Welcome back, sexy readers.
This #ThrowbackThursday, I’m featuring an erotic story I initially published on my blog in 2009.
It takes place in the Old American West. Yes, that does make it an Erotic Western.
Three years after fleeing from Devil’s Valley, Jack Dixon traces his brother’s murderer back home. He meets Fiona, and she tries to ease his pain. But will it be enough to stop him from seeking vengeance on the man who murdered his brother?
Read 1869: Devil’s Valley here below.
Occluded by the dark night that blanketed his old town of Devil’s Valley, Jack Dixon dismounted his stallion, a Mustang he’d fondly named Billy, after his dead brother. The horse had saved him once, and he’d felt like Billy’s spirit was looking over him from wherever he was. A wave of nostalgia crept over him as he parted the wooden doors to the saloon, pushing through into a dimly-lit, smoky area. Immediately, all eyes were on him. He could almost hear their thoughts. My, my, the Dixon boy has come back home… was never the same after what happened to Little Billy… never found the guy who did it. Jack ignored them, preemptively avoiding their accusations. Nobody but him knew what had really happened, because no one seemed to believe him.
The saloon was almost deathly quiet, a rare feat for this time of night. Jack meandered to the bar, fixing his eyes on certain patrons, recognizing most of them. Sliding onto the wooden barstool he’d haunted before he’d left home, Jack nodded at Bernie, the owner of the saloon and his only friend, if he could be said to have one, because he’d grown up with Billy and Jack. Now Jack turned toward Bernie, shirking away from meeting his own reflection in the large mirror behind the bar.
“How are ya, Jack?” Bernie asked in a hushed whisper, leaning his forearms on the wooden top of the bar and squeezing his arm with brotherly affection, then pouring him a stiff drink.
“Been better,” Jack admitted, his first words in years to his oldest– and only– friend in the world. He lifted the glass tumbler to his lips and tilted it, letting the strong amber liquid burn down his throat and into his belly, sighing. Bernie didn’t ask, and poured him another.
“It’s been a long time.”
Bernie paused, waited, then said: “where you been these past few years?”
Jack shook his head. “Everywhere and nowhere. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is I’m back now.”
Bernie cocked his head to the side questioningly. He tried to peer into Jack’s eyes, to try to capture some piece of their broken past, to see even the smallest sliver of the old Jack down beneath the surface.
“Why’d you stay away so long?”
“There was nothing left for me here,” Jack said, staring off into the distance. He knew Bernie wouldn’t take it personally.
Bernie sighed, unsure of what to say, then noticed some patrons at the other end of the bar needed a refill on their drinks, and slipped away silently.
Jack heard the sound of a chair scraping back against the floor, then the shaking spurs of cowboy boots making their way right behind him.
“Thought you was dead,” slurred the man, who Jack knew to be Murphy.
“I was,” Jack replied, standing from his barstool, at least five inches taller than Murphy, and glared at him. This was the man who’d once been sheriff in this town, who’d originally blamed Jack for the death of his brother. He was nothing but a temperamental drunk who couldn’t see the truth if it slammed him in the head. Jack had fled to parts unknown, eager to disappear from this place and everyone’s suspicious or pitying glances.
Now, three years later, he was back. And although the town seemed the same, he wasn’t. He looked at everything with traveled eyes and felt a strong sense of purpose propelling him forward, slowly, day by day. Jack had always known it was only a matter of time before his searching led him back to where it had all begun.
“I shoulda killed ya when I had the chance, boy!” Murphy exclaimed, almost teetering backwards in his inebriation. Murphy’s companions rose from their seats, ready for a fight.
“Now, now, boys, settle down,” a female voice chirped from behind Jack. Then she came into view– a lithe young thing, her strawberry blond hair pulled back. She boldly wore a pair of dark trousers with a long-sleeved, white shirt that had so many tiny buttons going up the front of it. Even her clothed body couldn’t conceal her curves and full bust. More striking even than her figure were her eyes: one green, and one blue, mesmerizing.
