The Wicked West
Victoria Dahl
writing as
Holly Summers

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Wicked West by Victoria Dahl writing as Holly Summers:

When Lily Anders gave up her proper English roots to settle in the Wild West, she didn’t dare hope that she'd meet someone who shared her own wicked bedroom secrets. But the virtuous Sheriff Hale has never told anyone about his shocking desires. Will he give in to the surprising temptation of the young widow?

CHAPTER ONE

“Mrs. Anders,” Sheriff Hale murmured, touching the brim of his hat. The young widow lowered her eyes when she inclined her head, more modest than any other woman he’d ever met. She was English, and that probably explained it. It certainly explained her pale skin.

“I understand you have some misgivings about our local bank. Mr. Johnson asked me to stop by and give my reassurance. It’s secure and legitimate and a much safer place to keep your money than in your mattress.”

“I apologize,” she said. Her soft voice touched him like a physical sensation, like fur against his skin.

Hale frowned at the strange thought.

“It’s not that I suspect Mr. Johnson of being a criminal. It’s just that I was warned not to be naive, so the idea of turning my money over to a stranger…And I’ve never seen a bank constructed of raw timber before.” When her green eyes rose, they didn’t look the least bit timid despite her soft voice. In fact, they flashed with strength before she lowered them again.

Hale took a step back, because what he really wanted to do was step forward, closer to her. Her shiny brown hair glinted gold in the sun and those jade eyes burned through him. He felt the edge of the rough porch with his heel, and set his foot down on the packed dirt of the street. “You were smart to hesitate,” he assured her. A faint flush washed over her cheeks as she licked her lips.

Hale cleared his throat. “I’m always right next door if you have any more questions.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she whispered.

Well, hell, he thought as he turned toward the setting sun and made his way toward the saloon. He couldn’t tell if she was delicate, weak-willed or just quiet. If she was delicate, Mrs. Anders wasn’t going to last long in Wyoming. He wasn’t really sure why she’d come in the first place. Just because her brother had left her the house didn’t mean she had to live in it.

“I give her a month,” he muttered as he drew closer to the grating music spilling out the open windows of the saloon. One month at most, and then his new neighbor would head back to England where she clearly belonged. “Fool woman.”

He had no idea why her being here bothered him. He just knew that it wasn’t right. Life here in Wyoming was short and rough. Even the toughest men could end up broken, and everyone, regardless of age, sex or strength…everyone turned hard after a few years in the face of the harsh sun and brutal winters.

He didn’t like that he’d have to worry about this fragile woman. Didn’t like that she was his responsibility. And he definitely didn’t like the way her downcast eyes roused shifting shadows on his soul.

When Mrs. Anders left this place, he’d be able to breathe easy again. But right now, he needed a goddamn drink, and that was one thing he wouldn’t deny himself.

Hale didn’t bother lighting a lamp before he moved through the entry of his home and trudged up the stairs. The moon wasn’t bright enough to light his way, but he’d lived in this house for four years now. There was nothing here to trip him up.

Head heavy from one shot of whiskey too many, he shrugged wearily out of his coat and unfastened his gun belt. The pistols clanked hard when he laid them on the low dresser, and Hale winced.

He unbuttoned his shirt and laid it neatly over a chair. He didn’t have a wife to take care of these things anymore. Marie had left three years before, run off with some rich miner headed for Sacramento. Now anything that needed pressing had to go to the laundry. Any food he needed, he had to cook himself. And anything else that required a woman’s touch…Hale went without. His head grew even heavier at the thought.

Though he wanted to drop straight into bed, his face felt coated with grit, so Hale washed up quickly with some cold water and soap, then scrubbed his skin with a piece of rough toweling. As he lowered the rag, his eye caught on movement in the window, and he froze.

It was just the widow, he realized almost immediately. Before she’d moved in two weeks before, the place next door had been empty for months, and he’d gotten used to looking out at darkness. But now a soft glow lit the small table where she sat in her bedroom. Her hand rose toward the lamp and set the flame a bit higher. The light touched her body now, and the sight stole Hale’s breath away.

She wore some sort of delicate wisp of a gown, something he guessed wealthy ladies wore as they tended to their toilette. The women here in Wyoming, on the other hand, didn’t truck with such luxuries. They wore a shift when a dress wasn’t needed. Even the whores didn’t waste money on these kinds of unmentionables. But this woman did.

