Rocky Mountain Bride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 2) Read online

  “Now there’s a pretty sight,” her husband drawled. He stood on the bank, looking down with a smile.

  She scrambled to gather her clothes. Miles closed the distance between them and stopped her from pulling her dress over her head.

  “What do we have here?” His eyes got intense as he stroked her nipples, teasing their dusky peaks.

  Carrie closed her eyes as his large hand roamed over her. When one dipped between her legs, she dropped her clothes and had to hang on to him for balance.

  “Spread for me,” he murmured, and she rocked her legs further apart. She was totally naked in the forest, where anyone might come and see, and she didn’t care so long as Miles kept his hands on her.

  At last his finger came up to coat her lips with her own juices.

  “There,” he said, as she stared at him in a fog of need. “That’s better.”

  He stepped away and she almost fell forward. Her whole body was taut with desire, screaming for release.

  A mewling cry left her lips as she pleaded with him. Miles grinned and smacked her bottom. “Back to chores.”

  Inside the homestead, she could barely function. She stood at the doorstep for a few minutes, trying to see her way out of the haze. He’d teased her and tormented her, and left her.

  When she went to put on her corset, she noticed the stain on the bodice and remembered him painting her with his seed the night before, and leaving her trembling and ready.

  Climbing back into bed, she slipped her fingers between her legs, closed her eyes and thought of that moment. Her orgasm rocked through her seconds later.

  She opened her eyes, her own moans echoing in her ears. The door to the homestead was open, but nobody came to stop her.

  Settling back in the still warm blankets, she reached between her legs again.

  *****

  “What are you doing?” Miles said from the door.

  Carrie blinked at him and tried to rise. Several orgasms later, her fingers were stiff and her folds felt sore.

  “Nothing.”

  He stalked inside, a little smile playing on his face. “You couldn’t wait for me?”

  His large hand traced down her front, making her shiver and clench again. Her climaxes alone were nothing like the ones with him, which is why she’d kept trying for them.

  When she sat up, she noticed the fire was out. Her clothes still were spread over the chest, along with Miles’ shirt she’d promised to finish darning.

  The grin left Miles face. “Did you do nothing today but seek your own pleasure?”

  “What?” Carrie scrambled out of bed and looked for the sun in the eastern sky, feeling horror shoot though her when it wasn’t there.

  “What time is it?”

  “Well past noon,” Miles said.

  The blood left her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Get dressed,” Miles told her, and left the cabin.

  Drawing on her layers quickly, she wondered how bad her punishment would be. Out here, laziness was the worst sin; it would fester and put everyone’s life in danger. And what she did, selfishly seeking her own pleasure, was the worst sin of all.

  Miles returned with a few pieces of rope. One he tied around her neck so it hung down loosely, and then he knotted a second to the first loop, and used both ends to secure her wrists. The result was that she couldn’t move her arms further down than her waist.

  “That should keep you to supper. I expect a good, but simple meal, and all your same chores done.”

  “Wait,” she cried when he headed to the door. “I’m to stay like this all day?”

  “Aye, wife. You’ve just received a paddling, so I’m going to wait to give you that part of your punishment. But until you can be trusted to put your hands to good use, the binding stays.”

  With despair, she watched him leave, then spent the rest of the afternoon struggling to reach the things she needed, either bending down or standing on a chair. Making the fire was the worst, she had to kneel almost in the ashes to place the logs. When she went to sweep, the rope limited her movements so it took twice as long.

  By the time Miles came home, she was so frustrated she could cry. She’d found a bit of pork fat and roasted some vegetables in them, but felt ashamed at the simple meal. Miles dug in without complaining, but when he asked if she was eating she shook her head.

  “That’s not part of your punishment.” He took her on his knee and fed her, saving her the trouble of stooping through the whole meal to use her fork. Cheeks burning with shame, she humbly bent her head to take food from his hand. She felt so helpless, and she realized how true this was. His care, his protection, her whole life was in his hands. And she thrived within his care.

  She wished she didn’t feel so strongly for him. It would be easier for her to be a good wife, and obey, if she wasn’t struggling with her lust.

  When the meal was done, he kissed her softly. “So sweet. I wish I was not so tired.” He carried her to bed and untied her. “Can I trust you tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  He stroked her back, but thankfully didn’t torture her, or ask for her to pleasure him.

  She slept fitfully, and in the morning, after she dressed, he bound her hands again.

  “How am I going to fetch water and do the chickens?”

  “You’ll figure out a way. I’m off to the far pasture and can’t have you frittering the day away.”

  “But—”

  Miles leaned down, tawny eyes serious. “Complain anymore and I’ll hobble you, too.”

  All day long, she struggled with her chores. After noon, Carrie heard a cow lowing outside and went to see Miles leading one of the cattle.

  “What’s that?”

  “This is Bessy, for milking. Her calf’s all weaned and we need the milk more than it. Tomorrow we’ll head into town and get more supplies. Martin ordered a churn for me, so you can make butter.”

