As the Cowboy Commands [Ecstasy in the Old West 2] (Siren Publishing Allure) (8 page)

Her right hand moved with an increasingly feverish intensity on her clit. Helen abandoned her breasts, reaching down with her left hand to push two fingers up into her pussy as her right continued its circular pattern on her clit. When she was this aroused, only her pussy mattered.

She said, “Ask me what?” Helen felt an orgasm approaching at a furious pace.

“Do you want to suck my cock?”

She closed her eyes, embarrassment and shame flooding her senses. She nodded.

“I can’t hear you.” The tone faintly mocked.

“I want…” she began, but then the words died away. The fingers invading her pussy were now more than merely slick with Jared’s semen. His cum pooled in her thrashing left palm. In a small corner of Helen’s brain that was still capable of coherent thought, she realized that the sheer volume of Jared’s orgasm was many times larger than that of Gregg’s. She felt a trickle of sperm dribble down the inside of her right thigh. She cleared her throat and said declaratively and rather more loudly than she’d planned, “I want to suck your cock.” Several seconds passed before she added, “You bastard.”

Again, the right side of Jared’s mouth quirked upward in a sardonic grin. “Am I the first man you’ve ever sucked?”

Helen nodded. Her eyes held desperation in them. The approaching climax brought with it all the subtlety and promise of an earthquake. She whispered, “Don’t d–do this to me.”

Still calm and dispassionate despite the circumstances, Jared asked, “Are you going to come?”

“Yes.”

“Soon?”

“Yes, damn you!” The three words were filled with feminine desperation.

“Then, Helen, let me ask you something…” Jared began but then paused teasingly, a master magician in control of an audience in thrall. “When you come, do you want to have my cock in your mouth?”

“Oh, God!” she shrieked, dropping to her knees, helpless against sensations Jared elicited.

An instant later she had the plump head of Jared’s cock pressing against the opening of her throat, her lips a snug, pink ring around the pulsing, iron-hard shaft. And a split second after that, her orgasm began with a series of harsh, jolting spasms that shook her voluptuous body. The wet, slapping sound of her palm striking the lips of her pussy as she fingered herself furiously mingling with the high-pitched, almost squealing sound that Helen emitted as she came.

Four harsh contractions were followed by four more contractions of lessening intensity. When it was finally over, Helen blinked her eyes as though coming out of a trance. She was suddenly aware of the uncomfortable sensation of small pebbles on the rooftop digging into the bare skin of her knees. She still had two fingers inside her pussy, two fingers against her clit, and Jared’s cock still filled her mouth. Her breathing was deep and erratic through her nose. Her heart raced. Her mind whirled dizzily.

Slowly, Helen leaned away from Jared, letting his erection slide between her lips until he was at last free of her mouth. Hot shame colored her cheeks and ears. She looked down and saw that the hand between her legs was dripping with sperm, and on the rooftop beneath her was a slowly expanding puddle of Jared’s passion.

She whispered, “So…much…semen,” with a sense of wonder.

Utterly calm despite the flagrant erection sticking out through his unbuttoned fly, Jared replied, “I think we can get you home now. The streets seem quiet enough.” She gave him a look of utter incredulity. He said, “I think you’ll be more comfortable at home, don’t you?”

Helen picked up her petticoat and wiped her hands with it, then her thighs and pelvis. She couldn’t look up at Jared. She was more ashamed of herself than ever before in her life. She simply couldn’t understand why she was powerless against Jared, completely helpless against his erotic allure. He inspired in her a wild, licentious sense of abandon that she never dreamed she possessed. She lifted her gaze just enough to see his cock, as rigid as ever, its head and an inch of its shaft still glistening moistly with her saliva.

In a soft voice, Helen asked, “Why can’t I say ‘no’ to you?”

“Put your dress on, and while I escort you home, I’ll explain why it is best to never say ‘no’ to me.”

* * * *

They made it back to Helen’s carriage at the livery without incident. Jared retrieved his horse, a black, long-legged gelding with a white blaze on his forehead. They made it out of the town proper without being seen. It did not take long to travel the two and a half miles to Helen’s small, tidy home with its small barn.

