The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (7 page)

But something made her ornery again. “I most certainly do
not!
If you mean those deranged folks who become stimulated by violence and aggression, no, sir, that’s not my idea of play.”

Milo dared approach her. She cringed back a few inches, so he knew she still feared men after her recent run-in with Sam. Milo feared women, too, so they were on even ground. They were like two frightened deer approaching each other, each prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. “I admit there are some who become aroused by that sort of play. Spanking and slapping can be highly erotic if done in the proper way. But there is another sort of play that is softer, gentler.”

She tilted her head. “Oh, yes? I’m not saying I would abhor the spanking. If done between two adults who agree to the format beforehand, I see nothing wrong. What I detest is when one of the couple goes off on his own rampage of promiscuity without the other’s knowledge, that is what I’m saying.”

“Oh, no doubt that’s wrong,” Milo said truthfully. It never would’ve occurred to him to whore around on his wife. He had loved her truly, deeply, wholeheartedly. And he hoped he never loved anyone that thoroughly again. “You had every right to chuck a spittoon at that shit sack’s head. But some people act like that every day of the year. I believe they think life would become too boring without all that violent drama. So you won’t give him another chance?”

“Not on your life! I’m through with men.”

“Through with men? Perhaps you’d like a more…
physical
relationship that doesn’t involve opening yourself up to emotional turmoil.”

She appeared to consider his words. She even relaxed enough to lean on a sideboard. “What sort of softer, gentler play were you referring to? I am sure I’ve seen it all, here in the savage frontier. I came to California burned by the sun, my ribs poking through my skin, the soles of my shoes parting company with the uppers. A man came to me and offered five dollars if I’d give him one of my biscuits. It occurred to me money was to be had in serving others their basic needs. Now I own my own inn, I had the store and bodega built, and every night I close my oven door on a bag full of silver coins. There is nothing you can show me that I haven’t seen.”

Milo dared to step even closer. Although she still cringed a bit and narrowed her eyes with skepticism, she was open to him. He raised a hand and touched her face with the backs of his fingers. “You still need a protector. Let me be your protector. You bring out the sheltering, guardian instinct in me.”

She didn’t shy away from his touch. “And what would I give you in return?” She smiled coquettishly. “I doubt that I have anything that you want, other than silver coins.”

“You’d be surprised,” he nearly whispered. It was terrifying, touching a woman’s face. It was even more terrifying to be acting tender and kind. Milo wasn’t accustomed to either of these things. It felt as though a stranger was running his fingers down her brown throat, fingering the indentation of her clavicle. Her expression was soft, curious, as though wondering what he was up to next. “You may be able to wave a pistol at a man’s head, but I’m here to tell you. As a woman, you’re helpless. Even the strongest woman is going to be physically weaker than the weakest man.”

He surprised even himself when he swooped in to take a sucking bite from that clavicle that had beckoned him so enticingly. She gasped but clutched his head and allowed him to back her into the sideboard. While he bit and licked the creamy skin of her throat, he was easily able to snatch up the drawers Carlos had placed on the chair. He encircled one of her wrists in his fingers and yanked it behind her back. He had to press his body to hers to twine the drawers around the sideboard leg, capturing her supple thigh between his. It was entirely foreign to be humping a woman’s thigh like that, much softer and more pliable than a man’s.

And her smell! Bread baked in the adobe oven emanated from her delightful neck, and Milo could have sworn his lips brushed over a dusting of flour she had smeared there. When he took her earlobe between his teeth he tasted the corn used in making the tortillas. Tallulah was a veritable feast, the least of which was not the sugary scent that rose from between her jiggling breasts when he dared to slide the short cap sleeve of her
camisa
down, baring her brown shoulder. A bite of that was creamier, softer than any man’s skin could ever be. Milo’s heart raced in both terror and arousal.

She sighed, caressing his head with her free hand. It emboldened him to hump her thigh, rubbing the underside of his stiff tool against her. He was encouraged when she let loose with a whole stream of ladylike moans, and he clutched her between his thighs like a dog in heat.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “You’re determined to make some kind of point about how much I need your protection.” She slithered up and down the sideboard, rotating her hips as though rubbing her cunt against the worn corner of the table. “You don’t need to pretend to be attracted to me to make your point.”

Milo could hear the smile in her voice. Her throat vibrated against his lips as though she purred deeply in her chest. He captured her other hand and joined it to the one bound at the small of her back, twining the drawers around that wrist, too. “Pretend? Why would I need to pretend, Tillie? You’re an absolutely ravishing, spectacular woman.”

There was a whine in her voice now, but she kept lunging her hips and squirming, the better to stimulate his prick. “But you don’t like women. I saw the way you were looking at that Spanish soldier. As though you wanted to eat him alive. I can’t blame you—he was quite dashing. But how can I ever compete with that?”

Her wrists secure behind her back, the large mounds of her breasts jutted out proudly. Milo stood tall to finally look into her eyes. It was difficult to seem sincere when his gaze was distracted by the swelling rise of her bosom. She didn’t wear a corset, as most women didn’t in California—merely a chemise under her
camisa
—and one nipple was very nearly poking out of the bodice.
She thinks Reynaldo is dashing.
Jealousy burned in Milo’s stomach. On an impulse he swiped a few finger’s worth of soft butter from where it sat in a dish, next to some tortilla crumbs and a wedge of cheese. He gave her what he’d been told was his most seductive smile and slowly applied the grease to her pectoral. “You got the wrong impression that I don’t like women. I said I haven’t touched a woman in five years, since my wife. That much is true. And it’s true I’ve been avoiding women, for my own reasons.”

Her eyelids were fast sliding shut as he massaged the upper slope of her breast, her head tilting to one side. “But you were so attracted to the soldier you followed him into the tower.”

