Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 Page 18

  “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.

  He didn’t think it could get much worse until Brazen’s voice began to echo in the small room.

  “Son of a bitch,” the sheriff growled. “Don’t do this to me.”

  Victorious, the gloriously sadistic witch, only laughed as she delivered another blow. “Do what? Make you beg? I could do that easily. That’s not a challenge worthy of winning my place in the Specter’s court. No, I’m doing something much more daunting.”

  Brazen muttered something incoherently, but Ransom didn’t need to have her explain what she intended. Making a man with a powerful erection beg for release was bad enough, but he’d be able to shrug it off later. A man’s little head talked big when the blood was pumping ripe and rich. However, making a man of Brazen’s macho ego come for the first time under her punishment while an old rival watched and listened was another feat entirely. She was managing to kill two birds with one stone, because Ransom would be forced to acknowledge that the one thing he thought he’d been able to give her better than anyone else…was easily provided by another.

  Definitely a worthy punishment for the Mistress of Pain.

  His own elegant torturess pressed against him, making swollen and pained flesh scream with sensation. Mrs. Townsend nibbled on his ear. “Did she ever fuck you, Mr. Savage?”

  “Sure,” he replied with a flippant shake of his head that tossed his hair back into her face. Victorious loved his wild mane, as she called it. But he hoped Mrs. Townsend choked on it. “Countless times.”

  “Good. So my apparatus won’t shock your delicate sensibilities.”

  He made himself keep up the suave gunslinger confidence with a snort of derision, even though his stomach tightened with unease. Apparatus? If she truly was the Specter, she had more money than the Queen of England and scientists who’d been creating monsters to march into the country under the cover of night. She certainly had an unlimited budget for research and development, even if her tastes ran to the sharper side of erotic. “Honey, I’ve seen it all.”

  She chuckled softly and stood. The rustle of clothing falling to the floor made goose bumps race down his spine. “I don’t think you quite understand my meaning, Mr. Savage. So let me give you a visual.”

  She moved around to his opposite side so she stood between him and Brazen, giving both trapped men a good view. Beneath her fine gown, she’d worn the appropriate lady’s lacy underthings. Around her waist she wore a white leather harness. Ransom hadn’t ever seen its likeness before and he wasn’t quite sure…

  Until she bent down and pulled a long, thick phallus out from beneath the table where she’d stashed her other implements.

  Oh. She meant fuck literally.

  His mind went blank, his bravado gone. He’d never been penetrated before. Never really even thought about it, though he could see why the Specter would do it. It was the ultimate way to conquer someone, to own them and make them yours. And the first time somebody was penetrated, whether woman or man, would be unique and remembered forever.

  Especially if it was against his will.

  I don’t want my first time to be her.

  He tried to hide it. He didn’t want her to know that he was afraid. That she’d managed to rattle him. But she knew. This kind of woman would always know, because everything she did was designed to bring a man to his knees, and his fear and reluctance would only fuel her desire. His throat closed off and he fought not to be sick. His fingertips burned with cold, even though sweat dripped in his eyes. Not her. Please, not her.

  He didn’t dare look at Victorious or make a single plea. She’d given him the signal. She wanted him to play along and submit to whatever the Specter would do in order to buy her enough time to pull off whatever plan she had in mind.

  Something like cold jelly plopped onto his backside, making him whimper. God, the sound horrified him, but he couldn’t help it. I’m going to cry like a baby when she fucks me.

  She stretched out across his back, letting him feel the thing prodding and rubbing at his buttocks. Breathing heavily in his ear, she whispered, “I’m going to fuck you. And then I’m going to kill your beloved Mistress and her pet sheriff and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Because if you whisper a word to warn her, I’ll simply slit your throat while I’m fucking you. I hope you do try to warn her. There’s nothing like the rush of killing a man while you’re breaking him.”

  He forced his eyes open, though he couldn’t stop the betraying tremble of dread in his body. He wanted to warn Victorious now, if for no other reason
than this woman might kill him out of sheer rage before she could carry out her dastardly plan. But there was always the small chance that he could help Victorious in some way. Although bound hand and foot, he didn’t know how he could possibly be of assistance when he could barely move a finger. Still, the hope remained. The need to make himself available just in case she needed him. For any reason.