  She bit her lip, excited at the thought, but wondering how she’d fit in more chores. The day had been the longest of her life. She’d never realized how much she needed her hands. For lunch she’d found a berry bush and picked all she could reach and put them right in her mouth. It was delicious, but the activity left her aching.

  Miles seemed to know what she was thinking. “It’ll be a funny sight to see you churning butter with your hands tied.”

  She scowled at him.

  Miles spent the afternoon building a shanty off the chicken coop for the cow to live in. Carrie sat in the garden, miserable as she stopped to pick beans and pull carrots. The rope chafed and her arms and shoulders were sore. Every passing hour made it worse.

  “Got enough for dinner?” Miles stood at the fence, eyeing her bowl of beans.

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s go. I’ll make the hoe cakes.”

  Back in the cabin, she sat at the table and sulked as Miles dumped the beans in the large iron pot, and started mixing the meal for the hoe cakes.

  “Have you ever milked a cow before?” he asked, and she nodded. He indicated that she should take the pail and go.

  Dragging her feet, she went to the pail. With her arms bound, she had to bend down almost in half to pick it up. Milking the cow would be nigh impossible. With a sorrowful look at Miles, she started out the door.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped and her husband came to her side.

  “I’m proud of you for obeying without complaint.” He undid the ropes and she moved with a sigh, working out the kinks in her aching shoulders.

  “I’ll give you a rub down tonight,” he promised, and then smacked her bottom lightly. “See to Bessy.”

  Even untied, her arms were stiff and protesting as she coaxed the cow out of her pen, and then sat on a stump and leaned into finish the chore.

  As the milk filled the pail, she thought about Miles.

  She’d allowed sin to creep into her life, even though she tried to fight it. Even now, the place between her legs begged greedily
for release.

  She sighed. When had she become such a wanton woman?

  Miles surely hadn’t helped. The punishment had just made her chores a hundred times harder. She shuddered to think what it would be like to have her feet tied as well.

  Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be a good wife. With that last sad thought, she made her way back to the cabin, where her husband had plenty of food on the table.

  He was humming, still in a good mood. Her scowl deepened.

  When she flounced and set down the milk pail on the table almost hard enough to slosh it over.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “My arms are tired.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to town. Buy supplies.” He glanced up at her to see if she was pleased, but she ignored him, shoving hoe cakes in her mouth.

  “Carrie.”

  She glanced up, realizing he’d called her name twice.

  He grinned at her. “You like the cakes?”

  “They’re tolerable,” she said. Back home they’d been her favorite, and he did a good job making him, damn the man. She swallowed her last mouthful and jumped up to clear her plate, unwilling to sit across his smug, smiling self.

  He caught her arm. “We’re not done talking.”

  She sat with a huff and he glanced over at the paddle meaningfully.

  Quieting, she let him ask his questions about what they needed from the store.

  “We’ll stock up,” he promised her. “I know it’s been a hard adjustment, but you’re doing well.”

  The compliment didn’t soothe her. If he knew how hard it was, why did he punish her so harshly?

  “After the store, we can go to church, if you like.”

  She stared at him. “Tomorrow’s Sunday?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Have the days gotten away from you?”

  “Of course they have,” she snapped.

  “Excuse me?” His smile left as quickly as it came.

  “You heard me. We live in a godforsaken wilderness, with barely enough food to last the week.” She banged her plate down to emphasize her point. “We’re so far away from civilized company I don’t even know if the Union’s won the war!”

  She saw the warning look on his face, but couldn’t help it, standing up so quickly her chair toppled over.

  “Carrie, you will speak to me with respect.”

  She felt frustration boil out of her. “Oh, and what else am I to do?” she shouted. “I am doing the best I can.” Whirling, she stomped out of the cabin, standing on the edge of the porch, unwilling to set foot on the wild grass. Why would anyone live in this godforsaken place? It was as if he’d chosen it just to test her.

  Turning, she saw Miles standing there, his face like a storm cloud. His broad form filled the doorway, and she almost gasped at the longing that gripped her. Her body was aching with need, like an itch she didn’t know how to scratch.

  “Go inside, and undress. You’ve earned a punishment.”

  His stance radiated quiet displeasure, and she couldn’t help fanning the flames. She wanted him wild and raging as she was, his strict control be damned. “Why not here?” She gestured to the porch. “You’ve not been shy to punish me outside before. Afraid some travelers will come by and see your wife’s naked form?”

  Frustration flashed through his face. He came towards her and she backed away, wondering if she’d poked the bear too hard. He must have seen some fear on her face, because he stopped. “Carrie, you’ve been surly and upset for days now; let me settle you.”

  “I’m not a mare you can quiet,” she snapped back, but she turned on her heel and went back inside, knowing her attitude was probably making things worse. Tearing off her clothes, she sat down on her sewing stool to wait for him.

  He took his time coming inside, and once there, she noticed his frustration was tightly in hand. Stupid man.

  “Stand up,” he commanded.

  Unwilling to test his control again, she did so.