“Yes, I did. Why can’t a fellow truck with both women and men? Men have been my toy since my wife’s death.” He felt her stiffen—perhaps he hadn’t mentioned before that his wife had died—so this was a good time to sweep his hand beneath the cotton
camisa
and squeeze her entire breast fully in his hand.

“But the
calabozo
guards said—
ah!
”

Tallulah hissed in air when Milo squeezed, her alluring brown nipple popping out between his greasy fingers. Milo had nearly forgotten what it was like to fondle a woman’s breast, and these globes were absolutely luscious. The way Tallulah reposed helplessly, too, her hips thrust forward and her head thrown back, brought out the randy beast in him. Perhaps it would be acceptable for him to handle a woman if he squelched down any potential emotion with raw, domineering lust.

Taking another swipe of butter, Milo greased up the tit fully, harshly raking his fingers, roughened by reins and the plow, over the rigid nipple. She gasped and twitched like a worm on a hook. “The
calabozo
guards? What did they say?”

“They said—
ah!—
they said—
ah!
—that they watched you hold a sword to Corporal Vargas’s throat then force yourself on him.”

Milo frowned. On one hand, it wasn’t true. He’d hardly had to force the corporal to do anything. On the other hand, it appeared to make Tallulah hot, imagining him forcing himself upon the soldier. There was never anything wrong with a little fantasy if it made his partner hot. Milo diddled Tallulah’s nipple, causing her jaw to slacken. Her lower lip shined with a drip of spittle, as though she were drowning in her inner world, unaware of anything outside this room, concentrating. “And how did the
calabozo
guards enjoy watching that performance?”

“
Ah!
They were—they were yammering to the cooking staff that—that—”

Milo paused his fingers on her nipple. Apparently she couldn’t speak coherently while being manhandled. And with his vigorous humping against her thigh he could feel the semen surge up the underside of his prick. If he didn’t pause he’d be ejaculating inside his own pantaloons, always an embarrassing prospect.

It worked. She sighed and opened her moist eyes to him. “That you got down on your knees and suckled the corporal to completion.” Her look seemed fond, full of adoration. “You really
are
a domineering brute, aren’t you? Maybe it’s you I should be afraid of.”

“They said that? Well. Do I taste like jism, then?” And Milo kissed Tallulah full on her luscious mouth.

A rush of emotions and lust roiled through him. To be kissing a woman again—yesterday, it was unthinkable! He would rather be lynched than kiss one of these dainty, frail creatures! Now his tongue-tip lapped at the backs of her cunning little teeth and she returned the kiss with ardor, shaking her shoulders so that her mashed tits stimulated his chest, buttering up his shirt.

Men were an entirely different story. One could maul them, slap them around, and they would bounce back swimmingly. Most men even sort of revered him for it. Being dominated, smacking someone around, these were things that men understood. Spanking and slapping told Milo’s lovers that his heart was hardened to them, that he was a callous, pitiless bastard. It told them he was only there for the sexual satisfaction—that they could not pierce his heart with their ceaseless insistence on becoming ill or dying.

But a realization raced through him as he kissed Tallulah that already he was opening himself up to pain. She was too beautiful, too graceful, too amiable. How could he harden his heart against her?

So he slapped her.

He lightly slapped her buttery breast with the back of his hand, and it made a satisfying smack. He broke the kiss to gauge her reaction. She looked shocked, her eyes frozen in surprise, so he slapped the tit again. It bounced juicily, and a slow smile spread over her face.

“You bastard!” she said with wonder. “You really
are
a—
oh!
”

Milo grinned, too, and smacked her other tit with his greasy hand. “See what I mean? You’re just a helpless wench here, with no way to protect yourself. Anyone can just come up and manhandle you.”

Tallulah narrowed her eyes. “Yes.
Because you tied my hands!
” When she squirmed to pretend to protest her treatment, it only made her full breasts sway more enticingly, encouraging him to cuff them again. “And yes. Yes, you taste like jism.” She licked her lips salaciously.

Now he was comfortable in his element. He controlled her. This he was accustomed to. He could slap her, pinch her nipples, make her pussy quiver with delight and anticipation. “You like it,” he surmised, “that my mouth tastes like semen.”
Slap
.

Her nostrils flared when he swatted her tit, but she looked up at him seductively. “Of course. I like the idea of two masculine men going hard at it. Perhaps you’d let me watch the two of you.”

Milo had to think for more than a second. Did she really just say that? Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that she thought him an androphile. Or perhaps she saw him for what he truly was. A lover of both sexes. A man who appreciated the beauty in the athletic curve of a man’s pectoral and the saucy sway of a woman’s ass.

“I would,” he replied, “but it’s up to Corporal Vargas.”

Lifting her skirt, he gave her pussy a little swat. She had braced herself with her feet wide apart on her Persian rug, and he slapped her mons veneris in the slit of her drawers. The slap made a clammy sound and his hand came away sticky. Her pussy was completely drenched with the handling he was giving her.

“I would, but it’s up to Corporal Vargas.”

When Milo swatted her cunt, the stinging and tingling made her heart race. This fearsome brute of a man had bound her and was slapping her, and lust surged through her female organs. Yesterday this would have been unthinkable. But his brutal dominance excited Tallulah. He was a man through and through, an out-and-out animal, sensual and untamed.

Her husband, Ned, had been so mild-mannered it was an even more devastating shock when, on the trail to California, a female friend had informed her he’d been humping every lady on two legs, and even some of the Digger squaws they passed. Maybe it was better to have a man who laid all his cards on the table. Milo made no pretense of being a sensitive, caring fellow, although Tallulah was certain one lurked beneath the rough exterior—somewhere. How delicious it would be peeling back the rough layers, to see caring in his eyes, to nestle his head against her breast, to cuddle his magnificent torso.