  He swallowed hard and gave a little nod of his head to Mrs. Townsend, confirming he understood and believed her threat.

  She pushed up off him to the side and gripped the phallus in her hand, giving it a showy pump like a man would to ready himself.

  Ransom closed his eyes and released all the tension in his muscles. He still quivered, but he didn’t strain to be free. It would do no good, and would probably only please her more to watch him struggle. Instead, he hummed a few stanzas to “Amazing Grace”, the song Victorious had always sang in the darkest hours of danger when her father threatened her and her mother. In his mind, he was curled up beneath the rickety bed with her, hiding from the drunken enraged man tearing the front room apart.

  “I don’t need your help,” Mrs. Townsend said sharply.

  He opened his eyes. Victorious stood beside him, so close he could have touched her if his hands weren’t bound.

  “I can’t help myself,” she said in a breathy, lush voice, pressing closer so her skirts brushed Ransom’s flank. “It’s so incredibly arousing, watching you break him. You’re so commanding, Mrs. Townsend. Confident, gorgeous, powerful. I can’t resist.”

  He turned his head more, straining his neck so he could see what was happening. Victorious pressed not just against him but also the woman behind him. In fact, she was kissing the other woman.

  Gaping at her, he almost missed the dance of her fingers into his hair. It didn’t take her long to find the thin little blade buried in his black mane. She pressed closer to the other woman, moaning and kissing with sheer abandon, right up to the moment she slammed the short blade into the woman’s throat.

  With a shrill cry, the Specter stumbled back, clasping a hand over the fountain of blood shooting from her throat. “Tanger!”

  The door slammed open and a big beefy man appeared, probably the same thug who’d nearly cracked his skull. The man roared and charged at Victorious.

  She flung herself in a roll across the small room in a flurry of skirts, grabbed the silly pink parasol, and pointed the frivolous thing at the man closing in on her.

  Ransom strained and bucked in the restraints, trying to get free. No weapon, outweighed nearly two to one, Victorious had no hope.

  A gunshot roared out of the end of the umbrella, tearing through the pink material. The man jerked and slowed but didn’t stop.

  Cool as a cucumber, Victorious jerked on the curved handle of the parasol and took another shot. This time the man fell in his tracks.

  She tossed the now blackened and tattered parasol aside and rushed toward Ransom. Her fingers dove back into his hair, searching for another knife.

  “Nape,” he gasped out, telling her where the biggest knife was woven into his heavy hair.

  With a pleased little hum, she found the knife and quickly cut him free, then turned to free the sheriff as well. Ransom rose slowly, making sure he didn’t lose his balance or black out after the head shot. Victorious had to support the sheriff, but they managed to make their way over by the time Ransom made it to his feet. “Help him upstairs.” She handed the other man off to Ransom and turned back to the downed man. “I’m going to grab the thug’s weapon in case there are any more coming.”

  Ransom couldn’t stop shaking. From exhilaration, certainly, but also overwhelming relief. Victorious had won—he’d never doubted her. More than likely, though, her plan had never been to stab the Specter dead without learning more about her operation, not to mention the fame of bringing her to justice. Instead, Victorious had abandoned all the possible fame and rewards to protect him. Yet she’d also given her promise to this man who could barely walk, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to give such a promise lightly.

  “Don’t fancy meeting another guard in this condition,” Brazen muttered as they shuffled toward the door. Hunched over and wheezing, the man had probably broken a couple of ribs. “I’d be worthless in a gunfight right now.”

  Forcing a light tone, Ransom laughed. “I agree, I wouldn’t want to meet another guard while stark naked. We’re quite the sight, Sheriff.”

  The man let out an unintelligible growl that made him smile.

  “I agree.” Victorious caught up to them, and as she passed, she gave Ransom’s buttock a firm squeeze. Wide eyed, Brazen jumped too and then grunted with pain at the jolt to his ribs, so she’d evidently done the same to him. “Quite the remarkable sight, gentlemen. I might have to do something about that once we get to safety.”

  Ransom risked a wary glance at the sheriff’s face to see his reaction.

