The Irish Devil (19 page)

“Did you move your hands while I was gone, sweetheart?”

“Of course not,” Viola snapped, offended by the suggestion she’d disobey an order.

“Good girl. That was your first lesson: you were held as strongly in your chair by my command, and your obedience, as if I’d fastened iron manacles around your wrists.”

Viola’s eyes widened as she considered the implications.

“Questions?” William asked softly.

“No, William.”

“Now I will wrap these scarves around your wrists. You’ll be able to free yourself at any time, if you dislike what transpires.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Feed on your sweet pussy, sweetheart.”

Viola choked at his matter-of-fact response. Dear heavens, her body thought his plan was excellent, given how hard her nipples were.

William’s mouth twitched. “A warning, sweetheart. If you lift your hands at any time, I’ll understand it as a signal to stop immediately.”

“What do you mean? Of course, I’ll keep my hands on the chair.”

“But suppose you placed them on my head. Since you had removed your hands from the chair, I’d immediately stop licking you.”

“That’s wicked,” Viola gasped. He’d set a pretty trap for her. He knew she enjoyed the feel of his thick black locks, especially when his mouth was busy on her.

He shrugged. “Your choice, sweetheart, not mine.”

“Do your worst, William. I will continue to grip the chair, no matter what,” Viola vowed.

William bowed, his eyes glinting with laughter. He twisted a scarf around each of her wrists and the carved wood underneath, then draped the ends down to the floor.

Viola flexed her hands cautiously. She could free herself with a single yank if she chose, but why would she want to? Her blood was pounding in her veins and her skin was as flushed as if he’d been kissing her for minutes.

“Comfortable, sweetheart?”

She smiled up at him. “Very, William. And I feel somehow freer than before.”

“Excellent, sweet Viola. Now I intend to enjoy myself immensely.” He kissed her mouth, hot and sweet, until she moaned and arched toward him. Then he quickly unpinned her hair and combed it with his fingers until it fell loose over her shoulders.

“Why did you do that?” she queried, perplexed by why he’d undo her hair if he meant to attend to her private parts.

“Because I enjoy the look of you. No more questions, sweetheart. Just think about your reward.”

He dropped to his knees before her.

“Now slide your hips forward, sweetheart. A little farther until you’re balanced on the very edge.” His big hands guided her, warm and strong through the silk. “That’s my filly. Perfect.”

He slipped a towel under her derrière then draped her knees over his shoulders.

Viola stared at him, kneeling between her legs as if it was the most ordinary activity in the world. Her nipples promptly hardened in anticipation.

“You have the most amazing breasts, sweetheart. They’re already eager for your reward,” he remarked, cupping her breasts with his hands.

She shuddered when he fondled them, his touch burning through the silk and unhindered by any underthings. His fingers played with her nipples until she gasped at the pain and the pleasure lancing through her.

Then he stroked her mound through the silk, playing with her until the fabric was no protection against the flood of dew he evoked. She wiggled, desperate to touch him. “Ah, William, how can I stay still?”

“Just pay attention to my hands, sweetheart,” he crooned to her as his wicked fingers encouraged her. She tossed her head and twisted, following his hand’s movements. She tightened her grip on the carved lions with a silent prayer that she could hold on and not reach for the heavy silk of his hair.

“Sweet filly, enjoy this.” His finger slipped through the trousers’ slit and played with her. Her breasts began to throb in the same rhythm as his fingers.

“Lovely,” she moaned shamelessly at the familiar delight, and lifted her hips toward him.

He rumbled something not in English and finally laid his mouth to her burning pussy.

“Merciful heavens,” she moaned as her fingernails scraped desperately over the chair’s wood. Her breathing was harsh as she fought not to touch him.

He savored her leisurely, tracing every fold with tongue and lips and fingers as if he’d never touched them before. Her body arched and lifted for him, until everything but her hands followed his touch.

She moaned as she climaxed for the first time, simply from his tongue circling her pearl without touching it directly.

