Steal Me Away (5 page)

Nude as I had been born, dripping from the river bath, I
strode to my tipi, pulled back the buffalo hide and peered inside my tent. I
urged my cock not to rise higher lest its length and girth make my woman shrink
from me. I did not wish to frighten her, only fuck her.

There in the center sat my woman, sitting on her heels
utterly naked as I know she would have been instructed by my sister, as was our
custom. Shining Moon raised her eyes to me. She was silent and more accepting than
when I had left her to talk with my old ones. In that, too, my sister Willow
Talks had worked for me. I smiled at Fancy in welcome to my life. To take her,
I had broken the rules of the Hill Country’s long knives. But to have her, I
had obeyed my own Great Spirit.

She was destined to be my wife. For together, we would make
peace among many to follow us. I did not know how, but I trusted the Great
Spirit when he said this was true.

As if she had heard this truth from him as well, she nodded
at me in greeting. Nervous, she did not appear to be frozen in fear of me as
her conqueror. At least this I had accomplished today.

Now, gazing upon her nakedness, I knew I had before me a
most joyous task. To caress those lips with my own and kiss her over and over
again like her white men. And like a strong Comanche, I would lick her flesh
along her elegant throat and cup her plump breasts. My cock jumped at the
thought.

Seeing my reaction, she caught her breath.

I put a hand out, saying with a gesture,
fear not. I mean
to love you.

She took my hand and rose, her injured ankle causing her to
limp. I looked upon her naked beauty and she allowed it. Whether she did so out
of courtesy or desire or simply because Willow Talks had instructed her to do
so, I would soon learn.

She took my breath with her loveliness.

Great Spirit, you have done me an honor.
Her breasts
would overflow my large hands. Her nipples, big as berries, hardened and turned
up to me as if in invitation. I ached to suck them like an eager baby. Her
waist was small, but her hips were wide and capable to hold me. Her legs, as I
had suspected, were very long. She was of a medium height for an Anglo. I stood
a head taller. But her
gatto
drew my gaze.

She had a hairy pussy, the same pale froth as that on her head.
Beneath those curls was the object of my desire. Her folds. Her tiny stone that
I would rub to make her quake. Her juices that would ease my cock into her
cunt.

At this wondrous sight, my cock stiffened painfully to get
inside her.

I drew her forward to me and curved an arm around her back
to bring her flush to my skin. Oh, she was soft. Her skin like the Anglos’ silk
cloth. Hot and trembling.
Why?

I lifted her chin and examined her eyes. “I would mate with
you, my lovely moon.”

“I know, I know. But I do not wish to be your whore.”

This last word I did not know. The warmth of her body and
the coolness of her words confused me. “We will be one.”

“Your people will hate me,” she said as she clung to me,
quivering as tears trailed down her cheeks.

I brushed them away. “You will be honored. They will not
hate you or hurt you.”

“But I cannot make love to you.”

I shifted to and fro, rubbing her beaded nipples against my
torso. My cock hardened and I swallowed against the urge to ram myself up
inside her pussy. “Yes you can and you want to.”

“But to lie with you without any words means that I am
nothing to you but—”

“You are everything to me.”

She burrowed against me, her head to my chest. “Bull Elk, if
you do this to me, then I am nothing. Nothing to my people. Nothing to yours.”

“To mine, you are my woman.” I would not speak of what she
would be to her own people, for I suspected she knew and this was the kernel of
her dismay. Since she would not return to her own kind, but be my own forever,
I thought my silence on this matter useful to us both. Instead, I stroked the
soft, clean silk of her hair and gave her my comfort. “My moon, we will form
one body all through the night and in the morning, you will be my wife.”

“Your wife? No,
Patuwa kum
. How can that be? To be
married, I must go to church. I must have a minister. A—a medicine man.”

Seeking approval from a god she understood, she tried to
accept what she could not change. But her terror needed be none. “I need no
minister. No medicine man. No one.”

“But in the sight of God, if we are to be one then—”

“Do you not say there is only one God?” I asked her, for I
had learned this when the Anglos in Fredericksburg had taught me about their
god, their book they called Bible.

She nodded. “We do.”

“Could he not be the same as my God?”

She frowned, thinking on that.

“My God made my world. This world. The same one you see and
share.”

“I understand what you say.”

“We could have the same God who is good and kind and gives
to every living creature.”

“We could,” she agreed.

“If he joins us in peace, is he not the same being?”