  Brazen grinned. “The lady always gets what she wants. I’m sure as hell not going to refuse her anything, for fear she’d shoot me.”

  Ransom laughed too but he couldn’t quite believe it. The good and worthy sheriff was going to let his lady drag a disreputable character like him into their relationship? Without kicking up a fuss or at least busting Ransom’s face up to match his?

  “You heard the man,” Victorious retorted in her hardest, meanest tone of voice. Though her eyes sparkled and she winked at him. “Victorious Raynes always gets her man. Er…men. Don’t you dare make me go back for that parasol.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sound of hoofbeats drew Jeb’s gaze up from the legal pad in his lap.

  Not only had Virginia asked him to move in with her, but she’d also set up the perfect writing space, as if she’d thought she might have to bribe him, when not even wild horses could keep him from her now that she wore his ring. Her front porch still held two rocking chairs, but up in the corner, she’d set up an Adirondack chair with enough cushions that he could sit for hours without his backside falling asleep. He could see the front driveway if he wanted, but more importantly, he could watch the main practice ring where she worked her horses. He could sit out here most of the day right now without getting too hot, though in the summer heat, he’d probably have to retreat during the afternoons.

  So far, he’d managed to almost finish sketching out a general outline of a sequel for Victorious and her men, though he couldn’t claim the new writing nook was his only inspiration. Not with the Mistress of his dreams riding toward him.

  Even if he couldn’t see her face, he’d know it was her by the way she sat her horse. She had a firm, deep seat, her shoulders squared and confident, her head high. She rode close enough along the stout five-railed fence to call up to him. “Do you have time for a ride?”

  He could ride, sure, but he’d not call himself an accomplished rider. That big bay was still snorting fire even after she’d worked him in the ring. “Too much horse for me.”

  She wheeled the horse and trotted away. Dropping his attention back to his work, he read over the last few lines. Pretty solid. He just needed to finalize the ending. And find the courage to see the book all the way through the end.

  Thundering hooves made him jerk his head up in time to see her galloping toward the fence. His heart jumped up into his throat and he started to rise, already running through emergency medical procedures. Most of what he knew was applicable only to animals, but he could stop bleeding until the ambulance arrived. Although way out here in the sticks…

  The bay gathered himself and soared over the fence, clearing it easily. She trotted up to the porch with a smug little smile.

  “Virginia Healy Connagher Garrett…”

  “Not yet,” she interrupted, guiding the horse closer. “If this handsome fella’s going to the Olympics in a few years, he needs to be able to clear fences like that in his sleep.”

  �
�You are not going to the Olympics,” he said with as much iron in his voice as he could muster. Though with her, all she had to do was give him a look and he’d be putty in her hands. “You hired the best trainers in the country to make sure this horse is ready. There’s no reason to risk taking a nasty fall. What if you reinjure your arm?”

  She chuckled and reached out with that injured arm, hooking around his neck to pull him close. “Nothing’s too much for you.”

  Confused, he had no idea what she meant, until he remembered what she’d said before she jumped the fence. “Well, I suppose I could come along for a ride. With your help, that is.”

  Kneeing the horse, she turned him so that Jeb could easily slide a leg over behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. She set the horse to a nice easy walk, down the tree-lined driveway. Lulled by the rocking of her body against his, he wasn’t prepared for an attack.

  “I wasn’t happy with the way you ended Victorious’s book.”

  “What? Oh. Yeah, sorry about that.” Several readers had complained about the ending, even though at the time he’d thought Victorious’s choice was clear. “The lady gets what she wants.”

  “Yes, I know.” She waited several moments, guiding the horse through the gate and out into the open pasture. “I just wondered what you meant about…me. What you were trying to say.”

  He’d dreaded this conversation, even though he’d hoped that someday he’d have the chance to explain. “Victorious isn’t you. Not exactly. I just… It’s hard to explain. I started with you and me and Ty and what I wished could have been, and made it so. All the things I could have ever wanted with you that I’d never had the chance to explore. That’s how it started. But then the characters took over and became their own people.”

  “That’s exactly why I wasn’t happy with how the story ended, because it’s not clear. How are they going to work things out? Is she really going to choose them both?”