Jack hadn’t been with a woman, or even been in the proximity of one, since he’d fled. She was a vision, and he felt momentarily startled. To his surprise, the belligerent Murphy stumbled back with his cronies, sitting back down at their table and sipping from their ales, collectively staring Jack down.
“Impressive,” Jack noted, leaning against the bar.
She peered at Jack curiously. “I’ve never seen you ’round here before.”
“And who might you be?” Jack asked, unable to remove his gaze from this woman’s eyes, the right one’s icy blue depths the same color as the clearest lake, her green one like a shimmering emerald.
“Who’s askin’?” she replied, a bit tartly, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms across her chest.
He smiled inwardly. So, she wanted to act tough. He wondered what she was doing in a saloon, fearlessly standing up to the men in there.
Her features changed briefly, but he couldn’t quite make out her reaction. “I’m Fiona,” she said, unfolding her arms and relaxing slightly, offering to shake his hand. Jack tentatively reached out, her hand small and soft. Her grip was more firm than he expected, her skin warm and… oddly comforting.
“She works here, Jack,” Bernie said, unaware of Fiona’s quick once-over of Jack in his dark chaps, the bulge of his gun in its leather holster. Jack didn’t notice, either. “She’s good company.”
“I like to think I help run this place,” Fiona interjected, her voice teasing. Her bright presence in the midst of the dark, gloomy saloon was unexpected, and Jack was beginning to understand why the patrons listened to her. Fiona held herself with a dignified composure, but nothing about her was haughty or vain. Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, beautifully transforming her entire face.
Bernie grinned. “You should see her whip some of these guys into shape, Jack,” he said when Fiona was out of earshot, clearing a now-empty table. “She means business. And everyone keeps coming ’round to see her, on account of her eyes and all.”
Jack accepted another glass of whiskey and nodded, his eyes on Fiona’s back as she cleaned off the other side of the bar. She was gorgeous, he couldn’t deny that. But he had a lot on his mind. He looked at Bernie, his eyes dark, trying to convey his message without words.
“You found him?” Bernie asked with uncertainty.
“Yeah, I found him,” Jack replied. Bernie gestured for him to come into the back room with him. He did, leaned against a wooden barrel of ale, and accepted a cigarette from Bernie, his first in a long time. He struck a match and lit Bernie’s before his own. Jack exhaled smoke rings, reminding him of the time he, Bernie and Billy had practiced doing that in back of Bernie’s father’s saloon after church on Sundays.
“Did you–” Bernie started.
Jack shook his head. “Not yet. But I will. And soon.”
“Where is he?”
“I traveled all over to find him. Whenever I got someplace, he’d just been there, forever disappearing. I was starting to think he was a ghost, gone in a puff of air. But then I got news that he was going to be passing through here, on his way to open up a new mine near the coast.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Bernie asked curiously, knowing better than to underestimate Jack’s perseverance and intelligence.
“His name’s Harry Brunson. Known outlaw in almost every town all the way down to Mexico. Saw him a few towns over, harassing some painted ladies while getting drunk with some other cowboys, but couldn’t get him alone. Wanted to bide my time… get him when he’d know full well who I was and why he was about to die.”
Bernie’s expression was impassive. He knew that Jack had devoted every waking moment to avenging his brother’s life, and he didn’t blame him one bit. “How can I help, Jack?” he asked, ready to provide him with whatever he needed to kill the man who’d murdered his best friend.
“I need someplace to lie down for awhile, get myself set up.”
Bernie shifted uncomfortably. “Well, Jack… ain’t no one livin’ in your old home now. I reckon it’s empty, if you want to go check it out,” he sputtered, unsure of how Jack would feel about reentering the house where unspeakable horrors had taken place.
Jack didn’t answer right away, a vivid flashback overtaking him. The sound of his arm being snapped in two, the searing pain making him see white. Being thrown against the wall, glass shattering all around him, cutting into his head and fingers. Brunson’s cold hate, a vindictive grin on his face, as he dragged the blade of the knife across Billy’s throat. Watching the life leave Billy’s eyes as he silently pleaded with Jack… and then everything went black.