But he didn’t permit her to relax, to calm down and reestablish her grip on the chair. His tongue continued to lave her in the same rhythm. Her hips arched upwards and she howled when his teeth gently scraped her folds.

And she climaxed under long strokes of his tongue, laid on like a lash of fiery delight against her folds, as she sobbed his name.

She climaxed a third time as his fingers pumped her while he suckled at her clit, her hands aching from their fierce grip on the lions’ heads.

She floated back to sanity very slowly. Something was different inside her. Something quite pleasurable in an odd way, and in an unexpected place.

“Do you sense the dildo, sweetheart?” he asked gently, still kneeling before her. “It’s inside your backside, where I’ve fondled you before. A small dildo, no larger than my finger.”

Viola gave an experimental wiggle and gasped when the dildo moved. A throb of pleasure danced from her backside to her pussy at the changed pressure. “Oh,” she moaned without opening her eyes. She couldn’t find words to express how it made her feel.

“Enjoyed it when the dildo shifted, did you?” He stroked her thighs lightly.

“Yes. Oh my, it’s delicious.” She circled her hips cautiously and moaned again. He chuckled softly.

Air caressed her breasts and she looked down, blinking until she could focus. Her trousers were gone, banished to someplace she couldn’t see. Her tunic had been folded back until all of her body was uncovered except her shoulders and arms. Her chest was still flushed with passion, her nipples red as rubies. Her mound gleamed where his tongue had painted it.

She tossed her head back, feeling her hair brush against the chair. “You have freed me of everything except the scarves.”

He nodded, his eyes bright and fierce as he studied her. “Clever girl. Yes, I’ve done exactly as I wished.”

The intensity of his gaze burned her like the sun in high summer. She knew she was the center of his world at this moment. She could see it so very clearly, without polite society’s veils of words and prescribed manners. He wasn’t the Donovan of Donovan & Sons. He was simply a man watching a woman. And in a moment, he’d act and they’d both reach rapture because of his deeds.

Viola smiled, as full of anticipation as any cat watching a saucer of cream approach.

“Questions?”

“Just one. Where did you learn to kneel for so long?”

William chuckled. “Ah, sweetheart, you are full of surprises when you ask questions like that. A friend taught me when I first learned my way around a woman’s body. Kneeling is a very useful posture and I still practice it.”

“Clever friend,” Viola murmured. “I’d like to thank her.”

He went still for a moment before answering. “Perhaps you will one day. Now,” he went on more briskly, “the dildo has some useful properties. It stretches you, which increases your sensitivity. It also limits your channel’s freedom to expand.”

“You’re going to do something wicked. Inside my channel,” Viola added, feeling a rush of dew at the thought.

“Not immediately, sweetheart. Perhaps in a minute or two.” He lifted her breasts and squeezed them. “Or perhaps another hour.”

His callused fingers rubbed her nipples, making her gasp with pleasure. Her head fell back helplessly as she arched up toward him.

William was entirely correct about the dildo’s effect. She felt every touch of his hands against her folds as if it were the first time that evening. She moaned and sobbed his name when his tongue lapped at her. He laved her pussy and nipped her delicately until she begged for release. Her skin was so hot and tight, she thought she’d explode.

Still he denied her. He slowed his touch, removed his intimate kiss, until she could breathe again. Then he returned to stoke her passion yet again.

Viola’s language descended into the gutter as she implored him for an orgasm. He chuckled, he paused, then began again.

She could hear his breathing, harsh and fast. But he kept to the pace he’d chosen and she clutched the chair desperately.

Finally, when nothing existed for her except the climax hanging so tantalizingly close, and her words were incredibly vehement, he sprang to his feet and snatched the scarves away from her wrists. He yanked her out of the chair and tumbled her to the floor, rolling to cushion her from the fall, then pin her under him.

“Now,” he growled. “Now, dammit.”

His fingers bit into her hips. He plunged himself into her, sheathing himself to the hilt with the first stroke. She was stuffed full of him, stretched beyond endurance between his cock and the toy in her backside.

