The Outlaw (Montana Men Book 3) Read online

  He walked out of the room and I panicked.

  "Finn!"

  I heard him return and sighed in relief.

  "You can't leave me like this," I begged, turning my head to glance up at him. "What if someone sees me?"

  He shrugged as if he were indifferent. "Then you can tell them what you did wrong. I won't be long."

  This time he did leave, his footfall dying away entirely, leaving me all alone, tied to a saddle rack. My breasts were exposed and they had weights pulling on my nipples. I could feel the air on my wet pussy. From the doorway, anyone could look in and see me, see my pussy facing directly at them.

  I heard men outside. They were not inside the stable, but I knew they could come in at any time. I held my breath, listening as intently as possible to know if they were coming this way. My skin became damp from sweat, my nerves pushing me toward panic. My nipples began to throb, not in pain, but in pleasure, and my pussy clenched because of it. I looked down and saw they were pulled taut and pink, just the sight of the rope about them, the weights dangling toward the ground had me groaning.

  Footfall approached again, this time not lingering outside the building but coming in. Was it Finn or another man? I held my breath. The sound became louder and stopped just outside the door. Turning my head, I saw Finn leaning against the doorway watching me. He wasn't looking at my face, but everywhere else. In his hand, he held the largest sock darner - I recognized it by the darker wood - and the jar of lubricant. I knew what was coming next.

  "You are so beautiful, Caroline. I think you're going to be even prettier with a bright pink ass and the handle of this sock darner sticking out of your ass."

  I let my head fall forward, letting my neck relax. There was nothing I could do.

  "Ah, such a beautiful sight. Your submission pleases me, Caro. There's nothing you can do." He'd repeated my thoughts word for word. "You don't have to like being spanked, you don't have to like your ass played with, you don't have to like your nipples tugged. You can only accept that one of the men might see you. It's my choice. Not yours. I give you permission to like it. I give you permission to give over to the pleasure of it. Even though this is your punishment, I give you permission to come."

  Before I could respond, his palm smacked against my bottom, the heat of it sharp and bright. I jerked and it set the weights swinging. "Oh god," I moaned.

  "Hold still and take it, Caroline. Move and your nipples will take the punishment instead of your ass."

  Spank.

  This time I held as still as I could. His hand struck a different spot than last time, a different spot with each additional spank. Again and again he spanked me. "I wanted you. Only you."

  He was speaking about Meecham's money. His words were accentuated with a separate palm smack. It made the words even more soul searing and I felt the intensity of them to my core. He was using my body to bring me to the edge - his spanking, the possibility of being seen, my worked nipples - and then pushing me over with his words. I started to cry while he spanked me further. I couldn't keep still, my crying preventing me from doing so, and the weighted ropes began to sway. The hot burn on my bottom and the tug on my nipples morphed into something warm, something hot beneath my skin. I could feel my clit pulsing, my pussy weeping and clenching. I was close to coming, even through my tears.

  "I'm sorry, Finn. I didn't mean to question your honor."

  Spank.

  "I don't understand why...why you want me."

  His hand stilled, ran over the fiery skin. "Why wouldn't I want you?"

  I shook my head, lost in the feelings he was eliciting from my body. I groaned as the tug on my breasts intensified, just from duration alone.

  "Because...because no one has ever really wanted me. Because I've been bad." I was admitting to killing my father, but I didn't say it. I couldn't say the words. He was punishing me for misconstruing his words and I could only imagine what he'd do when he discovered I was a murderer. Perhaps this punishment was worthy. He was too good for me. I deserved to be punished. I deserved my spanking. I deserved everything he meted out. Nothing could cleanse the badness from me. He couldn't do it.

  "Yes, you've been bad, but you are accepting your punishment and when done, it will all be over."

  I heard the lid for the lubricant, then felt his fingers, coated in the cold slick substance, press against my ass.

  "I'm going to work the biggest plug in you, Caroline. We're going to stay right here until you take it. If the men come by, you can tell them why you're like this. I'll start with my fingers to get you ready. If you relax and push out, it will go in easier, and quicker."

  Finn was true to his word - I was learning the hard way that he always was - and took his time just coating my ass, inside and out, with the slick lubricant, using his fingers to do so, to stretch me open. I had no idea how long it took before I felt the wide, round top of the sock darner pressing against me. He pushed, I tried to relax, he circled it, pushed some more. By the time he'd stretched me open farther than ever before, farther than I ever imagined, it slipped in. I was panting and gripping the legs of the saddle rack, sweat dripping down my temples. When the foreign object was embedded within, the small handle felt so narrow at my opening. I clenched down on it and knew it was not coming free anytime soon. He pushed it in me, then pulled back so that the wider portion bumped against my opening, then forward again. It felt like he was fucking me with it.

  A finger slid over my folds and brushed my clit, ever so lightly. I came from just that slightest of touches. Screaming, I bucked against my bonds, against Finn's hand that was working the object in my ass. My nipples were now painfully taut, but it only added to the pleasure. My pussy clenched over and over at nothing, which only made me sob, half from the release that washed over me, but also from how I came. Everything he'd done to me, the punishment, had turned me on. I hadn't liked what he was doing, but my body clearly did. I had no control, just as Finn said. My body would do whatever he wanted. And I loved it. When I was replete, when my body had wrung every bit of pleasure it could, I slumped down, wilted and done.

  "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--"
r />   "You belong to me and me alone."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  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 hi
m. 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.