Page 76 of Wyoming Tough

He lifted his head and looked at her with open shock. “What?”

“I read this article,” she said. “Some men said they wouldn’t touch a virgin because they didn’t want to have to worry about complications…”

“They did?” His hand slid down her belly and he smiled as she tried to withdraw when he touched her. “Easy,” he whispered. “This is part of it. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s natural, what you’re feeling.”

She didn’t know what she was feeling. Shock, at first, at being touched in a place where she only touched herself when she was bathing. And then, more shock, because when his hand moved, there was so much pleasure that she cried out and clutched at his arms.

“Unexpected, was it?” he teased gently. “Oh, it gets better.”

His mouth opened on her soft breasts while he touched her, tasting and exploring in a veritable feast of the senses that lifted her in a helpless arch toward the source of all that delight.

“This may be a little uncomfortable,” he whispered at her mouth as his hand moved again.

She flinched at first. But when she realized what he was doing, she didn’t fight. She lay back, biting her lower lip, until he finished.

When he lifted his hand, there was a trace of blood. He reached beside the bed for a box of tissues and wiped it off, looking into her eyes the whole time.

“It wasn’t bad,” she whispered.

He nodded. “It will hurt less, now, when I go inside you,” he whispered, moving down against her. He nudged her legs apart matter-of-factly, looking down. “I’ll go slow.”

“Okay.”

She lifted her arms to him and welcomed the warm, slow crush of his chest against her breasts. She gasped as she felt him at the secret place, the dark place that had never known contact such as this. Her nails bit into his hard arms as he nudged at her gently.

He reassured her. “Nothing to be nervous about,” he said softly. “Nothing at all.”

His hand moved in between their bodies and touched her. This time she didn’t flinch. She lifted up to it and shivered as pleasure throbbed into her like molten fire. She moaned and closed her eyes, so that she could savor it.

The pressure grew little by little, tracing and teasing, and then firm, and insistent, and maddening.

“Please!” she cried.

“Yes.”

His hand moved and his body replaced it. He moved into her deliberately, confidently, resting on his forearm as he positioned her for even greater pleasure and guided her movements.

She sobbed. The tension was growing, building. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. She focused on his face, coming closer, moving away, on the rhythm that brushed her against the mattress with every slow, deep thrust of his hips. She shivered as the pleasure kept building and building and building, breath by aching breath, until the whole world reduced itself to the sound of their bodies sliding against each other, the faint scraping sound of the sheets as they moved over them, the building rasp of their breathing.

“Mallory,” she sobbed, arching, shuddering.

“Now, baby,” he whispered, and the rhythm increased and his body became demanding, as control slipped away. “Now, now, now!”

She cried out, clutching him as she moved, too, desperate to twist up and meet that hard thrust, make it deeper, make it harder, make it, make it, make it…blaze up…like a furnace!

Her teeth bit into him as she climaxed, her body convulsing in a tense arch as she drowned in pleasure she’d never dreamed could exist. She was barely aware of his own rough movement, the hoarse cries of pleasure at her ears as he went over the edge with her. They clung together in ecstasy, as passion spent itself over a space of heated, mad seconds.

And even then, they couldn’t stop moving. She ground her hips up against his, pleading for more.

“Oh, don’t stop,” she pleaded.

“I can’t,” he whispered in a hoarse chuckle. “Sweet. So damned sweet. I thought I was going to die of it!”

“Me, too!”

He lifted his head as he moved down against her, watching her pleasure grow all over again. Her response delighted him, made him feel ten feet tall. She showed no sign of wanting to stop at all.

“Go ahead, gloat,” she whispered unsteadily.

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