“Jack? You okay?” Fiona asked, a tender hand on his arm. Jack realized he’d nearly collapsed to the floor, his face ashen.
“Yeah, just tired is all,” he replied, standing up and fighting off a wave of dizziness. He smiled weakly at Bernie and Fiona, both of them staring at him with concern. He wondered how much of their conversation Fiona had actually heard. Avoiding her burning gaze, he looked at Bernie.
“I’m going home,” Jack heard himself say. He turned and used the exit in the back to emerge from the saloon without drawing any more attention to himself. He quickly put the pointy toe of his boot into one of the stirrups on his horse’s side, mounted and rode to his house for the first time in years.
One of the small glass windows in the front of his house had been broken, most likely by a rock, but it wasn’t big enough for anyone to fit through. Jack was surprised the house was still empty, and not housing a group of degenerates, or ransacked for its sparse furniture, after all this time. But then, he knew the folk around here were far too superstitious to live under the roof of somewhere a murder had taken place. Bernie probably kept a vigilant eye on the place, living only several houses down himself.
Jack went around back, finding some hay for Billy, then jimmying the door and stepping foot over the threshold. He was completely caught off guard by the unique aroma of leather and wood, immediately invading his nostrils. He tried to breathe, to calm himself down. The kitchen was devoid of everything, but clean, and bare, the small window completely covered by a giant spider web, the creature itself now crawling across the counter. Jack picked it up and threw it outside, then made his way into the living room.
The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, kicking up some dust with each step. Everything was as he remembered it, but it seemed Bernie had come in and cleaned things up. What a great friend he was, Jack thought, having removed almost all traces of the crime that had been committed, even though he hadn’t known if Jack would be coming back. He paused in front of the fireplace, replaying a vivid memory of him and Billy as kids, when their parents were still alive, laughing, basking in each other’s warmth.
Then Jack heard a crash behind him, and spun around, his hand immediately on his holster, feeling the comforting, cool metal of his pistol beneath his fingertips. He didn’t move, his back against the wall, unwilling to move in case the loud spurs of his boots gave away his position.
He waited, watched as Fiona slowly entered the room, taking a few steps past him. He noticed she was carrying something in one hand but it was too dark to make it out. “Jack?” she called out.
In one swift movement, Jack unglued himself from the wall, covering Fiona’s mouth with his hand to prevent her from crying out. He muffled her screams, then easily deflected her attempted elbow jabs into his belly. When he realized that what she held in her hand was a peace offering, not an instrument of death, Jack released her, turning her around so she could see it was him.
The realization swept over her features and she laughed with relief. She looked so beautiful, Jack caught his breath, momentarily winded.
Fiona burst out laughing. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I just came in, I didn’t mean to– I thought– well, I saw the horse out back– and the back door was open– ”
“It’s okay, Fiona,” he managed, his voice gruff. Jack nodded at what she held in her hand.
“Bernie said you’d want this, so he sent me over,” she said, handing him a full bottle of whiskey. He noticed her avid curiosity, her wide eyes taking in the space. Thanks to Bernie, there was no visible evidence of what had happened there. His friend was right. He needed a stiff drink.
“I should probably go,” Fiona started, looking at him uncertainly, took a step forward, not backward, into the room.
“Stay,” Jack said, surprising himself at his invitation, and the sincerity of it. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone. He had been alone for three years. Fiona’s presence made the house seem less haunting and empty.
He gazed at her bright eyes, unsure of what truths his own expression held. He could make out the curvature of Fiona’s body beneath again, the accented curves daring him. The women in town no doubt looked on her like a foreigner , and he wondered where she had come from. Or rather, from where she’d run away, escaped, or been ostracized.