“He might well be, yes.” She stepped toward me.

“To make you mine is to lie beside you and inside you all
night.” I inclined my head toward the blankets heaped upon the buffalo hides.
“I stole you from your family to make you my wife. Come let me be your husband
and show you endless joy.”

My hand slid across her belly and down into that mound of
hair. There, one of my fingers intruded to push apart her plush lips and—
oh,
yes
—she gushed like spring rain in want of me. I played inside her for a
shuddering moment of glee and she swayed against me. I toyed with her swollen
flesh and her wet desire for me filled the tent with succulent sounds.

Staring at me, she became like water in my hands, her eyes
heavy with her need for me. Snapping upward, she gasped, then hid her face
against my shoulder.

“No, do not be ashamed,” I said as I slid to my knees and
opened her plump petals for my tongue to taste her.

She inhaled, but braced herself firmly, her hands to my
shoulders, as my lips kissed her and my tongue laved her precious flesh. She
was sweet. Her juice thick, musky and coating her inner thighs in want of me.

“You were fated to be mine. Come, let me show you how
enjoyable that can be. Then until I race toward the sun at the end of my days,
you will belong to me.”

Never in her girlish fantasies of a strong man taking her
virginity had Fancy predicted her reason could so quickly dissolve and her body
so desperately wish to be ravished. Because her mother had died when she was
twelve, she’d learned about intimacy only from others who painted no consistent
picture. Her older sister Collette had told her fascinating stories in coarse
but alluring language of how mating between a man and woman occurred. With her
family, Fancy had tended a ranch and watched horses and cattle mate. She had
also seen her both her brothers, Amos and Jeremiah, nude as children, swimming
in nearby Duck Creek. She had heard that boys’ small penises grew with age—and
desire.

Fancy knew how a male body fit into a female’s. How
offspring were made. She understood the risqué words many, like Collette and
her brothers, used when they joked about a man’s cock piercing a woman’s cunt.
She had heard whispers from other women that the act might be boring or worse,
violent. But what she felt now—this swing from euphoria to roaring
need—astonished her. She thought him striking. She knew him protective. She saw
his desire for her—and coveting his care of her, knowing she could not run from
him, she surrendered to her fate. She gave in to the hot need to be joined to
him. If she could escape him in the future, she vowed to try. For now, she
would accept what affection and love were offered and make the best of her
circumstances. To be his lover would be more than a reprieve from torture or
death at his or his braves’ hands. It would be an opportunity to live and live
well with a man who could care for her.

Hoping she had made the correct choice, she dug her
fingernails into Bull Elk’s shoulders as he sank to his knees. She reeled in
submission as he put his talented mouth to her nether parts and devoured her
with lust.

Glad that his sister had washed her body in warm water that
soothed her sore muscles, she eagerly—yes, shamelessly—opened her thighs and
her mind to his seduction. She was clean, even there amid her female folds
where Bull Elk kissed and sucked her avidly into his mouth. She was fragrant
too, thank heaven. His sister had washed and prepared her well for him.

Fancy let him claim her with his mouth. She closed her eyes
and let her hair stream down her naked back. In so doing, she gave up even more
control to this man who had taken her away from everything she had ever known,
learned or valued. Now she truly was his.

His.
She let out a sob as she conceded that she loved
what he did to her. Loved the devotion he showered on her. Adored the ruthless
sensuality of his domination. Yes she would allow this not merely because she
had no choice, but because she was seduced enough, craven enough to revel in
how deliciously submissive he made her feel. His commitment to controlling her
transformed her from his captive to his devoted partner.

At her cry, he reached up to caress the length of her arms
and tug her down to her knees. Face-to-face upon the mound of hides, she
admired his features. Oh, truly he was a handsome devil. Stark in his beauty,
he was a ferocious creature—a bull, well named—and bent on taming her. A smile
curved her lips. He grabbed her hair at both sides of her head and forced her
to study him at close range. With her adoring eyes, she told him how he
appealed to her. With the press of her moist skin to his, she told him how she
relinquished all she was to him. His broad shoulders and corded arms flexed as
his hands cupped her heavy breasts and his thumbs circled her nipples. She
moaned, admiring his lean waist, muscular hips and thighs, then gasped in need
at the sight of his long, thick cock.

She reached out a hand but snatched it back before she was
too bold and touched him. He caught her and urged her to enfold him. As his
gaze locked on hers, he taught her how to stroke him in languid motions. And
inside her own loins, where his lips had tasted and licked her, gushing desire
rushed through her cunt.