He twitched, and her clit throbbed hard at the slight change in pressure. Viola shuddered.

He slid his hands under her and gripped her derrière, shifting the dildo inside her. She keened her pleasure and he repeated the movement again. She was completely under his command, from her nose, which breathed his scent, to her legs wrapped around him, yet she felt more alive than ever before.

He pulled out and thrust hard, and thrust again. And again. Viola howled and climaxed, her body arching and shuddering as waves rippled up her spine.

He bellowed his own rapture, his body shaking as he spent himself inside her.

Viola was grateful when he simply took her to bed afterwards and she could fall asleep. Her reaction to this man, whether in the bedroom or elsewhere, was not something she wished to ponder.

“W
hen do you think the cavalry will arrive to escort you to Fort McMillan, Mr. Evans?” Viola asked, and promptly wished she hadn’t spoken. William and Evans guarded her as closely as they had the day before, perhaps more so after the scene with Lennox. If she went onto a public street, both of them escorted her with one walking on each side of her.

But the cavalry’s arrival would mean the departure of Evans and most of William’s men, to haul supplies for the new fort. Given Lennox’s anger, it was far safer for William and herself when all the teamsters were in Rio Piedras.

“Two days or perhaps a little longer, Mrs. Ross,” Evans answered equably, as polite as ever. Even the haughtiest arbiter of society would never guess by his manner that he spoke to his employer’s mistress. “We’re ready to depart now.”

“Leaving Sarah’s cooking far behind,” William quipped. “No more omelets for you.”

Viola nodded amiably at Evans’s answering badinage and leaned on William’s arm a little more for comfort. At least he would be staying in town to prepare for the second supply caravan. She would hate to lose his company, although he might be safer facing Apaches than Lennox. She had seen and heard too much of Lennox’s viciousness toward employees he thought insufficiently dedicated. She shuddered at what he might do to William.

Glass shattered a block ahead and a chair sailed through the Oriental’s window and into the street. Instantly, William and Evans pressed her against a building behind a wall of their big bodies. They faced the street with guns drawn, ready to take instant action. Viola’s heart skipped a beat.

“Stay back, Viola,” William ordered. She hadn’t known he could draw a gun so quickly. Not as fast as Evans, who was famous for his speed, but definitely faster than most men.

“Goddammit, McBride!” a man shouted from the saloon just ahead. “Where the hell did you get four aces from? You show me, here an’ now, there ain’t nothin’ else up your sleeve.”

“Or else what?” another man sneered.

“Thought you told Lowell to stay out of the Oriental if McBride was around,” William remarked, holstering his gun.

“I did. And fined him five dollars to make sure he heard me,” Evans agreed. “That just about covered the damage from the last fight.”

Viola peered around them just in time to see two men erupt from the Oriental, fists flying. Thomas McBride, the miner, was having yet another fight with Lowell. Even Mrs. Chambers, the minister’s wife, had been known to wager on exactly how many men would be involved in the subsequent brawl.

“Fistfight, boys!” someone shouted inside the Oriental.

“Morgan, do you think both of McBride’s brothers are in the Oriental at this moment?” William asked.

Viola winced as Lowell knocked McBride into the horse trough. McBride erupted out of it with a shout, shaking water from his face, and charged Lowell to restart the fight.

“They all work the same shift at the mine,” Evans said thoughtfully. “But only one of them frequents the saloons as much as he does. The other is probably close by, though.”

“And here come the lads from the depot to help Lowell,” Evans added as a dozen teamsters ran up the street toward them.

A stocky miner rushed out of the Oriental and leaped onto Lowell’s back. More miners crowded out of the Oriental onto the boardwalk, a few steps away from joining the fight. A trio of Mrs. Smith’s girls in their best finery, led by the beautiful and curvaceous Sally, paused to watch.

“Two bits on the Irishmen, boys!” someone shouted.

“Done!” shouted another. Viola could see others eagerly gambling on the fight’s outcome.

William snorted. “Please stay with Evans, Mrs. Ross. I’ll deal with this.”