“You go inside,” Jared said when they reached Helen’s house. “I’ll put up your horse for you.” Jared looked to the east. “It’ll be sunup in ninety minutes, or so.” He helped her down from the wagon. “Get cleaned up. I’ll be in there soon enough.”

Jared saw the gratitude in Helen’s eyes. As she started to leave, he caught her by the arm to stop her. Quickly and impulsively, he bent down and kissed her on the temple then turned away and began leading the horses to the barn.

Darkness inside the barn made the initial going difficult for Jared. He eventually found the small kerosene lamp and, after a bit more fumbling, found the box of matches that he knew had to be nearby. By the time he got the lantern lit, he could smell wood smoke coming from the house. As he unhitched Helen’s mare from the harness and put her into one of two stalls in the small barn, he thought about the events of the past several hours and what ramifications they might have on his life.

Jared Parker was a man who understood violence. He understood the absurdity of violence and the necessity of it. He often thought it ironic that he made his income, which often was rather substantial, by quashing violent men in a violent manner.

He found the bin where Helen kept her ground oats. He gave the mare a half bucket, and then his own horse one as well. After more rummaging about—he found the barn to be neat and orderly, but not particularly arranged in the manner in which he would have liked—Jared found the currycomb and began brushing down the mare.

Thoughts of Helen drifted across Jared’s mind as he tended to the horses, and those thoughts and memories made him smile. Though his experience with women was considerable, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen such incredible breasts. So big and lush and firm! He typically wasn’t overwhelmingly aroused by voluptuous women, but with Helen, it was different. Hazy mental images slithered across his consciousness of what emotions he would experience upon looking down as he straddled Helen’s prone body, watching his hard cock sliding between her breasts. The thought made him shiver. He shook his head, fighting against such licentious thoughts, struggling to focus on currycombing the mare.

Though Helen was inexperienced, she was passionate…but would she be game for some lusty titty-fucking?

Aloud, to himself, Jared said sternly, “Stop thinking about it.”

When Jared finished with the horses and exited the barn, he saw lights in the house through the window curtains. He felt a strange sensation—one he’d never before experienced and did not now understand—as he headed toward the house and toward the woman waiting inside.

Jared paused a moment before opening the front door to Helen’s little home. He didn’t want to just barge in, but it seemed a bit formal for him to knock on the door before entering. He looked up at the morning sky. The clouds were rolling in from the west, fat and blue-black with the promise of mischief. It would be a miserable, muddy day for the prospectors working in the mines today.

Thanking the Fates that he’d never tried his hand at gold prospecting, Jared pushed open the front door and entered Helen’s private home.

He found her straining as she poured a large boiler bucket of steaming water into a galvanized bathtub. She had changed from her tattered clothing into a summer-weight, cotton robe that had been worn so many times it was still white but almost translucent at her buttocks and elbows. The garment was wrapped around her womanly body and belted tightly around her waist, but the movement of Helen’s extravagant breasts beneath paper-thin cotton let Jared know she was completely naked beneath. Despite the sexual satisfaction he’d experienced earlier in the evening with this voluptuous woman, he felt his cock twitch slightly in his gabardine trousers.

“Good idea,” Jared said, nodding at the bathtub.

“I knew that I needed a bath, and I thought you might like one, too.” She pushed an errant lock of auburn hair back behind her ear, now having abandoned all attempts to keep her hair in a bun. Jared watched her rounded breasts tremble gently beneath the cotton, and saw more than just a hint of cleavage. He looked away, not wanting to ogle. She said, “If you’re hungry, I have bread and cheese and some wine you can have right away, or if you wouldn’t mind waiting, I can cook up something hot for you.”

Jared looked at the steaming tub then around at the interior of Helen’s house. The bed was tucked into the southeast corner of the room, no doubt away from the fierceness of the nasty arctic winds that howled in the winter. There was a fireplace in the middle of the north wall, with a wood rocking chair and a bentwood chair on either side angled toward it. A small, rectangular table was accompanied by two simple chairs in the area that was used for dining. In the center of the table was a small vase for flowers. Jared immediately noticed the flowers, though not displeasing to the eye, were actually made out of paper. A porcelain washbasin and towel were there on a small table for her morning wash. There was a tall bureau that looked dreadfully old and did not have doors but did have a curtain that appeared to have been made with several different scraps of either bed linen or towels. The bureau stood beside a scarred, four-drawer chest-of-drawers. Jared assumed the bureau and chest-of-drawers contained every last piece of clothing that Helen owned.