“All right, I’ll stay,” Fiona replied, her gaze on his, intent on studying him. He wondered if Bernie had told her what had happened to Billy, then realized that by now she’d heard at least a dozen half-cocked theories and assumptions. But, if she thought he was truly capable of killing his own brother, she probably wouldn’t have come all this way to bring him a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the night. This realization comforted him.
Fiona shivered slightly, and Jack realized the house was pretty cold, as it could be out here in the desert. Jack turned to start making a fire, using some of the scrap wood that had been thoughtfully left by the fire, just in case.
“Thank you,” he heard her say, her voice wavering, and becoming more distant. Even with his back to her, he knew she was looking around, squinting into the grimy glass covering the few photographs still left in the house.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Jack asked her, watching the flame slowly lick against the dry firewood.
“Am I that obvious?’ Fiona asked with a laugh. The delightful sound of it resonated throughout the empty house, making the space seem less gloomy.
Jack turned around, registering her smile. He realized he was smiling, too. “You’re just very confident, is all,” he said. “Most of the women I’ve met here act like little girls. And would definitely be of the opinion that a saloon job was no better than the whore house down the street.” He realized what he’d said, and wished he could take it back.
To his surprise, Fiona laughed. “They’ve told me so themselves, actually,” she told him, stepping closer. “But I don’t really care what they think.” She winked as though she’d just told him a secret, then sat by him in front of the fireplace, wiggling her fingers close to the flame for warmth.
“So what happened?” Jack asked.
Fiona looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked, surprised by his question.
“You left home and came to this crazy town. Why?”
She smiled wryly. “My town would have stolen the crazy award away from your town in an instant,” she admitted. “Why do you want to know?”
Jack shrugged. “It’s only fair, don’t you think? Since everyone told you why I left.”
Fiona’s grin faded, and she looked towards the fire, her eyes suddenly a million miles away. “I’m sorry for what happened to your brother,” she said, then turned to him. “I had a rough childhood. The minute I could get out, I did. Traveled on my own for a long time, looking for a place to call home for awhile. Anywhere I could be anonymous. Anywhere but there.”
“Would you call Devil’s Valley home?” Jack asked, his interest piqued. So she understood the need to flee, to run in the opposite direction from all they knew and had lived. Her eyes revealed what he’d learned, too: that it was impossible to escape your past. But he’d never really tried to move on, instead devoting all his energy to making Brunson pay for what he’d done. At least Fiona had tried to find a fresh start. She wanted to live. Jack couldn’t say for sure if he did, anymore.
“Not yet,” she answered, looking him straight in the eye. “But Bernie is making it much easier for me. He’s been a good friend.”
Jack smiled, noticing the way the amber and orange flames highlighted Fiona’s strawberry blond hair, and made her eyes take on a fiery glow. He was struck by how exotic her eyes were, the blue and green of each mesmerizing him. She was truly stunning, but seemed fully unaware of the power her presence commanded, or just how comforting it was just to have her next to him. To not have to be alone in this house now.
“How’s about some of that whiskey?” Fiona suggested, no longer shivering. She settled back on her forearms, evidently unconcerned about getting her clothes dirty by being on the floor. Jack loved her lack of pretension.
The alcohol soothed them both, and within minutes he felt a bit of the ache within him ease. He let her talk, telling of the towns she’d visited, recounting as much as she could of her past without getting to the heart of it. Before Jack realized it, they’d finished half the bottle of whiskey and he was actually laughing. Fiona unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing only her slender, bare neck, where he saw a glimmer of gold. “You’d think they were trying to strangle people with these things,” she joked.
“Why don’t you wear your necklace over your shirt?” he asked.
Fiona slowly lifted the golden chain, and Jack found himself reaching forward to take the small pendant in his fingers and examine it by firelight. It was a ruby in a diamond and sapphire setting, definitely worth a fortune. The jewels were warm from where they had rested between Fiona’s breasts.
