manhood.
“Goodness. It’s so long and so hard.”
Fargo had to cough to say, “It’s supposed to be.” It was all he could do to keep from exploding.
“Do you ever wonder why men and women are so different? I mean, why did God give women holes and men things to stick in them? And why is it women have big bosoms but men—”
Fargo shut her up with another kiss. He sucked on her lower lip. He ran his tongue from her chin to her ear and sucked and nipped her earlobe. Rachel was sensitive there. Squirming, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His hand found her knee and he ran his palm along her inner thigh, savoring the satiny feel. The higher his hand rose, the hotter her skin became. He pried at her undergarments and his fingers brushed crinkly hair. A quick flick, and his forefinger was in her moist sheath.
“Ohhhhh.” Rachel threw back her head.
Fargo kissed her to silence her and she moaned into his mouth. He pumped his finger, causing her bottom to rise off the ground. Her legs widened and her ankles hooked behind his back.
The world receded even more. There was only pulsing pleasure that coursed through him as he aroused her to the heights of need. She cupped him, low down, and it was his turn to moan.
At last, the coupling. Fargo paced himself, rocking on his knees, each stroke as precise as a piston. He pumped and pumped and she thrust and thrust and they were panting into each other’s ears when she cried out and spurted. Her release triggered his. He rammed into her hard until he was spent, then collapsed on her twin pillows.
Fargo was on the cusp of slumber when his sluggish senses flared to sharp life. For a few moments he lay still, trying to figure out what had snapped him out of the well of inner darkness. A rustling sound gave him warning. It didn’t come from the trees above but from the nearby undergrowth. Rolling off Rachel, he started to pull himself together. He got his pants up and his belt hitched just as the vegetation parted, disgorging phantom forms. From the noise they made, and the way they moved, he could tell they weren’t Nez Perce.
A few more steps and they were close enough for Fargo to identify. Anger welled, and he balled his fists as the foremost, the largest of the three, bent toward them.
Heaving upward, Fargo planted his fist on Slag’s jaw. The blow rocked Slag onto his heels. The next moment Rinson sprang, seeking to grab Fargo’s wrists. A boot to the gut dissuaded him. Then it was Perkins, flourishing his long-bladed knife.
“Not that!” Rinson barked. “Gore wouldn’t want us to draw blood.”
Perkins glanced at him and swore.
It was the opening Fargo needed. He unleashed a right cross that spun Perkins around and caused him to trip over his own feet.
Rachel chose that instant to sit up, blurting, “What in the world is going on?” She realized others were there, and covering her breasts, shrieked fit to burst their eardrums.
“Oh, hell,” Rinson said.
Slag came in again, apparently determined to repay Fargo for earlier. His big fist swept at Fargo’s face, but Fargo ducked and retaliated with a boot to the knee that sparked a roar of rage and sent Slag tottering.
Yells pierced the night from the direction of the covered wagons.
Perkins had firmed his grip on his knife and was hefting it as if of a mind to disobey Rinson and use it anyway.
Rinson was in a crouch.
Slag had steadied himself for another try.
Fargo discouraged all three by drawing his Colt. “I don’t know what you peckerwoods are up to, but I’ll damn well blow a hole in the next idiot who tries anything.”
“I told you he was fast,” Rinson said.
“I could have cut him if you’d let me,” Perkins complained. “I could have gut him where he stood.”
Rachel slid next to Fargo’s legs and began frantically rearranging her clothes. “How dare you! What was the meaning of this?”
“You hush, girl,” Rinson said.
“If you wanted it so bad, you should
“Goodness. It’s so long and so hard.”
Fargo had to cough to say, “It’s supposed to be.” It was all he could do to keep from exploding.
“Do you ever wonder why men and women are so different? I mean, why did God give women holes and men things to stick in them? And why is it women have big bosoms but men—”
Fargo shut her up with another kiss. He sucked on her lower lip. He ran his tongue from her chin to her ear and sucked and nipped her earlobe. Rachel was sensitive there. Squirming, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His hand found her knee and he ran his palm along her inner thigh, savoring the satiny feel. The higher his hand rose, the hotter her skin became. He pried at her undergarments and his fingers brushed crinkly hair. A quick flick, and his forefinger was in her moist sheath.
“Ohhhhh.” Rachel threw back her head.
Fargo kissed her to silence her and she moaned into his mouth. He pumped his finger, causing her bottom to rise off the ground. Her legs widened and her ankles hooked behind his back.
The world receded even more. There was only pulsing pleasure that coursed through him as he aroused her to the heights of need. She cupped him, low down, and it was his turn to moan.
At last, the coupling. Fargo paced himself, rocking on his knees, each stroke as precise as a piston. He pumped and pumped and she thrust and thrust and they were panting into each other’s ears when she cried out and spurted. Her release triggered his. He rammed into her hard until he was spent, then collapsed on her twin pillows.
Fargo was on the cusp of slumber when his sluggish senses flared to sharp life. For a few moments he lay still, trying to figure out what had snapped him out of the well of inner darkness. A rustling sound gave him warning. It didn’t come from the trees above but from the nearby undergrowth. Rolling off Rachel, he started to pull himself together. He got his pants up and his belt hitched just as the vegetation parted, disgorging phantom forms. From the noise they made, and the way they moved, he could tell they weren’t Nez Perce.
A few more steps and they were close enough for Fargo to identify. Anger welled, and he balled his fists as the foremost, the largest of the three, bent toward them.
Heaving upward, Fargo planted his fist on Slag’s jaw. The blow rocked Slag onto his heels. The next moment Rinson sprang, seeking to grab Fargo’s wrists. A boot to the gut dissuaded him. Then it was Perkins, flourishing his long-bladed knife.
“Not that!” Rinson barked. “Gore wouldn’t want us to draw blood.”
Perkins glanced at him and swore.
It was the opening Fargo needed. He unleashed a right cross that spun Perkins around and caused him to trip over his own feet.
Rachel chose that instant to sit up, blurting, “What in the world is going on?” She realized others were there, and covering her breasts, shrieked fit to burst their eardrums.
“Oh, hell,” Rinson said.
Slag came in again, apparently determined to repay Fargo for earlier. His big fist swept at Fargo’s face, but Fargo ducked and retaliated with a boot to the knee that sparked a roar of rage and sent Slag tottering.
Yells pierced the night from the direction of the covered wagons.
Perkins had firmed his grip on his knife and was hefting it as if of a mind to disobey Rinson and use it anyway.
Rinson was in a crouch.
Slag had steadied himself for another try.
Fargo discouraged all three by drawing his Colt. “I don’t know what you peckerwoods are up to, but I’ll damn well blow a hole in the next idiot who tries anything.”
“I told you he was fast,” Rinson said.
“I could have cut him if you’d let me,” Perkins complained. “I could have gut him where he stood.”
Rachel slid next to Fargo’s legs and began frantically rearranging her clothes. “How dare you! What was the meaning of this?”
“You hush, girl,” Rinson said.
“If you wanted it so bad, you should
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