“This is yours,” he told her as he encouraged her to squeeze
his cock. “Caress me as you will.”

Taking him at his word, she gulped and dipped lower to hold
him at his root. She took his balls in her other hand. Oh, he was magnificently
made. Her eyelids drifted closed. His balls were huge. Curious and impressed,
she tested their weight in her palm, the intimacy of her act compelling her to
look into his eyes, making her swoon with blinding ecstasy.

“You are so large,” she whispered, petting his shaft.

He set his teeth, his gaze sultry. “To please you, the Great
Spirit has given me power.”

“I wish to have all you will give me,” she told him truly,
though with her meager understanding of mating, where the idea or the courage
came from she could not say.

“This I will do for you. Now lie down on the hides and let
me continue to learn you.” He supported her as she reclined along the soft
leather. “I wish to make your body sing in want of me.”

She hooked an arm around his neck and ran one hand through
the heavy curtain of his straight black hair. “My body pulses and yearns for
yours already.”

He smiled, his hand trailing from her throat to the valley
of her breasts. “These swell in invitation.”

“All of me does. I may break apart with my desire.”

He suckled one of her nipples, his teeth nipping her,
marking her, as his hand drifted to her belly. “Here, do you want me?”

“Yes.”

“And here?” His hand wended to the flesh above her mound.

“Oh, very much.”

“And here?” His fingers splayed into her tiny curls, and one
finger dropped between her woman’s lips to tantalize her.

She nodded and urged him close with a frantic sigh. Even his
fingers were huge. She was grateful that Willow Talks had stretched her to more
easily take all he would offer.

“I will have you here.” His finger intruded between her two
plump, hot lips and she cried out for more. Fevered by his slow invasion of her
body, she spread her thighs in invitation.

He tipped his head to one side. “We go slowly.”

She mewled, a testy sound even to her own ears. “Why?”

“Because you must see the sun first with my hand only.”

“Take me there.” Coll had told her how to please herself
years ago when they played together in the barn. Yet Fancy wanted the
excitement of Bull Elk’s caresses.

He cupped her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose. “I will
take you to view the brilliance of the sun, and only afterward will I use my
lance to go with you from that time forward.”

“Start now,” she urged, petulant as she had never dared be.
“Hurry.”

Laughing, he rose up on his knees and sat back. There, with
his sultry brown eyes examining her nether parts, he pressed her inner thighs
wide and hauled her bottom up onto his knees. With tender fingers, he parted
her flesh and stroked her top to bottom, over and over. “You are beautiful
here, my moon. Red and warm. Sweet too.” He sent two fingers inside her so that
she heard the liquid sound of her need for him. The feel of his invasion had
her arching up off his knees. He pushed her down and put his fingers to her
mouth. “Open and taste how you want me.”

Eager with delight, she put her lips around his fingers and
sucked like a greedy child. She tasted warm cream and the heady taste of her
own body’s juices had her writhing to have more. He loomed over her and
growled. “This will be how you will take me inside you. Sweetly coated with
blind need.”

He played with her woman’s parts, stroking and delving
inside her, extracting more of her musk and licking his own fingers as he
grinned at her.

She clutched at his shoulders. “Stop this torture. Come and
fuck me!”

He roared in laughter. “You know the Anglo men’s words.”

“I do.” She reached up to yank on his silver earring. “Make
love to me, Bull Elk. How could I be any more ready to have you?”

“Like this,” he said and parted her flesh to find a part of
her that he tapped and circled and pinched ever so gently. She bucked and he
bent once more to her pussy. There he parted her so wide she thought she’d
break. With his tongue, he devoured her flesh, nibbling and tickling, until he
paused, said a few Comanche words so grave and decadent, then speared her cunt
with his searing tongue. Delving, prodding, drinking up all her cream, he
feasted on her. She cried out, captured by his lust, cast up in a raging
whirlwind, caught by the force of his tongue. Soaring, she saw behind her
eyelids a brilliance she had only barely glimpsed. The sun had never shone so
blindingly nor had the sight of it ever sent her pulsing back to earth.

She hooked an arm around his throat and hid her face in his
chest. Gasping for air, she clung to him. Grateful, mad with hunger for more,
she caressed one of his nipples and kissed the rise above the tattoo of the elk
standing beneath a moon.

