Authors: Renee Rose

The Devil of Whiskey Row (7 page)

“Joaquin, come here. Cora, you'll go to my office and wait for me and if you say one more word, you'll be sorry.”

Her mouth had opened, but she snapped it shut, blanching. She did not obey immediately, however, staying to watch what he would do with the boy. Joaquin approached and he handed the pipe back to the boy. “I do need your help—I'm sorry I was rude. Hold this,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at Cora. “
Now
, Cora.”

She jumped a little and left the room, her back stiff and straight as she walked.

To make amends for the lad's damaged pride, he turned the project back over to him, explaining what needed to happen. Then he stood and dusted off his hands to deal with the bigger problem in his office.

Cora looked up warily when he walked in. He strode across the room, picked her up and plopped her on his desk.

“When you have something to say to me, you will say it politely.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered immediately, her eyes wide with fright.

“I will not tolerate your sass, and you already know how I feel about cursing.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“You will be.”

She licked her lips nervously. He pulled her off her perch, spun her around and pushed her torso down over the wide expanse of his desk to present her bottom for chastisement. Pulling her skirt and chemise up to her shoulders, he roughly pulled open the laces of the bottom half of her corset so she could breathe. The cord to the petticoats was in the back, while the one for the drawers was in the front. He tugged each of them loose and let them fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. She wasn't wearing stockings and her lower half was now completely bared to him, a sight which stirred him despite his ire.

He began spanking with his hand, using his full strength, listening to the sound of her yelps and cries as she flinched and squeezed her bottom in useless defense. He spanked mercilessly, watching as her creamy skin turned pink and then a deeper red. Because it was an act of dominance, and he wanted to put her in her place, he pressed his thumb into her back hole as he had done that first night. She stilled. Her listing and flinching stopped and her whimpers increased as he continued spanking while his thumb held her in place. He had to adjust the angle of his spanks, but he still managed to make them sting.

Her hands moved down and he thought she was going to try to cover herself, but instead she stunned him by bringing them between her legs, cupping her mound and holding it as he slapped her round cheeks. Did she have to use the chamber pot? But no, she was moving her fingers over her folds. He heard the sound of slick flesh on flesh.

Suddenly dizzy, the room grew hot and began to spin. Slowly, deliberately, he slid his thumb out of her bottom and reached around to catch hold of her hands, lifting them out of the way. Nudging her legs farther apart, he slapped her pussy. It was wet and swollen, begging for touch. He slapped it again and again. His forearm was stopped by her tailbone as his hand wrapped down to fully slap her sex, so he caught the entire corridor from her anus to her little rosebud of pleasure. The wanton cries she made fueled an overwhelming desire to take her like a wild animal in heat. After a dozen slow slaps he replaced her hand over her sex, helping to pleasure her by moving his fingers over hers, tangling through them to penetrate, to circle, to lightly slap.

He was sweating. All thought had left his brain. The need to bring her to completion was overwhelming, and he thrust his fingers into her welcoming sex, using the thumb of his other hand in her back hole, pushing them in and out at the same time. His movements were rough and desperate and she was making keening cries, standing up on her tiptoes, her pelvis pressed tightly against his desk. With a choked sound, she orgasmed. He continued moving his fingers within her, slowing the speed, checking the intensity until the tight squeezing of her muscles had eased. He slid his fingers out and rested with a hand on each side of her, leaning over her bent form.

He panted there for a moment, his mind still half-crazed, and then began to spank her again. Her bottom was so enticing to him—no, more than enticing, spanking it was a need for him, an itch that must be scratched. He grabbed a chair and yanked it around the desk, plopping into it as he pulled her across his lap at the same time. She let out a shriek of protest, gripping his calf to steady herself. He started to spank again, fast and hard, rubbing the full erection in his pants against her sex. He knew she understood—she ground against him, even as she squealed at his relentless smacks. He continued spanking until he brought himself to a climax, grabbing her waist with both hands and rubbing her body against his lap as he ejaculated.

Oh God.

And it had not been enough. He leaned back in the chair, catching his breath, relief from his release already fading as the raw, underlying passion flamed even hotter. It was as if once lit, the fire would continue growing until it exploded within him. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, allowing Cora to slide off his lap. Normally so in control, he was now strangely helpless—no words could address their situation.

Yet Cora, sweet Cora, who of all the girls was the least likely to ever try to seduce him, was kneeling at his feet, reaching for his cock. She unbuttoned his trousers and released his length, which still stood at attention, despite the release. She met his eyes, opened her mouth and extended her tongue, slipping it around the rim of his cock as if she
wanted
to taste him.

It was his undoing. With a roar, he grasped her by the hair and hauled her to her feet, half shoving, half carrying her backward until she hit the wall. His mouth open, he attacked her lips, her cheek, her neck, devouring her, consuming her very essence until their two bodies fused into one. Her dress had fallen back down and he tore at the skirt, lifting it and one thigh to his waist, lowering his trousers enough to free his erection and plow into her.

Oh God, yes!
Fifteen years since he'd had a woman and it had never been so good. He slammed into her, his fingers digging into her flesh, his pelvis pumping forward and back as if his very life depended on it. In fact, he was sure the only thing that could have stopped him at that moment would have been death itself. If sex was a beast, then he was the devil, and nothing would sate him until he'd plumbed every inch of Cora Underhill.

As the wall shook under the force of his thrusts, Cora made that same keening sound she'd made before and the need to satisfy her filtered into his consciousness. Reaching his hand around, he once again pressed a finger into her arse and she nearly screamed, her body convulsing against his, her pussy and anus clamping down hard on his cock and his finger as her entire body shuddered. The magnificence of her climax brought on his own and he shot his load into her, thrusting upward while he held her tightly against him.