“It was my mother’s. Even when I was penniless, I told myself I’d rather starve than give it away.” Fiona looked at him, her eyes exposing her pain. “I never told anyone that before.” She touched her fingers over the jewels, brushing his skin lightly. Jack felt like he’d been burned, and his insides knotted up. He hadn’t felt such an intimate connection with another person in ages, especially not after such a short period of time. And for it to be Fiona, in all her glorious beauty, and with all her insight…
Suddenly Jack couldn’t find the right words express how much he appreciated her visit, how she’d made him feel. He leaned forward, his face close to hers. She smelled like ripe fruit, and he felt compelled to bite into her. He reached out and brushed the curve of her face with the pad of his hard, calloused thumb. Fiona watched him intently, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames in the hearth.
Jack stroked her cheek and drew closer to her, his lips pressing against her soft, full ones. He sighed as she responded, their sweet whiskey breaths mingling. His fingers slipped down her throat, feeling her erratic pulse, her soft skin, the silky tendrils of her hair that brushed the nape of her neck. He felt as though he’d been starved, and now he was being offered a feast.
Fiona pressed up against him, both of them side-by-side on the floor by the fireplace. Her small fingers grabbed his collar and tugged him closer as though she needed him, too. His hand slid up her side, feeling the boning of her corset underneath, surprised that she would wear one since it seemed so restrictive. Then he realized she was trying to minimize her full breasts.
Jack removed his riding coat and spread it out on the floor, lying Fiona down and propping himself up on one arm beside her. Her fingers played with his thick dark hair as her mouth hungrily closed over his, a rush of pleasure spilling over inside of him. He groaned, and tried unsuccessfully to unfasten the seemingly countless buttons of Fiona’s shirt, until she took over the task herself, and the fabric came away to reveal the ivory corset she wore underneath.
His eyes absorbed the delectable view in front of him- Fiona’s slender body and her startlingly large milky breasts, the craving visible in her eyes as she looked up at him. Jack slid one knee between her legs, giving himself extra leverage as he leant down to kiss her cheek, her exposed throat. His hands impatiently pulled the corset down her belly, revealing her voluminous breasts spilling over the top of it. He relished the way her hard pink nipples felt between his lips, the way her soft body was so pliant beneath his. His erection pushed up against her thigh, as he almost ripped off his shirt, pressing up against her, feeling the heat of her flesh, aching to lose himself inside of her.
Fiona’s soft sighs were like music to him, her skin’s natural perfume intoxicating him, almost exotic in its ripeness. Jack stared at her as she helped him unbutton and remove her trousers, revealing a high pair of white panties. Her heat emanated through the thin fabric, his other hand caressing her silky inner thighs. Fiona moaned, watching him slip his fingers into the waistband of her bloomers, grazing the small patch of light, silky hair on her mound, moving past it to her opening. He felt her wetness on his fingers, stroking her, Fiona’s hips rising slightly in response to his touch.
Jack longed to be inside of her, to feel her complete him. He pulled her underwear over her muscular thighs and her calves, pressing his lips up from her ankles, to the insides of her knees, to the apex of her thighs. Fiona writhed the moment he touched the tip of his tongue to her sex, tasting as sweet as she smelled. Jack felt his erection twitch in response. His fingers slowly pried her open from the inside, feeling her tighten around him, moaning, unable to stop herself from squirming. His tongue played with the small bud where her secret pink lips joined at the top, and felt Fiona thrash around, her groans louder now. No one could hear them, but he didn’t care if anyone did.
Jack’s hand cupped one of her breasts, pulling her nipple. His erection pulsed almost painfully in his trousers, which Fiona began unbuttoning and unhooking, until her hand brushed against his leather holster. Quickly, Jack unfastened it, safely casting his gun off to the side, the metal pistol clanging heavily onto the wooden floorboards next to them. He got to his feet, facing her with his back to the fireplace, and peeled off his pants, unleashing his swollen organ. Fiona looked ravishing, her naked body cast in the soft glow of the fireplace, her eyes glimmering with lust for him.