He put her to the hides again. His expression all raw
savagery, he pulled her ass up on his bent knees and played in her wet folds.
“This is your pussy. Mine,” he said and she gasped at the word. He sent one
finger, then two up inside her core. “This is your cunt.” She cried out, her
veins shot through with wild desire. “This is my cock,” he said, his voice
sounding like thunder on the plains as he reared back and in a slow glide
filled her, “fucking you.”

“Yes. Please.”

“You are still—” He used a Comanche word.

But she understood his meaning. “A virgin.”

“No man has ever seen you like this, has he?”

“No.”

“Tasted you?”

“Never.”

“I claim you,” he confirmed, held her hips in a painful grip
and thrust.

Her mouth fell open. Her heart paused. His cock was iron.
Her cunt melted around him and bound him close. Fancy rejoiced in her embrace
of him. And contrary to what Collette had said would happen when a man took her
for the first time, she felt no pain. Only raging joy. Moaning, she grabbed his
hips. He plunged once and she gasped at how totally he filled her. He withdrew
and drove inside her again with a deliberate thrust that locked him to her. She
groaned and looked into his sultry dark eyes. He was her passion come to sweet,
savage life.

“Make love to me, my Bull,” she pleaded with him.

Narrowing his gaze on hers, he tested her words by plunging
with all his might into her core. She took him all. Every inch. And lifted her
hips to him to ask for more.

He sank his nails into her flesh and rocked her with a
steady wave of his cock into her needy little cunt. She met him stroke for
stroke, not knowing how she could or why, only reveling in how marvelous he
felt. Heaven, she decided, was like this. Hard and fast he pumped into her,
riding her with a hard fury that took her up to the sky once more and danced
her on the surface of a blazing, scorching sun.

Curling up to him, she heard him growl as he shot his seed
into her and held his cock inside her for long, trembling moments. Undone and
astonished, she undulated her hips against his and asked for something more,
she knew not what.

He pulled out of her. She saw his cock, slick but still
hard. “I must mark you this way too.”

With one arm around her, he rolled her to all fours. There,
he covered her like male animals of the forest took their mates. He whispered
wild words in Comanche that fired her blood and had her pushing back against
him for more of his fine cock. Grunting, he kissed her nape and praised her in
English. He sank two fingers in her cunt and ran his still swollen rod along
her slippery slit. There, for long delicious moments, he toyed with her flesh,
pierced her with his randy dick and brought her up to the bright sunlight once
again.

She sank to the hides, his body blanketing hers. There,
exhausted but still hungry for his hands and mouth upon her sensitive tissues,
she lay on her back and let him suck her and lick her until waves of fulfillment
once more rippled inside her tender flesh. And then the two of them drifted to
sleep.

* * * * *

All through that deep and dreamless night, while braves
danced, whooping and stomping to the beat of drums for my success and in grief
for Knows Brown Bear’s death, I took my bride in my arms over and over again
and branded her as mine. Each time, she came to me, eager for more. Each time,
she let me eat her juicy pussy, tug at her nipples and toy with her frilly
female petals. She was as passionate as I had foreseen in my dreams.
More.
She was responsive to my every touch, ravenous for my every caress, each kiss,
each new excitement I lavished on her.

In my years as a warrior, I had taken two women to my tent
as wife. Both had been good women and kind. One had been funny. One had been
pretty. But neither was like Shining Moon. None craved my cock. None wanted to
be consumed by my manly fire. None impelled me to make her scream or sigh or
melt or burn with me. This one, this Anglo woman with the pale skin and the
gleaming flaxen hair, let me love her as I would with raw lust. To ram her and
make a mark upon her as my own.

Each time she had awakened, I had shown her new ways to see
the sun.

As dawn broke, I gazed up at the hole in my tipi to watch
light erase the shadows inside. Propped on one arm, I licked my lower lip as I
examined my wife’s beauty. My sleeping woman lay in careless abandon upon my
hides, one hand thrown up against her chin like a child. I tugged away the hide
with which I had covered her last night after my last claim of her. Her full
breasts flattened against her chest with their weight. I smiled, admiring her
pink, pebbled nipples that I had nipped and bitten and pinched to fine, hard
points so many times last night. Her belly was taut, her hipbones prominent,
and her pussy—that beautiful bush of hair—was still coated with the wet
evidence of our union. Today I would have the honor to shave her there. For her
compliance, I would be most happy to reward her and fill her up once more with
my male flesh.