As he watched, she slipped off the fluttery sleeves of the robe, and it collapsed into a puddle on her chair.

Hale’s breath hitched. Now her shoulders were bare but for the thin straps of her chemise. Fine, white shoulders led down to pale arms and, finally, to delicate wrists. Her hands, unblemished by even the barest hint of labor, rose to her hair and began to work the long pins free. Hale followed the line of her arms back down. Her corset, another wonder of delicate fabrics, cinched her waist into an impossibly small span.

Mrs. Anders was a portrait of sophistication and impracticality. She was a pampered flower, and she’d wilt soon enough. Hale shook his head in scorn. But the motion was stopped by the abrupt fall of her hair.

The heavy darkness fell across her shoulders and stopped his previous thoughts. How did she fit that much hair up into such a tight coil? Her arms flexed, and she began to brush.

For some reason, Hale’s cock tightened at the sight.

Actually, there wasn’t much mystery about it. He hadn’t been with a woman in months. And each stroke of the brush pushed her breasts higher above the lines of her corset. Her hair curved around her, as if it wanted to touch her skin. As if it wanted to wrap her tight and never set her free.

By the time she’d finished brushing, Hale was rock hard and throbbing. When the widow reached back to tug at the ribbon of her corset, Hale reached for the buttons of his trousers.

Marie had called him cruel. She’d cried and said he was too rough when he made love to her, too demanding. He still couldn’t quite understand that. He’d been painfully gentle with her, doing his best to keep his real needs hidden, suppressing every urge to slate his true lust. But she’d known somehow. She’d claimed to be frightened by the fever in his eyes.

And Marie hadn’t known the half of it.

The things he’d wanted to do…The things he fantasized about doing…Hale had to go to Cheyenne to buy those kinds of services, even the watered-down versions of his fantasies he tried to appease himself with. But a man couldn’t live for six months without some kind of release.

Still, that didn’t make this right.

He’d just convinced himself to turn away when her corset loosened. Mrs. Anders pushed the front hooks together, and suddenly the whole contraption broke open and fell to the ground.

Hale held his breath while the widow filled her lungs. The gossamer fabric of her shift clung to her skin. Her breasts rose, her back stretched, and her hands curved into her waist, as if the sensation of freedom was almost too much.

She dug her fingers briefly into the flesh above her hips, then she dragged her palms up, up, touching every rib along the way before her hands curled over her full breasts and squeezed.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

When her head fell back, there was no longer any doubt that her caresses weren’t about rubbing away the day’s pain. Her fingers closed over her nipples and squeezed, and her lips parted on a gasp. The sound floated through his open window to seize his throbbing cock.

Hale’s mind swam with whiskey and lust, and despite his stubborn nature, he couldn’t find the will to resist. He slipped his hand into his trousers and freed himself.

Mrs. Anders hands were just as busy. She squeezed and caressed and pinched. Then she cupped one hand beneath the neckline of her shift and pushed the edge beneath the heavy curve of one breast. Her nipple was dark and red from the attention she’d shown it, and Hale’s mouth watered. He wanted it in his mouth. He wanted to bite it.

He stroked harder, faster, thinking of putting his teeth to her until she cried out in pain. Her thumb pressed against the red bud, then suddenly she pinched it and twisted hard.

As she whimpered aloud, Hale’s balls tightened to stones and he exploded, his seed arcing away from his body onto the bare wood floor while he imagined it splashing across her white breasts.

“Ah, God,” he panted, shame filling the space lust had so recently occupied. Averting his eyes from the sight of Mrs. Anders’s half-nude body, Hale stumbled toward his bed and let his knees give way.

Damn it all to hell.

There was a difference between a man knowing he was an animal and actually behaving like one. He was supposed to protect the people of this town, not degrade them.

He threw an arm over his eyes and spun down into the dark knowledge that his wife had been right about him. He was an unnatural beast, and she’d been right to leave.

Lily’s arm shook from the heavy pull of the pail of milk she carried as she moved down the wooden walkway. She tried to maintain a pleasant expression despite the ache taking over her shoulder. She wasn’t strong enough for this place. She understood that. The people were pleasant, but she saw every doubtful glance they sent her way when they thought she wasn’t looking.

Her trembling arm didn’t inspire confidence, even in her own mind. When milk began to spill out, Lily set the pail down and switched to the other hand. That arm began to shake almost immediately.

No, she wasn’t strong enough for this place. But somehow, it suited her.