It was a long orgasm and when it was through, he was sure of only one thing.

Everything had changed.

* * *

Daddy Diggs collapsed against her, his lips brushing her neck and sucking lightly. He kissed her there, once. Twice. Then higher, toward her jaw, again on her hairline. She felt the heavy beat of his heart where it pressed against her chest.

“I'm sorry,” he said hoarsely, stepping back at last, looking stunned and more than a little disturbed. “I didn't mean to—” he swallowed. “I didn't mean for that to happen.” He buttoned his pants and tucked his shirt in as he stared at her with shock. “Are you hurt?”

His eye fell on her lip, and she touched her tongue to it, tasting blood. He must have bitten down as they had climaxed.

But no, she was not hurt by his ferocious onslaught, nor had she been afraid. Though it was a new experience, she recognized raw passion and had been as swept away in it as he had.

Regret in his eyes, he cupped her face tenderly with one hand and lowered his mouth to hers, licking the blood from the corner as he buried his hands in her hair. “Did I hurt you?” he asked with real pain in his voice.

She shook her head, still unable to speak.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped.

She circled her arms around his neck. “I'm not,” she managed to whisper.

He stumbled back but she held her arms fast, staying his retreat. He looked down at her, as if wondering who she was. His arm circled her waist and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. He started to lower his head to hers, checked the movement, then started again, delivering the softest, sweetest kiss of her entire life. His lips were gentle, supple, exploring her mouth with a tenderness she'd never before experienced. She stood on her tiptoes, giving back what she was receiving, leaning into him and his delicious kisses.

“Diggory?” A loud knock at the door interrupted their embrace and they both flew apart, startled. It was Hank's voice.

Daddy Diggs ran his hand through his hair. “What is it?”

“Sheriff's here. Said he wants to ask you some questions.”

Daddy Diggs cleared his throat, rubbing his face. “All right. I'll be right out.” He looked at her, then around at her clothing on the floor.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “I'll get myself together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go on.”

He gave her one last uncertain look before opening the door only wide enough to step through, then closing it tightly behind him. She stood stock still for a moment, listening to her body. It felt as if it were made of pudding—her legs wobbled and her arms were heavy. Her sex still throbbed from excitement and rough use and she had a feeling she'd have more than a few bruises. But it had been worth every small pain she'd earned.

That
was what sex was about. She'd never really understood, and had never enjoyed it, or wanted it, even with the customers who tried to satisfy her. She'd rather prided herself on her disinterest, and had used it to keep Smoochy off her, by lying as still as a corpse underneath him, until he cursed and slapped her and sent her away.

Now, it was as if some new part of her had been awakened. She'd experienced the power of inspiring passion in a man and she was proud, somehow, that
she
had been the one Jake Diggory had finally taken. She wanted to be that inspiration to him again. And again.

She dressed slowly and then left the saloon to go for a walk, wanting to be alone to fully experience this change in herself. That night she chose not to work the floor. She rationalized that it was because she was too sore, but the truth was she didn't want anyone else to touch her. Her body belonged to Diggory, or so it felt.

She sat in the bunk room, reading
The Scarlet Letter
, a new book she'd found in Diggory's extensive library. Joaquin was curled up at her feet, reading an encyclopedia, spelling words to her now and again to inquire their meaning.

Daddy Diggs entered. “May I have a word with you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing up, feeling a little rush of excitement as she crossed the room to the door where he stood. He stepped back to allow her through the doorway, then put his hand at her waist and guided her down the corridor to his room. She liked the proprietary feel of his arm around her, being close enough to feel his warmth.

He kept a simple room, consisting of a bed and armoire, another bookshelf filled with books, and a trunk. The quilt was a beautiful pattern of deep red, orange, and brown silk. It was masculine, but had a rich and luxurious feel to it. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she wondered if he was already wanting another round with her.

“You're not working tonight.”

She looked up to gauge his expression. “No, sir.”

He touched her shoulder. “Because I hurt you?”

She hesitated. She didn't want him to regret what had happened between them. She shook her head stubbornly and shrugged. “You said I didn't have to if I didn't want to.”

His brows came together as he studied her. “Aye.”

She lifted her shoulders again. “I just didn't want to.”

“Fair enough. But I know how eager you were to earn money, and if it's because of me…” he trailed off, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a ten dollar bill.

It had the same effect as a javelin through her heart. She stumbled back from him, a searing pain in her chest and a flashing light before her eyes. Hurt quickly turned to fury. “You're
paying
me for this afternoon?”

* * *

He realized at once he'd given a horrible offense.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I'm not. No money in the world could pay for that, Cora,” he assured her, watching her face soften as his words sunk in. He held both her shoulders, looking down into her beautiful, upturned face. “What we shared—that's never happened before. Not for me, anyway. And… there are no words I can find to… to thank you for giving yourself to me that way.”

She lifted a trembling hand to stroke back the lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes. He caught her wrist and brought the little hand to his lips, kissing each of her fingers. Her eyes filled with tears and he drew her close. “Why are you crying?” he asked, a lump in his throat making him sound gruffer than he intended.

She blinked rapidly. “I'm not,” she said, shaking her head.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“No.”

He bent his head toward hers and kissed the top of it.

“Jake?”

“Aye.”

“Who is it you said I reminded you of?”

He released her, taking a step back.

“What?”

“My first night here. You said I reminded you of someone you once knew.”

He shook his head, taking another step back, feeling dizzy.

“Who is it?”