up to him completely, adrift in the ecstasy of their coupling, crying “Oh! Oh! Oh!” each time he hammered into her.
Fargo pumped and pumped, in perfect self-control, staving off his release for as long as he wanted. Gwen thrashed and writhed, her hands on his powerful arms, her tiny feet barely touching the ground.
While their union lasted, for those precious moments in time, the sensations they felt overwhelmed their worries, their cares. The Apaches were shut from their minds, the sense of constant danger temporarily gone. Their release was just as much mental and emotional as it was physical, which added to the intensity of their mutual climax.
Gwen wailed like a lost soul as her body was flooded by rapture. She clung to his shoulders, her hips levering wildly, her womanhood wrapped around his member like a glove. And when she called out, when she said, “Oh, Skye! I’m coming again!” it triggered his own release.
Fargo exploded with the force of a keg of black powder, ramming up into her again and again and again. To call what he felt bliss did not do it justice. He crested a white hot peak and sailed on the inner winds of blinding pleasure.
When, at long, long last, Fargo slowed and then stopped, they were both spent, both slick with sweat, both breathing as if they could not catch their breath. Fargo held on to her and sagged onto the bank, stones and dirt prickling his skin. Gwen’s hands were on his neck, her lips on his chest.
“I thought I would die.”
Fargo listened to the night sounds, his wariness returning. Coyotes were in full chorus, and to the west an owl hooted. Much farther off a panther screeched. All was normal. All was well. He sighed and ran a hand over her hair. “Thank you.”
Gwen tittered.
“Share the joke,” Fargo said.
“I guess I don’t hate you anymore.”
“Really? You could have fooled me.”
Both of them smiled and closed their eyes, and although Fargo did not want to fall asleep just yet, he dozed, awakening half an hour later with Gwen snoring lightly on top of him. Water chilled his feet. The cool night air caressed their bodies. He started to sit up, and Gwen lifted her head. Befuddled by sleep, she looked all around.
“What is it? The Apaches? Have they found us?”
Fargo kissed her cheek. “No. It’s peaceful as can be.” He rose, cradling her. “I need to wash up and get dressed.”
“We’ll wash together.”
They stepped into the shallow pool and sat facing one another. The water was only five or six inches deep, the pool no wider than four or five feet, but it was so cool, so refreshing. Fargo splashed his legs, his chest, then cupped his hands and drenched his face and hair. He would have liked to sit there until morning, luxuriating in the coolness.
Gwen washed her arms, her face. Leaning back, she quirked her lips and said, “This is a no-no time I’ll never forget.”
“A what?” Fargo asked.
“A no-no. When I was growing up, whenever I was bad my ma would say I had done a no-no. It was no-no this, and no-no that. Taking a cookie without permission, leaving my room a mess, that sort of thing. It got so I learned to be real secretive about the no-no things I did. I’d never tell a soul.” Gwen bent a shapely leg and idly ran a finger along her inner thigh. “This is a no-no time I’ll treasure forever.”
Fargo was watching her finger, how it slowly swirled around and around. He saw her glistening thatch and the water flowing between her thighs, and he began to grow hard again.
“Was I all right for you?” Gwen asked. “As you’ve probably guessed, I don’t have a lot of experience. You’re only the second man I’ve ever made love to.”
Fargo grew harder.
“I was ashamed the last time. It was a boy I knew, one I always figured I’d marry. But I’m not ashamed with you. Why should that be?” Gwen looked down at herself. “I know I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m too small up top, for one thing.” She cupped her breasts. “If you only knew—”
But Fargo didn’t care to hear more. He surged toward her, enfolded her in his arms, and parted her legs with his knees.
Gwen’s eyes went wide. “Again? So soon?”
His answer was to drive into her, nearly lifting her out of the water with the urgency of his thrust. There was no kissing this time, no foreplay. Holding her slender waist, Fargo lanced up into her, over and over and over. She bent her head back and groaned nonstop, adrift in a sensual sea of delight.
Fargo lasted longer this time. Much, much longer. A rip-tide of arousal pulled him higher and higher until he was at the summit with nowhere to go but over the brink. He prolonged the inevitable as long as he could, extending their bliss for what seemed like forever. At last the eruption came, so violent, so intense, the stars pranced giddily and the ground seemed to buck as if from an earthquake. Gwen sank her teeth into his shoulder to stifle a shriek.
Tired but fulfilled, they leaned against each other, Fargo stroking her hair. Gwen looked up at him in awe and asked,
“Don’t you ever get enough?”
Fargo knew women well. He gave her a compliment she would treasure. “It’s you. You do things to a man.”
“I do?” Gwen said in disbelief. “Why hasn’t anyone ever told me before? You’d think I’d have men falling out of the trees to ask me out.”
Shrugging, Fargo replied, “You know how men are. We like to keep our feelings to ourselves. And most men get tongue-tied around a pretty woman.”
“Land o’ Goshen! I sure am learning a lot tonight. Anything else you have a hankering to teach me?” Gwen wriggled her bottom.
Fargo laughed and smacked her on the fanny. “And you think I never get enough? On your feet, hussy. We need sleep now, more than anything else.”
“Speak for yourself,” Gwen groused.
Glowing embers were all that remained of the fire. Fargo rekindled it and stretched out. Gwen snuggled against him, her cheek on his chest, her fingers playing with his beard. She did not fall asleep right away. On the verge of dozing off, he heard her clear her throat.
“Skye?”
“Mmm?”
“I—” Gwen hesitated, giving Fargo a suspicion of what was to come. “I take it you’re not looking to settle down any time soon?”
“No.”
“Then I guess you wouldn’t want—”
“No.”
“Oh.” Gwen slid off him and rested her head in her arms. “I hate you again.”
“Good.” Chuckling, Fargo rolled onto his side and was soon dreaming of Denver and clean sheets and the best whiskey to be had. A poke in the ribs woke him up. Gwen had turned in her sleep so her back was against him, and she mumbled something about needing to milk the cows. Fargo drifted off once more.
Shortly before dawn a splash in the stream snapped Fargo awake. His hand closed on the Henry, but it was only a deer, a doe, come for her morning drink. Shaking himself to get his blood flowing, Fargo rose. To heat the leftover rabbit, he ignited kindling and added fuel.
Along about the time the meat was ready, Gwen rose on an elbow and dreamily watched him. “Morning.”
“We head out in ten minutes.”
“Fine.” Like a contented cat, Gwen lazily arched her spine and sat up. “I still feel as if I’m floating on a cloud.
