Christ. The woman tasted as rich and slick as honey. His hands caressed her waist, moving upward to cup her breasts. Slowly he traced intricate designs around her taut nipples. When she parted her legs and raised her hips asking for more, his tongue plunged between her swollen folds.
She arched violently against him. “JD, please.”
Drawing her thick juices into his mouth, he lapped at her heatedly. As he stared up at her from between her thighs, she was the most erotic creature he had ever lain with.
Her fingers were clenched in the blankets beneath her, an expression of sheer rapture upon her face. “Ahhh.” A shiver raked her and she writhed.
He grasped her hips, sucking her farther into his mouth. His tongue teased the pulse of her sex before circling her clit with firm strokes. Spreading the folds of her pussy apart, he drove his tongue deeper, drinking like a man dying of thirst. He couldn’t get enough.
His pounding erection pressed against the bed and his belly. Engorged testicles throbbed with need. He moaned against her flesh. Damn. He could come this second, but he wouldn’t.
She trembled, thighs quivering. Then her body convulsed. “JD!” The sweetest cry of ecstasy exploded in his ears.
Beneath a whiplash of sensation, pleasure coursed through him. He moved up her body. She was friggin’ hot as he positioned himself between her legs. No sooner did he seat himself deep inside her warmth, fire lanced down his cock. A jet of semen spewed from the narrow slit. Each hard discharge set his heart to pumping wildly.
As the heat of their bodies cooled, he held her close and whispered, “I win,” in her ear.
Chapter Three
Stella Sinclair fishing?
Her girlfriends would be rolling with laughter if they could see her now. She had donned jeans and a short-sleeve western shirt that Toliver had gifted her with. The black boots she wore felt strange and a little stiff, but they were more functional than her stilettos. A chuckle rose. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t look half bad.
Inhaling the cool, clean air untouched by human hands, she wondered at the differences between this crisp morning and the ménage of scents that would be assailing her in New York. As she gazed across acres and acres of rolling hills and open space, she could see why JD was so drawn to this area. If she had to choose one word to describe the panorama it would be “heavenly”.
The fishing hole, as JD had called it, was tucked away on the Yellowstone River. Not a soul was present, but her and him and the four sharp-eyed little eight- to ten-year-olds who hadn’t appeared happy that she had tagged along.
As she stood by the horses they’d ridden to this obscure location, she heard the boy who had been introduced to her as Clifford grumble, “This is a man-card violation.” The lanky youth with angular features pinned his heated gaze on JD as the other three boys snickered.
Stringing a worm on a hook, JD glanced at Clifford. “Man-card violation?”
Stella stifled a giggle behind her hand, which now smelled like horsehair. She knew exactly where the brat was going with the comment. What tickled her was that JD seemed completely oblivious.
“Girl. Fishing.” The “duh” attitude rang in his tone as he shook his black mop of hair so that it swept across his eyes. “This is lame.” He pushed the wayward tendrils aside.
“Shhh.” JD darted a glance her way, but she pretended to be intrigued with the beautiful bay gelding she stroked. “Mind your manners,” he muttered.
“She looks like a city girl,” Chucky, the little redheaded freckle face, added.
For some odd reason the child’s comment hurt. Even with her decked out in authentic cowgirl clothes, the kids recognized that she didn’t belong in Montana or any other Podunk town.
Out of nowhere unexpected tears welled. Her gaze fell to the ground to hide the sudden show of emotion. She swallowed hard, pulling her thoughts to the grin of
She arched violently against him. “JD, please.”
Drawing her thick juices into his mouth, he lapped at her heatedly. As he stared up at her from between her thighs, she was the most erotic creature he had ever lain with.
Her fingers were clenched in the blankets beneath her, an expression of sheer rapture upon her face. “Ahhh.” A shiver raked her and she writhed.
He grasped her hips, sucking her farther into his mouth. His tongue teased the pulse of her sex before circling her clit with firm strokes. Spreading the folds of her pussy apart, he drove his tongue deeper, drinking like a man dying of thirst. He couldn’t get enough.
His pounding erection pressed against the bed and his belly. Engorged testicles throbbed with need. He moaned against her flesh. Damn. He could come this second, but he wouldn’t.
She trembled, thighs quivering. Then her body convulsed. “JD!” The sweetest cry of ecstasy exploded in his ears.
Beneath a whiplash of sensation, pleasure coursed through him. He moved up her body. She was friggin’ hot as he positioned himself between her legs. No sooner did he seat himself deep inside her warmth, fire lanced down his cock. A jet of semen spewed from the narrow slit. Each hard discharge set his heart to pumping wildly.
As the heat of their bodies cooled, he held her close and whispered, “I win,” in her ear.
Chapter Three
Stella Sinclair fishing?
Her girlfriends would be rolling with laughter if they could see her now. She had donned jeans and a short-sleeve western shirt that Toliver had gifted her with. The black boots she wore felt strange and a little stiff, but they were more functional than her stilettos. A chuckle rose. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t look half bad.
Inhaling the cool, clean air untouched by human hands, she wondered at the differences between this crisp morning and the ménage of scents that would be assailing her in New York. As she gazed across acres and acres of rolling hills and open space, she could see why JD was so drawn to this area. If she had to choose one word to describe the panorama it would be “heavenly”.
The fishing hole, as JD had called it, was tucked away on the Yellowstone River. Not a soul was present, but her and him and the four sharp-eyed little eight- to ten-year-olds who hadn’t appeared happy that she had tagged along.
As she stood by the horses they’d ridden to this obscure location, she heard the boy who had been introduced to her as Clifford grumble, “This is a man-card violation.” The lanky youth with angular features pinned his heated gaze on JD as the other three boys snickered.
Stringing a worm on a hook, JD glanced at Clifford. “Man-card violation?”
Stella stifled a giggle behind her hand, which now smelled like horsehair. She knew exactly where the brat was going with the comment. What tickled her was that JD seemed completely oblivious.
“Girl. Fishing.” The “duh” attitude rang in his tone as he shook his black mop of hair so that it swept across his eyes. “This is lame.” He pushed the wayward tendrils aside.
“Shhh.” JD darted a glance her way, but she pretended to be intrigued with the beautiful bay gelding she stroked. “Mind your manners,” he muttered.
“She looks like a city girl,” Chucky, the little redheaded freckle face, added.
For some odd reason the child’s comment hurt. Even with her decked out in authentic cowgirl clothes, the kids recognized that she didn’t belong in Montana or any other Podunk town.
Out of nowhere unexpected tears welled. Her gaze fell to the ground to hide the sudden show of emotion. She swallowed hard, pulling her thoughts to the grin of
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