrets from him I couldn't share - secrets so dark, so
bad
that I couldn't utter the words aloud. Because I couldn't share with him, couldn't bare my soul, it would always come between us. It would be like an invisible wall that separated us. Without the revelation, we could never truly be together.

He waited patiently, sitting and looking out over the changing colors of the landscape as the sun started its final descent.

The box was nondescript and small, perhaps a little smaller than the size of a brick, however it did not weigh near as much. With fumbling fingers, I worked at the knot on the string, but could not tug it loose. Finn held out his hand and I gave him the box. With both hands, he pulled on the string, snapping it as if it were a wisp of spider's web, then handed it back.

I respected his patience and the way he let me open the package. It was addressed to me, not him. But, like everything I owned, the inheritance from Meecham, including me, I belonged to him. There was no question Finn knew this; he'd even said it over and over again.
Mine.
He uttered those words in a most possessive of ways.

Unwrapping the paper, I slipped open the lid on the wooden box, pushed the bits of paper aside and found a small bottle. I recognized it immediately. My stomach plummeted and I bit my lip. I had no choice but to pull it out and show it to Finn.

"Laudanum?" he asked, looking at the bottle.

He took the box and paper and dropped it to the porch floor beside the chair. Lifting me easily, he turned me around so I straddled his waist, knees on either side of his hips. My dress was all tangled around us.

"Are you sick?" he asked, searching my face for clues. "Why do you need laudanum?" I closed my eyes and took a breath, but Finn gave me a little shake. "Caroline."

I met his gaze, his green eyes full of concern. A frown marred his forehead. "Tell me."

I couldn't. I couldn't tell him I'd murdered my father with an overdose of laudanum. It didn't even seem like murder at the time. It wasn't painful; in fact, my father had died in undeserved peace. He was too drunk to know any different. Murder was murder, no matter the method.

"I'm not sick. Truly." I forced a smile to reassure him. I didn't need him to be concerned about me. He was possessive enough.

"Then why? Who sent it?"

I glanced down at the box, reached sideways to stir the bits of paper that had cushioned the bottle on its journey across the country. The letter was tucked in at the side. Using my fingers, I pulled it free and sat up. I read the note, all the while knowing Finn watched me.

Caroline,

I hope this package finds you well and that your marriage is favorable. I am sure you have questioned my choice of groom and can, from this package, find the answer. Many of the women who have been matched through my mail order bride service have written and said that they found freedom in choosing their fate, freedom in starting anew. I hope that you can find the freedom you have always longed for as well.

Fondly,

Mrs. Bidwell

I handed Finn the letter. He read it once, glanced at me, then again. "What the hell does this mean?" He took the laudanum from me, held it up. "Are you addicted to this?"

"Of course not." I frowned. "I've never had use of it before, except once when I broke my arm." I remembered the time my father had grabbed me too harshly and a bone in my forearm snapped beneath his grip like a twig. The doctor had set the bone easily enough with the assistance of laudanum, putting me to sleep to do so. I remembered the taste, the foggy feeling when I'd awoken. I'd been thankful at the time to have slept through the pain of the bone being realigned, but I did not like it. I had not been safe when I was not alert.

"Perhaps she wanted to give it to me as a bridal gift."

I knew why she sent it. The reason now, as she'd written, was evident. She'd known Mr. Meecham to be a poor husband. A cruel man. Her investigation into his character could have easily found this out. Her investigation into my own character had uncovered the truth of my father's death. The police hadn't. They hadn't wanted to see beyond the obvious--that my father had choked on his own vomit and died. Drunk. They'd known him for a drunkard for years as he'd been belligerent to all. The neighbor's knew him this way as well and were not the least surprised at his death. Good riddance, I'd heard some utter.

Mrs. Bidwell had assumed that Mr. Meecham's neighbors would say good riddance to him as well if he'd died in his sleep. From what Finn had said, he had a mistress and frequented the town brothel. I could easily imagine him returning home drunk. It would not be difficult to lace some whiskey with laudanum and kill him. Stevens would say good riddance as well.

Then, I'd be free. A wealthy widow with the freedom to do whatever I chose. My own life, with money and access to do anything I wished. The only payment was a few days as the man's bride. Mrs. Bidwell had known I would have paid that price for freedom.

Finn reached out and placed the little bottle on the porch rail. "Bridal gift? Laudanum?"

My husband was too smart to believe those words. I didn't believe them either.

"It is a mystery, Finn."

I had to distract him from this line of thought.

"Do you feel freedom as she wrote in your marriage to me?"

That was a difficult question. It was liberating being with a man who was too good for me. He was attentive and worried about me, protected me. There was no doubt of his possession. But possession often meant being confined and unable to be free. He'd tied me to the saddle rack. I had been far from free. But he'd worked my body in a way that had me coming, the most intense orgasm so far. That, within itself, was freeing.

It was so confusing!

"It's only been a few days," I countered.

Finn gave a slight nod of his head. The sun had shifted from behind a cloud and gleamed off his red hair. He was so handsome, so...bright in spirit that it almost hurt to look at him. He was too...good. How could I let this man be my husband? I was bad and the laudanum was only a reminder of that.

"I'm not Meecham, Caroline."

I had to distract him, to change the conversation entirely. I couldn't do it with words, for I could not offer him the truth. So instead I had to resort to action. I shimmied backward and slid off his lap, landing on my porch floor. Pushing his legs apart, I came up on my knees and worked at the placket on his pants.

"Caro," he said, his voice low.

I glanced up at him through my lashes. He was looking at me so intently, his green eyes dark. He clenched his jaw as I reached in and took hold of his cock, pulling him from his pants.

"Someone might see," he uttered.

I cared. I did care if someone saw me sucking my husband's cock. He'd said this kind of attentiveness was private, but I felt powerful holding his rigid length in my small hand. His hips lifted and pushed him further into my palm. I had control over him. I was in charge of his pleasure.

"Then you should keep watch for me."

I lowered my head and took him deep right away, feeling the wide head nudge the back of my throat. I tempered the need to choke and breathed through my nose. He felt warm and hard against my tongue, the bulging vein along the bottom pulsing in my mouth. His taste was salty and dark, as carnal as the action itself.