Lennox, followed by his three thugs, emerged from the mine offices a few blocks uphill from the Oriental. The crowd silently parted for them until they could watch every move, standing as icily as a judge at a hanging.

Viola went cold. She managed to nod but could not force a single word past the lump in her throat. Hopefully, having so many teamsters would stop Lennox and his thugs from doing anything to hurt William. But Lennox’s viciousness should not be underestimated. And if anything happened to William…

She whirled on Evans. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

Evans snorted. “If he needs it, which he won’t. Just watch, Mrs. Ross.”

William ran into the street and stopped several paces away from the fight, drawing his big bullwhip. He shook it lightly once to loosen it. Then he abruptly cracked it less than a yard away from Lowell.

The throng immediately stopped talking.

Viola gulped. She’d seen William win Lowell’s bet but this was different. He was taking command of a crowd, holding their attention, simply by using his whip.

Something sensual deep inside her came alert at the sound and whispered,
I like this man when he fights like this.
Her nipples firmed even as her mouth went dry.

Lowell froze at the whip’s sound, clearly recognizing the danger. The other teamsters stopped their noisy rush up the street and waited. Mrs. Smith’s girls oohed and shivered.

Thomas McBride drew back his fist to land another punch. William cracked the whip barely a foot away from McBride’s ear.

McBride jumped but kept his fists up. If the miner would simply stay in one spot, he’d be safe.

Viola shivered.

“Stand still, you fool,” hissed Sally.

William repeatedly snapped the whip on each side of McBride, fencing him in leather.

The man flinched, hands flying up over his ears, but his feet finally took root in one place.

Gossip said William’s bullwhip was custom-made, with buckshot braided into the tip. If so, it was a lethal weapon. But in his hands, it was as graceful as an arpeggio dancing through a concert hall’s hushed silence.

And as capable as any Chopin ballade at exciting Viola’s blood. Her womb clenched convulsively in a spurt of pure lust. She bit her lip until she drew blood, fingernails digging into her palms.

The other McBride brother started to kick Lowell. William’s whip abruptly wrapped around his ankle and yanked him to the ground. He landed with a loud grunt as air was driven from his lungs. He was utterly motionless except for his head turning frantically to watch William.

The whip freed itself silently and returned to swirl at William’s side.

Sally moaned, “Oh, Mr. Donovan.”

Viola took a deep, shuddering breath, shaken by the strength and grace of the weapon and the warrior. Dew trickled down her thigh.

McBride helped his brother up and the three combatants faced William together. He, on the other hand, seemed as relaxed as if he were in his office.

“Gentlemen, may I suggest you resolve your differences and shake hands? Thank you,” William said, with no apparent sense of superiority, as the three men warily exchanged nods and grips in a semblance of cordiality. “Mr. McBride, do you have anything to say? No? Good day then. I hope to see you again soon in a more relaxed setting.”

The two McBride brothers backed away until they reached the boardwalk. Joined by their friends, they filtered back into the Oriental. Evans quietly handed some coins to the Oriental’s saloonkeeper, who returned to work with a smile.

Sally and the other soiled doves lingered to cast lascivious glances at William.

Viola hissed softly at the plump blonde, and her fingers formed into claws. She had William now, not those hussies. By the Almighty, she’d teach them a lesson if those
nymphs du pave
came too close to him.

Finally, the beruffled sluts turned to Mrs. Smith’s house. Viola slowly relaxed, then wondered why she’d been so angry with them. Women like that would be his companions again in three months, after she left for San Francisco. Something twisted deep inside her at the thought.

She was barely aware of Lennox’s departure, as he and his thugs talked quietly amongst themselves.

Lowell started to walk toward the depot.

“Lowell.” William’s level voice halted the teamster.

“Yes, sir?” Lowell turned to face his boss.

“Ten-dollar fine for misunderstanding Evans’s orders, Lowell. Also, Carson needs some help in the forge. You’ll probably be there until midnight, maybe later. And if I catch you in the Oriental again at any time, you’re fired.”