They didn’t speak. Their eyes and bodies communicated what words couldn’t. Jack knelt between her legs, the head of his thickness poised at her opening, wet with her desire for him. His mouth covered Fiona’s again, and her legs wrapped around his waist, easing him closer. Jack pushed himself into her tightness, rewarded by her intensely wet heat, enraptured by the sensation of her supple, young flesh. He moved slowly within her depths, stroking her breasts, her corset-covered belly, the smooth curves of her hips, as her legs closed around him more firmly. Her hands swept down the hard planes of his back as he grabbed her buttocks, lifting her hips.
He dove into her with even, deep strokes, keeping his rhythm slow so he could restrain his passion. Fiona was unable to move her eyes from his, her moans getting louder. She clasped him more firmly, keeping him completely inside of her, making him remain idle for a full minute before continuing to move on her. Jack felt her clench him from the inside, and the sensation urged him to move faster. A light flush crept across her heaving chest, distracting him as Fiona lifted herself up on one forearm, and pushed him onto his back and straddled his body.
Her hair fell loose now in waves over her shoulders, the natural red and gold hues glimmering in the firelight and framing her soft face. She ground her hips into his almost violently, her head falling back, her hair tickling the tops of Jack’s thighs. His hands roved over her heavy, bouncing breasts, down over her flanks, her soft rounded buttocks. Her moans intensified, as did his, as the pressure in his loins became too much to ignore. Their breaths came erratically as she rolled her hips into him harder, faster, her fingers digging into his muscular chest and shoulders. When his gaze met hers, the savagery ready to burst within him was mirrored perfectly on her features.
Then Fiona’s eyes finally closed, and her thighs began to shake as she panted, moving impossibly fast up and down his erection, her cream spilling over the length of him and down between them. He pushed upwards into her with his hips until she stopped shaking, trying to catch her breath.
“That… that’s never happened to me before,” Fiona murmured drunkenly, prying her eyes open, staring down at him from beneath her thick, tangled lashes. Jack smiled, feeling that he’d just claimed her body as his, imprinting her with his mark so she would never forget him.
As though understanding exactly what he needed, she rotated her body over him until she was straddling him backwards, letting him get up slightly so that she was on all fours on the ground. Jack was consumed by Fiona’s luscious body, and he plunged into her from behind with a rough grunt, his hips slapping against her plush bottom with each thrust. She still squeezed him from inside, making Jack feel like he was ready to explode.
Emitting an animalistic grunt, Jack carefully extracted himself from Fiona. She turned, sitting on the ground, her thighs slightly spread, dewy beads glistening wetly on the lips of her femininity. She took his swollen erection in her hands, stroking him, coyly pressing her lips to the throbbing flesh. The last thread of his restraint snapped and his juices spilled onto her hands, all over her breasts, down her belly. Pleasure shook his body, the copious amount of his seed gushing forth until he felt empty and spent. Fiona smiled up at him and they cleaned her with his shirt. Then Jack held her in silence, just pressing small kisses to her lips, until he collapsed, exhausted, beside her.
Jack and Fiona awoke abruptly to the sound of someone banging on the front door of the house. Fiona’s soft body had comforted him twice more in the night, and Jack was completely disorientated as she stirred in his arms.
He tried to move without waking Fiona, but she sat up, anyway, and wrapped herself in her shirt. Jack hoisted up his trousers and peered through the window. Bernie was on his front steps.
“Jack, you need to come to the saloon.”
“Can’t it wait ’till later?”
Bernie shook his head. “Harry Brunson came ’round my place, askin’ around for you.”
Jack felt a fiery rage ignite inside of him again.
“Said he wants to give the older Dixon a chance to avenge his little brother. That if you didn’t agree, he’d make damn sure you joined Billy in hell.”
Fiona brushed up against him, her half-clad body concealed by the door so Bernie couldn’t see him. She ran her hand up his back as though trying to assuage his pain. His blood boiled, and he felt a murderous rage overcome him.
“Tell him I’ll meet him there.”
1869: Devil’s Valley was first published and copyrighted November 4, 2009 by Lexi Sylver. All rights reserved.