“You can talk to me while I get rid of this layer of dust.” He dropped his hand to his shirt. “I’m pretty ripe from the trail,” he warned her.
Their play during his shave had eased the awkwardness between two strangers but suddenly he was self-conscious. Before he’d fumbled open the second button on his shirt she took over.
“I’ve smelled worse,” she assured him, unbuckling and laying aside his gun belt before returning to the front of his pants. His swollen cock pushed against the denim material, making it hard to free the buttons from their slots. She bit her lip, concentrating on her task and avoiding his stare.
As he examined his paid companion, her cheeks flushed and had he not understood that she was a prostitute and experienced at the game, he would have said she was shy. As it was, he acknowledged Lydia’s claim. His night’s entertainment was special. She knew how to feign innocence.
After she mastered his buttons, she knelt next to his feet and his cock ached at the thought of her mouth on him. Obediently he steadied himself by holding her shoulder, admiring the silken length of thigh exposed to his view as she removed his boots and socks.
As soon as he stood in his bare feet, he freed his cock and stripped off the dusty denims. She remained crouched on the floor when he stood naked before her, his member a rigid lance begging to be buried between her legs—or lips. He stopped her when she lifted her hand as if to touch it.
“Not yet. Let me get clean first so we can both enjoy it.” Hastily, before he succumbed to lust, he stepped into the tub, dipping below the water and hiding his back. She surprised him again when she pressed him forward in the tub, inspecting his scars. They were healed but still tender welts running from his lower back to his shoulders. Silently, she picked up a sponge and began to bathe him.
“Pretty hair,” she murmured, soaping his head and kneading his scalp. He leaned into her ministrations, closing his eyes and shedding the weight of the world as she rubbed away the knots of tension at the back of his skull and then stroked lower, massaging his shoulders. He groaned, savoring bliss.
After she’d thoroughly rubbed and scrubbed, she popped open the drain and rinsed suds from his hair as the dirty water emptied.
“Hand me a towel,” he said gruffly. “I can take it from here.” His cock stood rigid between his thighs, reminding him why he’d prolonged his visit to the Pleasure Dome. Instead of handing him a towel, she blotted the excess drops from his head before leaning over his shoulder, closing the drain, and turning on the water to refill the tub.
“I favor a bath myself,” she explained when he looked at her in surprise.
He was ready for bed sports himself. She had him so hot he thought the new water might start boiling. But she’d earned the right to be in charge. He stayed in the tub. The sound of her shirt hitting the floor accompanied her slide in behind him. She gathered him in an embrace, pressing her breasts against his back and holding on to him as water inched higher, surrounding them in a pool of warmth.
“Ease on back and relax.” She was showing a surprising bossy streak but under the circumstances, Deacon let it slide. When he lay with his head nestled against her shoulder, drifting mindlessly in a fog of pleasure, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her feet and holding him captive. “Gotcha,” she said as if he was her prisoner.
Except for the ache in his shaft, Deacon couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable. He repositioned her hand, moving it from where it stroked his chest, guiding it to his groin and the rigid length of his arousal. His cock grew harder and her hand trembled under his.
She rode into an outlaw camp and saved my sorry ass.
It had been stupid, him getting caught in the first place. He hadn’t even been hunting Pettigrew. After he’d caught sight of Joe Small in Abilene, he’d tracked the sonofabitch into hell’s country where rattlers were the closest thing to friendly that a man saw.
But Joe had seemed to know where he was going and instead of capturing him when he could have, Deacon got curious—and careless. He’d followed his outlaw quarry through a series of interconnecting canyons, not realizing that sentries aimed rifles down at him from the rim above. He’d been destined to die as soon as he’d entered the stone maze.
“I never told you thank you.” He shuddered, remembering. He’d been praying for a quick death when she’d saved him.
“You can do that now.” She began to explore, caressing his shaft, tracing a vein to the head of his cock, swirling her finger over his slit before curling her palm around his thickness. He covered her hand with his, guiding it up and down, his hips rising from the water, thrusting more of his dick in her hand as she tightened her grip and pumped him.
She leaned over his shoulder and he thought she was admiring his cock. He was startled when she laid a trail of kisses from behind his ear to the spot where his neck met his shoulder then lower, brushing her lips across his scars. He groaned when she licked him there.
It was all he could handle. If he didn’t get out of the water and in bed in a moment he’d have her spread in the tub, pounding into her.
“What should I call you, sweetheart?” he asked gruffly as he stood, lifting her with him, her legs still wrapped around his torso.
“Sweetheart’s fine,” she said, clinging to his back and laughing out loud.
Deacon laughed too. His fully aroused, rock-hard cock pointed at the bed as a beautiful woman rode him piggyback, her legs wrapping his waist and her pussy rubbing his back. The joy of being alive unfurled inside him.
Her giggles stopped after he crossed the room. She unlocked her legs and slid from his back to stand beside him, facing the bed. He turned, gazing over her long limbs and strong beauty.
She trembled when he let his hand travel down the curve of her waist, stopping to caress her flat belly before dropping lower. Her nether curls, the same blonde color adorning her head, formed a pale triangle between her thighs.
“Spread your legs.” He ran his finger down the lips of her sex, holding her gaze as she loosened her thighs. Stroking the soft folds of flesh, he coaxed her until honey flowed from her channel and she relaxed her rigid stance.
Deacon played in her liquid heat before sliding his finger inside her. She flinched at his touch and her channel clenched as if it sought to repel the intruder. He pulled out and coated his digit with her slippery essence before testing her size again. This time he pulled her closer, pressing her body against his as his finger circled her entrance, teasing her sensitive flesh until she relaxed and moaned.