Lowell’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, sir. And thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure, lad.” William had his bullwhip coiled and returned to his weapons belt by the time he rejoined Viola and Evans. He offered her his arm as if the interruption had been no more than a slight social inconvenience. She accepted, still shaking a little as she tried to reconcile her carnal reaction to his masterfulness and her jealousy of the other women.

William glanced down at Viola. He frowned slightly at how she trembled, but said nothing. It wasn’t surprising a woman would find a streetside scuffle distressing, although he’d heard she’d kept a cool head when she’d seen Indian fighting.

She studied a reflection in the bank’s window as they passed by. Curious, William caught the same reflection and frowned. Why would Viola Ross glare at Mrs. Smith’s girls? Could one of them have said or done something to offend her? If so, he’d make sure she’d be on the next stage out of town. He could do nothing to protect Viola from censure by the town’s few respectable women, but he could silence the working girls, especially if he added a cash incentive for holding their tongues.

He’d worry about that later. For now, it was enough to be walking with the most beautiful woman in the world and know he’d spend the evening in her arms. She seemed content to live with him, especially after she first played the piano.

He’d been so pleased the other day when she’d asked him about his business.

He hadn’t worried much about Viola’s happiness in the beginning, being too caught up in visions of her in his bed. But now the first frantic rush to sate himself was past, he could consider her well-being more. Talking about freighting and railroads meant she was willing to share something of her thoughts with him. Perhaps she was healing from her past vicissitudes. Saints willing, she’d be able to remarry and live happily again.

William touched his hat in response to the watchtower sentry’s greeting as they approached the compound. Morgan had done a good job of rebuilding it as a base of operations, the result reminding William of a hill fort in ancient Ireland. The fountain had been broken when William first saw it, leaving the spring to spill its life-giving waters over the courtyard’s cracked bricks. Now tidy plumbing guided the water to the fountain, the baths, and the kitchen. Contained within the stout walls, the compound was nearly impregnable against attack from Apaches or white men.

But this wasn’t the world Viola belonged in. She should be in New York City, the wife of a wealthy aristocrat who could enhance her status in the world.

He could see her now, enjoying the delights of such a life: the long dinner table covered with white damask and set with the finest Limoges china and Sheffield cutlery, goblets sparkling in the light from the immense crystal chandeliers above. She’d sit at one end of the table, tightly corseted in her fashionable Parisian gown, politely listening to the self-important politician next to her.

He knew what Viola’s future husband would look like, with his expanding girth and patriarch’s beard. With a pedigree as long as any in the Bible, he’d never suffer an Irishman at his dinner table to meet his wife.

William gritted his teeth at the thought.

Morgan excused himself as soon as they entered the courtyard, and headed for the stables to check Tennessee, the recovering lead mule. Viola greeted Abraham politely, made her excuses to William, and disappeared into the bedroom.

William traded his hat for a cup of tea from Abraham and leaned against a column, listening to his faerie maiden in her bath. She was humming a melody, one he’d heard sung at Lyonsgate. Lady Irene had called it a German art song, something about lost love.

Married to a man like that, Viola would never suffer the dangers of poverty. Her children would never be homeless and starving. She’d never give birth in a ditch during a rainstorm…

Suddenly William hurled his cup across the courtyard. It shattered loudly against the mud-brick wall, causing the chickens to fly up and the goats to bleat in panic. The dumb animals calmed quickly, sooner than William’s heart did.

Abraham bowed himself out of the sitting room with the last dinner dishes, leaving William and Viola alone. Silence covered the room before William started to crack a walnut, his long fingers graceful and sure.

Viola swirled the lemonade in her glass, still thinking about the beautiful girls from Mrs. Smith’s. How much time had he spent with them? Had he learned all his carnal skills from women like them? Would he eagerly visit such sluts again?

It shouldn’t matter, not when Viola planned to depart for San Francisco in three months. And yet she kept wondering where he’d learned, while her pussy throbbed at the images of a younger William leaning over a woman who sobbed with passion.

“William?”