Chapter 7

He steeled himself against her tears. He had to remember that she hadn’t wanted to get married at all, and that he’d forced her. While he wouldn’t slack off on her punishment, he would do everything in his power to prove to her that he could be a good husband. He would be generous and kind, and swore to himself that he would never discipline her in anger. He’d come too close to that already.

For better or worse, she was his wife. He would ensure her pleasure, but she would do her duty to him tonight and every night of their marriage. She didn’t protest when he rolled her to her back and clenched her eyes shut when he spread her legs apart and settled between her thighs. He kissed her gently, tickling the seam of her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth.

She allowed his touch, but didn’t return his affections. When he lifted his head, she turned her face away. Sitting up, he stroked his hands down her soft belly, tweaking her nipples until they hardened into peaks and she let out a soft gasp. Her hips bucked when he petted her soft curls and he wanted to smile. His cheer faded when he touched her dry flesh.

This wouldn’t do at all. He wanted the wild wanton who had ridden him to completion all those months ago. Remembering the lessons he’d gotten from an Italian whore when he’d been a stripling lad in Boston, he lowered himself between her legs and scooted down until her pretty cunny was level with his face. Inhaling the sweet, musky scent of her, he sucked her pleasure bud into his mouth.

She screamed and tried to escape, tearing at his hair as she jerked his head away from her cunny. “You can’t do that! It’s dirty!”

“Don’t fight me, Abby,” he warned. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he pushed her back down and set to work. The taste of her exploded in his mouth as her flesh grew wet with arousal. She stiffened and cried out when he pushed two fingers into her slippery channel, curving them upward to rub at the place the whore had shown him. Her flesh clenched down on his fingers and he sucked her clitoris into his mouth, dragging her orgasm from her with his hand. He gentled her from the peak with soft licks and kisses, her sweet taste flooding his senses and making his cock hard enough to pound nails.

He ignored his cock in favor of bringing her another orgasm. He hadn’t cared much for it with the whore, but with Abby, he could lick her cunny all damned day.

“Please, Caleb.”

Her broken whisper undid him and he crawled up her body, bestowing gentle kisses on her flesh as he went. Still holding her hands, he hooked his free arm around one thigh and opened her to his cock. She gasped and her eyes closed as he slid deep inside. His hips jerked as she tightened around him and he had to look away from her flushed face before he spilled inside her like an untried boy.

He flexed his hips, angling himself so he rubbed against that spot inside her. When her hips bucked against him, he moved faster, desperate to give her pleasure once more before he came. He let go of her thigh and reached down to pinch the nubbin at the apex of her sex, rubbing it furiously until she screamed out her release, her inner muscles squeezing him to the point of pain as she dragged his seed from his body.

He groaned as he spilled inside his wife, and his head fell to the crook of her neck as he panted out his release. Letting go of her hands, he stroked his palms over her shoulders and lowered his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

She accepted and even tangled her tongue shyly with his for a single, golden moment. Her eyes flashed open and tears welled. “No,” she whispered.

“No, what, sweetheart?”

“Get off me, please!” She struggled under him and almost succeeded in bucking him off.

He pulled out and knelt up. “What’s wrong?” She ignored him and curled into a ball, her prayer barely audible over her tears.

“Please, God, let me be barren!”

Without a word, he eased himself out of their bedroll and let her cry herself to sleep.

A rough hand shook her awake and she sat up, wiping sand from her eyes. Caleb was already dressed and the horses were saddled. He held out an apple and a hunk of yellow cheese. When she took the offerings, he dropped her boots and stockings to the ground next to her.

“Eat and get dressed. You have ten minutes.”

She glanced around their camp, but saw nothing aside from the blankets she’d slept in and their horses. Even their fire had been kicked out, the scar erased. “Where are the rest of my clothes?”

“You don’t get any. There’s still the matter of your daily punishment, and it’s the only thing I could think of that will keep you from running off. You should thank me for letting you have your boots.”

Without another word, he pulled her to her feet and snatched the blankets. He walked away, rolling them into a single bedroll tied with a bit of string. He leaned up against a tree and uncoiled the whip from his belt. “Best get moving, honey. You have eight minutes. You’ll get extra with my belt if you dally too long.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He wasn’t listening. He never did. She hoped they didn’t pass anyone on the road. She would just die if anyone saw her. Surely, he would relent before they left camp.

Seven minutes later, she gritted her teeth and bent at the waist, putting her palms against the tree. Her feet were shoulder width apart, toes pointed in, exactly as he’d placed her the night before.

“Good girl.” He patted her hip like she was an obedient horse and massaged her sore bottom, exactly as he’d done the night before. She let her head fall forward, the humiliation too much to bear. “Don’t forget to count. Start at eleven.”

The whip whistled and she bit her lip as the fire burned her bottom. “Eleven,” she gritted out. She would not cry this time, or any other. She’d spent all the tears she could afford on Caleb Walsh.

By fifteen she was rethinking that oath, but reminded herself that she’d been strong enough to travel from Kansas City to Oklahoma by herself. And by the time she said twenty, her voice was strong and calm. It hurt like the dickens, but she would survive it. Turning to stare at him, she stood up and realized that if she’d been strong enough to bury one husband and start over, she could do it again.