Everything around him whispered of quiet desperation, of a life lived at the very edge of the lowest level of respectability. During the ride from Whitetail Creek to Helen’s home, he had learned that she was a clerk of some sort. She had intentionally kept the facts quite vague, and Jared had been gentlemanly enough to not press her for details, despite his curiosity. If this was any indication of her wages, her employer wasn’t what anyone would consider generous.

“It’s not much,” Helen said, apology and embarrassment coloring her tone as she spied Jared eyeing her home, “but it’s been in the family ever so long. I just couldn’t see myself selling the property, just to make some quick money.”

Jared grinned, gave her a sideways look that displayed how proud he was of her, and replied, “That wouldn’t be right, now would it? And you, Helen Miller, strike me as a woman who does right.”

She blushed and looked away. “I try,” she said, suddenly shifting her bare feet nervously on the slat-wood floor. “Sometimes I just don’t do very well.” She gave her head a little shake, as though to cast off any unwanted personal doubts, and then nodded toward the steaming tub. “You’d better get in while the water’s still nice and hot.”

Jared removed his coat and put it over the bentwood chair near the fireplace. Next he slipped off the shoulder holster that held his deadly Colt revolver and looped that over the chair. His back was to Helen as he pulled off one boot, and then the other. His socks went next, then his shirt. Finally, he unbuckled his belt and removed his gabardine trousers. Very slowly, unsure of how he would be received while wearing only his underwear, he turned around. Helen hadn’t moved a muscle, and in fact had hardly breathed. There was a slight blush in her cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier.

Suddenly having been caught staring at the nearly naked man, she muttered, “I’m sorry,” and turned away quickly.

Jared grinned, wondering how many nude men she’d seen in her life, wondering, too, of the physique of those men. Every new thing he learned about Helen Miller pleased him.

He had at first felt himself to be astonishingly unlucky to stumble across the assault on her, since a man like him couldn’t simply
not
intervene. By doing so it put his life in grave jeopardy against a vicious enemy that vastly outnumbered him. But now, with the danger behind him and Helen still with him, he was beginning to consider this past night and morning to be perhaps the finest, luckiest moments of his life.

Near the washbasin he saw a small, glass plate that held the thin, oval remains of a bar of soap. He picked up the soap, untied the drawstring of his underwear, and then pushed them down to his ankles before stepping out of them. He calmly crossed the room and eased himself down into the hot, clean water. He had noticed that Helen had watched his every move out of the corner of her eyes. He knew better than to tease her for watching, and he kept his expression as bland as when he was at the poker table.

“I can’t thank you enough for this hot bath,” Jared said as he began trying to get some soap suds worked up between his palms. The bar of soap was much smaller than his palms and thin as a coin.

He looked up at Helen, and she suddenly smiled broadly. “Wait!” she exclaimed, then hurried over to a cabinet near the small dinner table, oblivious to what hurrying did to her ostentatiously feminine body with all those luscious curves that were only barely hidden beneath cotton so thin it was nearly “clothing” in name only.

Jared watched as Helen, from a cabinet containing provisions and supplies, extracted a new, white bar of soap. The new bar was about the size of a small, red builder’s brick. She hurried over to him, unintentionally giving him an unhampered view of her naked legs all the way up to her thighs when her robe split open during her haste. And when she bent over to hand Jared the soap—well, that robe was doing all it could to contain Helen’s voluptuous curves, and though succeeding, abject failure was an ever-present possibility. Jared had seen all of Helen’s generously endowed physical charms, but seeing her flouncing and jouncing, bouncing and swaying in the pathetically old and worn cotton robe, was both astonishingly erotic and emotionally painful. That pathetic robe was the finest summer-weight robe she owned, and in the back of Jared’s mind, much to his astonishment, he was already wondering what stores in Whitetail Creek there were that might have some clothes suitable for a woman as worthy as Helen Miller.