Read Online Rocky Mountain Romp (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 4) by Lee Savino - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lee Savino
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through gritted teeth.
“Do you want me to gag you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head.
“Two more. That’s all. You’re being so good.”
He waited until she settled herself back in position. The paddle cracked against her backside, once, then twice more. Rose slumped forward, tears running down her face. Dropping the paddle, Lyle pulled his wife up into his arms, holding her tight and whispering how good she was, how strong, how beautiful she looked when she obeyed him.
And she did look so beautiful to him, even crying in his arms.
When she’d quieted, he gave her a kiss. “Feel better?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He couldn’t help lowering his mouth to hers again and taking possession of it. He ravaged her lips until she clung to him, soft sounds escaping from her that went straight to his dick.
He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back, a dreamy expression on her face.
“Lyle,” she breathed.
“On the bed. On your knees,” he growled. She flew into position, and he stripped out of his clothes, then took her by the nape of her neck and forced her down into the bed, so her cheek lay on the coverlet. Her legs rocked apart further, opening for him.
Checking between her legs, he found her sopping wet and entered her in one hard thrust, his body slapping against her bottom. They both groaned, him in pleasure, her in pain as her freshly paddled buttocks pressed against his groin.
He started to rock in and out of her, his legs slapping against her fiery cheeks until her whimpers turned to cries of lust.
“Touch yourself, Rose. Good girl.”
She was panting, upper torso molded to the bed, arching her back as she kept one hand between her legs. Lyle couldn’t help slapping her bottom again, and it seemed to tip her over the edge. As Rose’s climax started, her insides squeezed him so tight, he lost it. His fingers gripped her hips so hard he was sure he left marks.
He sagged over her limp form, completely spent.
“My god, Rose,” he said. “You are lovely.”
He planted kisses down her back, then knelt and touched his lips to one red butt cheek, then the other, feeling her shiver.
Drawing her up, he led her to the side of the bed, then lay on his back and pulled her like a blanket over him, the silky strands of her red hair tickling his body.
“Love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too.” He bent his head and kissed her, before stretching to blow out the candles.
* * *
When Miles entered his bedroom, Carrie looked up from rocking Mary to sleep and turned pale under her freckles. Miles turned to shut the door, trying to arrange his features into an expression less grim. His mother had always chided him for his serious looks, saying no woman would marry him—they’d be too frightened.
Now he had a wife, sweeter and more loving than he’d ever dreamed, and everything in him worked hard to treat her with care.
He sat near her on the bed, pulling off his boots. “You warm enough in here?”
“Yes, Miles,” she said softly, and he shot her a small smile, which she returned.
She looked less frightened, but still worried. “Is everyone okay?”
Standing to strip off his shirt, he considered his answer. “Mr. Martin is still recovering. Mrs. Lovett isn’t the sort to be faint hearted.”
He moved in front of her, looking down at her sweet face, and touched the thick fall of chestnut hair, stroking back an unruly curl that always seemed to fall over her face.
His wife bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
Nodding, he reached for his daughter. Carrie handed the baby up, and Miles felt his face soften as he looked down at sleeping Mary. He kissed her downy head, and lay her in the blanket lined basket Esther had found for a bassinet.
Then he turned back to his wife, who now sat with her head bowed, hands worrying the fringe of her nursing shawl.
He sat beside her again and, taking her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Carrie, look at me.”
She did, and his heart melted. Her
“Do you want me to gag you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head.
“Two more. That’s all. You’re being so good.”
He waited until she settled herself back in position. The paddle cracked against her backside, once, then twice more. Rose slumped forward, tears running down her face. Dropping the paddle, Lyle pulled his wife up into his arms, holding her tight and whispering how good she was, how strong, how beautiful she looked when she obeyed him.
And she did look so beautiful to him, even crying in his arms.
When she’d quieted, he gave her a kiss. “Feel better?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He couldn’t help lowering his mouth to hers again and taking possession of it. He ravaged her lips until she clung to him, soft sounds escaping from her that went straight to his dick.
He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back, a dreamy expression on her face.
“Lyle,” she breathed.
“On the bed. On your knees,” he growled. She flew into position, and he stripped out of his clothes, then took her by the nape of her neck and forced her down into the bed, so her cheek lay on the coverlet. Her legs rocked apart further, opening for him.
Checking between her legs, he found her sopping wet and entered her in one hard thrust, his body slapping against her bottom. They both groaned, him in pleasure, her in pain as her freshly paddled buttocks pressed against his groin.
He started to rock in and out of her, his legs slapping against her fiery cheeks until her whimpers turned to cries of lust.
“Touch yourself, Rose. Good girl.”
She was panting, upper torso molded to the bed, arching her back as she kept one hand between her legs. Lyle couldn’t help slapping her bottom again, and it seemed to tip her over the edge. As Rose’s climax started, her insides squeezed him so tight, he lost it. His fingers gripped her hips so hard he was sure he left marks.
He sagged over her limp form, completely spent.
“My god, Rose,” he said. “You are lovely.”
He planted kisses down her back, then knelt and touched his lips to one red butt cheek, then the other, feeling her shiver.
Drawing her up, he led her to the side of the bed, then lay on his back and pulled her like a blanket over him, the silky strands of her red hair tickling his body.
“Love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too.” He bent his head and kissed her, before stretching to blow out the candles.
* * *
When Miles entered his bedroom, Carrie looked up from rocking Mary to sleep and turned pale under her freckles. Miles turned to shut the door, trying to arrange his features into an expression less grim. His mother had always chided him for his serious looks, saying no woman would marry him—they’d be too frightened.
Now he had a wife, sweeter and more loving than he’d ever dreamed, and everything in him worked hard to treat her with care.
He sat near her on the bed, pulling off his boots. “You warm enough in here?”
“Yes, Miles,” she said softly, and he shot her a small smile, which she returned.
She looked less frightened, but still worried. “Is everyone okay?”
Standing to strip off his shirt, he considered his answer. “Mr. Martin is still recovering. Mrs. Lovett isn’t the sort to be faint hearted.”
He moved in front of her, looking down at her sweet face, and touched the thick fall of chestnut hair, stroking back an unruly curl that always seemed to fall over her face.
His wife bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
Nodding, he reached for his daughter. Carrie handed the baby up, and Miles felt his face soften as he looked down at sleeping Mary. He kissed her downy head, and lay her in the blanket lined basket Esther had found for a bassinet.
Then he turned back to his wife, who now sat with her head bowed, hands worrying the fringe of her nursing shawl.
He sat beside her again and, taking her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Carrie, look at me.”
She did, and his heart melted. Her
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