When she’d received word that her brother Hamilton had died, Lily had been filled with guilt. She was the reason he’d left England in the first place. Her childish, foolish outburst had caused a rift in their family that had never healed. Hamilton had fled to America, and Lily had married a man old enough to be her father, just to escape the memories of her missing brother.

But Hamilton had written to her several years later, and she’d sent a letter back, filled with her regrets and apologies. Over time, they’d become closer as correspondents than they had been as siblings. So although Lily had been shocked and distraught at the news that he’d died of a fever, she hadn’t been surprised at being named his sole heir. The little he’d had belonged to her now and it had given her the opportunity to start a new life free of her late husband’s world.

Twenty feet from her front door, Lily set the pail down and stretched her shoulders back. Almost there. She wanted to do this. Women here did not depend upon servants for everything. Lily had hired a girl to cook and clean and help her dress, but the girl couldn’t do everything. And it felt good to have purpose.

Lily rolled her neck and bent down to carry the pail for the last little stretch.

When she straightened, she saw that her path was blocked by a man. A very large man. Heat pumped through her veins at the sight of him.

“Sheriff Hale,” she breathed as he stuttered to a halt before her. She let her eyes fall to the ground as she always did when he was near. Something about him made her want to curl up at his feet and purr. He was so powerful. So in control.

He stepped back. “Mrs. Anders.” His deep drawl stroked her nerves. “You need help with that?”

“No, thank you.” Her nipples tightened, and she dared a look up at his face, wondering if he were picturing her as she’d been last night. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. Lily shivered, sending a few drops of milk splashing against her skirt.

Sheriff Hale frowned as a flush darkened his already tanned face. “Here.” He reached for the pail, and there was no mistaking the roughness of his skin when his fingers brushed hers. This man was no gentleman despite his offer of help.

“Thank you,” she sighed, relieved that her trembling lust sounded like gratitude.

He moved swiftly to her door and Lily had to hurry to catch up. “Where do you want it?”

Right here, she longed to say, but pointed the way toward the kitchen at the back of the house. She’d heard him come home the night before, had heard the faint clomp of his boots as he moved to the second floor. She’d noticed that her bedroom window faced his and she’d fantasized about undressing for him, about lighting a lamp and letting him watch. Last night the opportunity had presented itself, and Lily hadn’t bothered to resist.

Neither had he.

Her sex grew wet at the memory, and she reveled in the way his big body filled the small kitchen. He was only inches away. Would he touch her? Would he push her against the wall and wrap his rough fingers around her wrists? Would he lay her over his knee as her husband had done?

Lily held her breath.

But no…He didn’t touch her. Of course he didn’t. The sheriff simply set the pail on the table and edged past her to the short hallway. Her heart twisted at the sight of him walking away. Even after last night, did he have no interest in her?

Just as she gave up hope, his back tensed beneath the worn cream cotton of his shirt and Sheriff Hale stopped.

Lily waited, knees trembling in anticipation. Did he mean to do something? Did he mean to speak? But the mystery refused to solve itself. The sheriff rolled his shoulders back and walked on without even a glance in her direction.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t disappointment that swelled through her body, leaving heat in its wake. It was power.

She had affected him. He was not indifferent. And Lily was more convinced than ever that he was exactly the kind of man her husband had taught her to crave.

CHAPTER TWO

The sun began its slide behind the mountains, but it remained fiery hot all the same. Lily could feel the warmth slip across her forearm as the light slanted farther into her room.

She didn’t move. She’d long since finished her solitary meal of rabbit stew, one of the few things she could cook on her own, as it didn’t take much skill or knowledge to let something bubble on the stove for three hours. Undoubtedly, the novelty of cooking would wear off soon, but at this moment she felt proud and full of…herself. Yes, full of herself and what she could do.

She’d been nobody her whole life. A marionette, at best. A statue at worst. First, an obedient daughter, then a meek wife, and finally a helpless young widow. But now she was…well, she was nobody, still, but a much better version of it. She was nobody because she was working to decide just who she wanted to be. She had the power now. Power over herself, even if that meant the simple choice of who would come to her bed.

Even to Lily, the feelings of her body were a strange thing. Her husband had been a kind, older man. A man she’d respected and liked, but not a man she’d been interested in kissing, much less sharing a bedchamber with.