The wind kicked up, howling in the night outside, and she shivered against him, chill bumps racing over her flesh. He reached behind her and grabbed the cover from the bed, pulling it around her shoulders.
“Thank you. I’m not partial to cold,” she explained.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised, loving the soft cadence of her speech.
Deacon laid her on the sheet, covering her body with his before inserting his leg between hers and spreading her thighs. He drew his knee higher until it brushed her lower curls.
“Still cold?” He held himself above her, his chest touching her breasts, his face close enough to hers for his murmured question to brush her lips.
Her head jerked sideways indicating
no
. He couldn’t wait any longer and nudged her legs wider. Aligning his cock with her channel, he imagined plunging through her tight passage. But she wasn’t ready. He rubbed the end of his shaft in her honey, wetting his cock before sliding it along her entrance instead of thrusting to her core as he wanted.
She tensed, squeezing her internal muscles so hard the end of his dick throbbed, threatening to spill. He stopped, staring down at her. She had her eyes screwed shut and her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“It’s not supposed to be an unpleasant experience,” he observed wryly.
“Sorry.” She blinked at him owlishly. “Might take a time or two before I know what’s what with you.”
He stared into her eyes, feeling a tug of awareness at her words. But then the moment of uneasy recognition passed as he focused on the now. Her pupils were huge black dots obliterating the gray of the surrounding iris. Her skin was blanched of color and her breath came in shallow pants.
“Do you want me to stand down?” Though he offered, it was the last thing Deacon wanted to do.
“No,” she gasped and threw a leg over his hip as if to hold him in place.
Deacon hadn’t kissed a woman in over ten years—since his wife had died to be exact. He’d bedded females to ease his lust, spoken to them pleasantly when conversation demanded, even set up a short-term liaison once, testing the idea of maintaining a mistress. But kissing required a degree of intimacy he’d refrained from.
That changed when he gazed at the woman beneath him. Her mouth trembled as he nudged his cock through the opening to her channel.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. His breath mingled with hers as they stared into each other’s eyes. And then he took possession of her lips, slid his hand under her rump to tilt her to a better angle and swallowed her cry of surprise as he thrust inside.
He couldn’t stop. An animal-like roar gathered inside him as he penetrated her sheath, tearing through the barrier that had guarded her innocence.
It was hard to say who was more shocked in that moment—Deacon or the virgin prostitute who’d just been deflowered.
“I’m your first.” He grunted in disbelief, staring into teary eyes that were also crinkled in mirth.
“You might be my last too if it’s all like this.” She giggled, surprising him with her flash of humor.
He wanted to ask her why in hell she was whoring in a brothel for Lydia Lynch, but set aside such questions for later. For the moment, he concentrated on pleasing her and making this a night to always remember.
“Can’t be responsible for making your first time a bad time,” he assured her. He began to move, stretching her passage with slow, easy thrusts, straining to hold himself above her and show her the tenderness a woman’s first time deserved.
When he bent to take her mouth again, she opened her lips to him, threading her fingers through his hair and stroking the back of his head as he deepened the kiss. His cock filled her below and his tongue above.
But he could feel the difference in her. She followed his moves stiffly, unsure. Sweat dripped from him and pooled between her breasts. He ducked his head and sucked on first one nipple, then the other. When he bit the tip, she gasped and clutched his head, holding his mouth against her flesh.
“Deacon,” she moaned, dropping her legs from his waist as she arched her back, grinding her tender flesh against his groin, squeezing the walls of her channel around his rod.
It was too much pleasure and sent him into a frenzied release. He thrust and thrust, barely withdrawing in time to rear back and splatter his seed on her belly instead of in her womb.
He grabbed the washcloth he’d laid next to the bed and wiped his ejaculate from her flesh, then cleaned streaks of virgin blood from her thighs before dragging the bedcovers over them. Matching his length to hers, he pulled her into his embrace and collapsed. He felt almost belligerent beneath the satiated glow of completion. He’d just bedded a virgin. A maidenhead, whether it was given in a bawdy house or a marriage bed, was never to be disdained.
“Thank you for the gift of your innocence,” he murmured gruffly when the sound of her breathing calmed.
“Well, if we’re thankin’ each other, much obliged for the…” She searched for a word and even her voice seemed to change as she continued. “Thank you very much for the lovely experience.”
Her formal response brushed aside Deacon’s ripple of almost recognition. He dropped his hand to stroke the soft curls on her mound and she winced. He sighed. Greed wasn’t a good thing and he’d already had much more than he’d expected.
“You’re too tender for more of my attentions. Right now I want to hold you in my arms. Food will be delivered soon. Rest with me until it arrives. Then we’ll talk, all right?”
He settled his lips against her soft nape, breathing in her scent before trailing kisses down to the supple join of shoulder and neck. Deacon pressed one hand against her belly and the other cupped her breast as he fitted his chest to her back.
“Your fur tickles,” she whispered and laughed softly.
He loosened his grip and put inches between them.
Just like that, she flipped around in his arms and leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his chest hair, then fitting their body parts together as if they’d always slept in each other’s arms. She matched her length against his, letting her nipples caress his chest, her leg slide between his thighs and her arms wrap around his neck.
“Much better,” she whispered.
I’ll take her with me when I leave in the morning.
He made his plans as he held her and drifted in satiated pleasure. He didn’t know exactly yet what he’d do with her, but her future wasn’t going to be spent whoring for Lydia Lynch in Hell’s Half Acre.
“I’m just damned glad it was me you drew as your first customer, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair. Closing his eyes, he matched his breathing to hers, trying to convince his mammoth erection it was time to rest.
Sublime torture was interrupted by a knock on the door. At the same moment, the clock chimed midnight.