  “Next time I tell you you’ll be disciplined, you’ll go inside and undress, take the paddle off the hook and lean over the bed.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Silence, Carrie. Talk back or dally and I’ll double your punishment. Now go get the paddle.”

  She stood rooted to the spot, determined not to be a willing part of this.

  After a moment, he came towards her.

  “Turn around.” He lay a blanket over the trunk and then guided her over it. As soon as his hands touched her, she jumped. She couldn’t fight him, she knew, but she trembled a little for her poor bottom.

  Once she was in position, he cupped her buttocks, squeezing them.

  “I know what you need, Carrie,” Miles said. His hand started tapping her backside, warming her skin before the real blows would fall. He spent longer than he ever had before preparing her bottom, and she whimpered, realizing the long spanking that would be coming.

  Sure enough, when his hand started to fall in a hard rhythm, the pain blossomed quickly. She kicked her feet a little in protest, but pressed her mouth shut.

  “I expect you to mind my words.” Miles spoke over the rhythmic smacks of his palm. After a minute, he drew her drawers down, palming cheeks. Carrie knew her skin must be cherry red; it felt hot, like burning coals all over the surface. And then the spanking continued on her bare skin.

  “You will be respectful, and follow my lead. If you are upset or have a request, you will come to me and ask me with the deference I deserve as your husband. I care for you, Carrie, and I have no wish to see you struggle.”

  A small whimper escaped but she screwed her face up, tensing with each blow. Miles peppered her bottom with smacks on each cheek, high and low, with a few falling almost on her thighs. She wriggled, but there was no escaping the terrible tyranny of his large hand.

  Then he stopped and kneaded her bottom hard again, and she realized her spanking was going to be the longest she’d ever endured.

  She turned her head to glare at him. It’s not fair. Her look told him.

  Miles sighed again. His hand smacked down and she yelped, realizing he’d still been holding back. How could there be so much strength in his arm?

  The new spanking rained down hard, and her ears filled with her own cries. She told him to stop, she begged him, then let her head hang down and moaned.

  When he stopped again, he guided her back up to stand before him. She was grateful he didn’t have her sit down; her bottom was so hot she was sure it would catch the blanket on fire.

  “Anything you’d like to apologize for?”

  “I’m sorry for talking back to you,” she said immediately.

  “When?”

  “At the dinner table.”

  He said nothing and she wracked her memories. “And for being disrespectful to you. I’ve been surly all day.”

  “All week, actually,” Miles said. “Back over the trunk now.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But I said I was sorry.”

  “Are you going to continue to disobey me?”

  Grimacing, she draped herself over the trunk. Miles walked away and she couldn’t help shifting her weight from foot to foot. When he returned, she felt the paddle touch her backside.

  “No, Miles, please.”

  “Hush. I want you to feel this now.”

  She shifted from foot to foot and he laid a warm hand on her backside, shushing her. “Be still, Carrie.”

  She let her head sag, her body with it. Nothing could stop her punishment now. This man always took care of her, she reminded herself. He was careful and kind, even with animals. And he told her she was precious to him.

  The first smack landed on her flesh and all thoughts of his kindness flew from her head. The paddle radiated pain out into her body with bruising force. She would have yelled out, but he laid a few more down before she caught her breath.

  “It hurts,” she gasped.

  “It’s supposed to.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, but she hadn’t let them fall
.

  “Are you truly sorry for your behavior tonight?”

  She nodded, afraid if she spoke, tears would fall.

  Miles loomed over her, peering at her in the dim light. “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m truly sorry,” she said in faltering tones.

  He let her up but she didn’t move. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t let them out.

  “Hang on,” her soon to be husband said, and took her arm, guiding her over to the bed. He sat and before she knew it, she was across his knee, hanging on for dear life as he palmed her heated flesh again. “Submit to me, Carrie. You can let go,” he told her, and laid three more firm, heavy smacks on her throbbing flesh.

  Her sobs broke from her then, and she let her head hang down, the tears rushing like a waterfall onto the floor. She cried for everything: her lost home, this rough place she now lived, beautiful and deadly, frightening, this stern man with gentle hands she’d committed to.

  “There now,” Miles soothed. “Let it all out.” When her sobbing died down to hiccups, he righted her and held her as she gingerly sat on his lap.

  “You did well,” he said, stroking her wet hair from her face. “You please me.”

  She felt a rush of happiness at his words.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, and then heaved a deep sigh. Her tears were all wrung out; she could speak again. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “There’s my sweet girl.” He kissed her on the nose and went to get her water. He was halfway across the room before she realized she’d thanked him for disciplining her.

  He brought her water and held it to her lips, a little crinkle around his eyes.

  “Lie on your belly,” he told her and she obeyed with a sigh.

  He massaged her neck, shoulders and arms while she let herself sink into the bed. Her bottom still ached, but when Miles caressed it, she felt something shift deep within her and she moaned. He let his hands roam down her body until he cupped her between her legs. “This is mine,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shh, it’s over. You’re forgiven.”