Mr. Anders had sensed her obvious hesitance on their wedding night, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d only smiled gently and told her exactly what to do to please him. And it had been such a relief! To be told when to touch him and how. To be praised when she did it right, and scolded when she grew careless or distant. All her anxiety vanished in those private moments. If he’d said she was good, then she knew she must be good.

Growing up, she’d never been able to make her father proud. He’d been a dour man, unmoved by the love of his children. But Mr. Anders had been proud of her, and told her so every night as she knelt at his feet.

A few months after their marriage, Lily had been comfortable enough to confess how she’d ruined her brother’s life in one stupid moment of indiscretion. Her husband had been the picture of sympathy as he’d nodded and explained that she would feel much better after she’d been punished.

Whatever alarm she’d felt at his announcement had vanished when he’d ordered her to lift her skirts and lie across his knees. By the time he’d ceased the spanking, her bottom had burned with pain, but her guilt had finally been inched back. She’d been punished, and that punishment had brought her a thin layer of peace. Each time after, another layer of peace had been laid.

But she could no longer hide her strange wants beneath regrets. Now she desired punishment for pleasure’s sake. She wanted to know the feeling of big, calloused hands, where her husband’s had been pale and narrow. She wanted to know the unusual strength and passion that these Americans seemed to have.

She wanted Sheriff Hale.

The sunlight seemed to brighten for one last, desperate moment, then dusk fell like a shadow when the sun finally slipped behind the jagged peaks to the west. That instant twilight flooded her with anticipation. The sheriff would return home soon, and Lily would offer him her body again.

She was sure she wasn’t wrong about him. At the first moment of their introduction, she’d recognized something in his body, as if his nerves were taut and humming with an energy only she could sense. He seemed to glow with need, and when she had instinctively lowered her eyes before such power, his jaw had tightened, his eyes had narrowed. He’d liked that.

But when he’d noticed her watching past her lashes, Sheriff Hale had jerked his chin up and schooled his features.

Lily was not the type of woman to make advances. Aggression was not her role in this game. Her only solution was to make it clear she would submit to his needs, if only he would take her.

Just as she closed her eyes and let her head loll to the side, the distant sound of boots on wood floated past her open curtains. A door squeaked, then shut with a crack. Sheriff Hale was home.

Lily stiffened in her chair but didn’t rise. It was early still. Not quite nine o’clock. But she was ready. She’d undressed and arranged the length of her silk robe around her on the chair. The lamps burned at their brightest. So did her lungs. Excitement and fear nearly choked her as she waited for him to appear in his bedroom window.

She was wet already, thinking of him watching her. If only he could tell her what to do, exactly how to please him. Her hands shook at the thought.

He must not have gone to the saloon tonight, because she didn’t hear his tread as he walked up the stairs. Her first hint that he’d arrived on the second floor was a soft scuff against the floorboards of his room. He didn’t light a lamp.

Her heart leaped. Now. Now.

She’d done it the night before, but tonight the idea of performing for him was more frightening. He’d given her no encouragement this afternoon, no hint that he appreciated her offer. And if she put on the same show tonight, he’d know. He’d know that she planned it. That she opened her curtains and arranged the lamps to set her body aglow just for his eyes.

His window stayed dark and quiet.

Now. Even the voice inside her head trembled as she tried to convince herself, but Lily reached for the pins that held her hair up.

The thick twist of dark hair unfurled under her hands. Her husband had told her of the effect of long hair on men. It signified sex to them, darkened bedrooms and panting breath…the only time they ever saw a woman’s hair loose and wild. Lily ran her hands through the twist to uncurl it, then shook it back to let it fall down her back. Her nipples tightened.

At this moment, he watched her, wondering if she was unaware, knowing she could be simply readying for bed. She might be innocent and vulnerable, and he was standing there watching, his cock hard and ready.

Had he stroked it as he watched her the night before? Was he stroking it now?

She let her hand trail down to her collarbone, let her fingers slip lower to the edge of her dressing robe. What would he want her to do now? Touch her breasts again, or something different?

While she considered the possibility, Lily pushed the neckline wider, edging her hands to the plump rise of one breast. Mr. Anders had told her that her breasts were lovely, and she’d believed him. He’d never lied to her about anything.

Lily tugged at the first tie of her robe and opened it to expose both of her naked breasts. The soft noise that floated from the sheriff’s window might have been her imagination…or it might have been a gasp.

Biting back a hopeful smile, she dared to look at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t claim to know what most women looked like unclothed, but she had the same pert shape as the Venus statue she’d spied at a long-ago exhibition. But her breasts were so much more flagrant than those made of cold marble. They were creamy and warm, the centers a rose pink crested by the deeper pink of hard nipples. They cried out for attention, demanded it. Would Sheriff Hale respond?

Lily’s eyes snapped with excitement. She had a rather plain face; she knew that. But right now, as she watched herself in the mirror, she was beautiful. Her lips flushed with color, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes spoke of the need in her soul.

Staring at herself, Lily dragged her hand up the rise of her breast, over her chest and the arch of her neck. When she reached her bottom lip, she paused to trace it before slipping the tip of one finger into her mouth. This time the sound from the other house was unmistakably the hiss of in-drawn breath.

Yes. He watched her. He wanted.

She slipped the finger deeper, rubbing it against her tongue, imagining that it was the sheriff’s shaft she tasted. Closing her eyes, Lily sucked.

Would he like that? Would he need it? He must. Mr. Anders had loved it. He’d petted her hair and moaned that she was a good girl. Lily groaned at the thought and sucked her finger deeper.

She would reach her climax tonight. Sometimes with her husband she hadn’t. Sometimes she’d only been overtaken by a wonderful relaxation. But tonight she would be consumed.

Her flesh tightened around her bones as she dragged her finger from her mouth and drew a damp trail down her skin, all the way to the tip of one breast. When her finger dried, she licked it again, slowly, then imagined Sheriff Hale’s tongue as she painted her nipple with wetness.

By the time she slipped her hand between the lower edges of her robe, Lily’s thighs were shaking. She left the robe closed, needing to hide that part of her until the sheriff ordered her to give him more. She didn’t even face the window as she cupped her sex and whimpered. Slipping her middle finger deeper, she rubbed that one delicious spot, imagining she did it because he’d asked her to.

“No,” she whispered, wanting to be helpless. But he wouldn’t like her saying no to him. Lily raised her other hand and gripped her throat. Squeezing the tender flesh of her neck, she rubbed her sex faster and made her body shake. Touching herself usually brought her very little pleasure, but knowing the cold sheriff was watching made it so much more.

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

When she heard a low grunt of male pleasure, Lily’s body squeezed impossibly tight. “Oh,” she whispered as her thighs shuddered around her hand. “Oh, yes.” She breathed through the spasms, drawing them out as long as she could, rubbing until her flesh grew too sensitive to bear it.

Slumping into the chair, Lily let her hand fall limp against her leg.

Surely he couldn’t deny her now. She wanted to give him everything.

CHAPTER THREE

Hale drew in a deep, shuddering breath before he bolted upright in his bed. The weak sunlight disoriented him, because he was almost sure he’d just closed his eyes a few moments before.

Frowning, he glanced toward the gray light streaming through the window at the foot of the bed. It was daylight, all right. And the window reminded him of more than just a night spent sleeping.

Blood rushed to his face at the memory of what Mrs. Anders had done. And what he’d done while watching her. He’d imagined pumping into her instead of his own hand. Imagined his fingers holding her neck arched tight and to the side as he plowed into her. Imagined her begging him to stop as she came all over his cock.

“Damn it,” he spat, disgusted with himself…and with her.

What the hell was she thinking? Either she was dumb as a rock and unaware of what curtains were for, or she knew exactly what she was doing. And the woman hadn’t struck him as anything near stupid in the two weeks he’d known her.

Which meant she’d wanted him to watch her. Naked. Naked and fingering herself to climax.

His cock stirred, swelling against his belly, even as his stomach burned at the thought. This was a law-abiding town, and he was the sheriff, for God’s sake. If Mrs. Anders was a whore of some kind, she belonged on the other side of Center Street, where decent folk could ignore the goings-on if they chose. She didn’t belong here, two doors down from the schoolmarm’s house and half a block away from the church. She either had to cut out her little show or she had to go.

Her show…By God, he’d seen naked women aplenty, but he’d never seen anything like that. Sucking her finger into that tight, pink mouth, wanting him to imagine her tongue against his flesh. And he had. He’d pictured her on her knees for him, licking and sucking until he came down her throat.

“Fuck,” Hale spat impatiently. He was hard as a rock now. He’d end this today, but he couldn’t stomp over there in this state, or he’d likely have her against the wall before he could deliver his lecture on propriety. Always pragmatic, he simply took himself in hand and pictured Mrs. Anders. It took only a few minutes of stroking before he was done. Problem solved.

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