pretty."
She groaned and shifted. A minute later, her long eyelashes lifted to reveal eyes so blue that for a moment the shock of color startled him. He'd never seen a Mexican girl with blue eyes and white skin, and he frowned.
She stared at him. Her dry, parched lips separated, and she tried to swallow, but her throat was as dry as her mouth.
"
Agua
?" she whispered.
He looked around and found nothing to drink. There was only a tin cup on the bedside table. He took out his brandy flask and poured a little into the cup. He took it to her.
She had to have help to sit up. "
Mi cabeza me duele
," she moaned.
Her head hurt. She spoke perfect Spanish. Her coloring was odd, but she must be what she seemed.
"Drink that," he told her. "Don't talk."
She took a sip and choked, but then she took another and another. She laid back down, breathing steadily as she looked up at him. "
¿Donde estoy
?"
"
Está en una cantina en Del Rio
," he returned.
"¿Por qué?"
He lifted an eyebrow and smiled lazily. How could she not know? He put the cup aside and leaned over her, his big hands framing her face. "Don't you know?" he asked softly.
He bent and laid his mouth over hers. She stiffened and pushed at his chest, but he was hungry, and she obviously belonged here, or what would she be doing in this room?
Her struggles didn't bother him. He'd known prostitutes who felt obligated to put up a fight at first. It never lasted, and they were usually the most ardent ones. He kept on, his experienced mouth slow and sensual on her soft lips, until she relaxed into the covers and submitted.
It was interesting that she stiffened when his hand smoothed over her breasts again. She started to protest, but his mouth opened hers and probed gently inside. Her fingers bit into his hard arms, but she stopped fighting the minute his hand slid under her bodice and over her pretty breast.
"You feel like apples," he whispered into her mouth. "Your breasts are perfect. I want to take them inside my mouth and feel them with my tongue."
She understood English. She must, because the words made her moan.
He untied the string that held the bodice together and slowly pulled it down, baring her to his eyes. He caught his breath audibly at the sight of her white skin. Her nipples were a dark, soft pink, tight and thick against the elegant rise of flesh.
"Sweet Jesus," he whispered, touching her with his fingertips. "I've never seen anyone like you!"
Her voice failed her. His eyes were eloquent. He just looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes fascinated. Then he began to touch her, his fingers slow and gentle, tracing every line and curve of her, making her untried body yield without any effort at all.
"Sit up, little one," he whispered huskily.
He brought her into a sitting position and slid the top away. "I'm going to take a very long time with you," he said as he bent to suckle at her breasts. "I'm going to make it last all night long…"
She felt his hand in her hair as he arched her and began to kiss her body. The sensations were frightening, but not unwelcome. Her legs felt heavy, and there was an unfamiliar tingling in her lower belly. She loved his callused hands on her silky flesh, loved the way he was touching her. He was a stranger. She should not permit this. But just as she thought it, his hand trespassed under her skirt, under her drawers, and found her where she was untouched.
She made a jerky cry at the shocking intimacy and would have captured his hand, but the throb of pleasure his movement there kindled paralyzed her. Her eyes flew open, along with her mouth, and she gaped at him.
"Here?" he asked quietly, and did it again.
She had never dreamed that it would be like this. He touched and stroked and probed, and her body was his, owned by him, possessed by him. He made her reach a pinnacle almost at once, watching her arch and sob and cry out to him. And even as the pleasure began to fade away, he kindled it again and
She groaned and shifted. A minute later, her long eyelashes lifted to reveal eyes so blue that for a moment the shock of color startled him. He'd never seen a Mexican girl with blue eyes and white skin, and he frowned.
She stared at him. Her dry, parched lips separated, and she tried to swallow, but her throat was as dry as her mouth.
"
Agua
?" she whispered.
He looked around and found nothing to drink. There was only a tin cup on the bedside table. He took out his brandy flask and poured a little into the cup. He took it to her.
She had to have help to sit up. "
Mi cabeza me duele
," she moaned.
Her head hurt. She spoke perfect Spanish. Her coloring was odd, but she must be what she seemed.
"Drink that," he told her. "Don't talk."
She took a sip and choked, but then she took another and another. She laid back down, breathing steadily as she looked up at him. "
¿Donde estoy
?"
"
Está en una cantina en Del Rio
," he returned.
"¿Por qué?"
He lifted an eyebrow and smiled lazily. How could she not know? He put the cup aside and leaned over her, his big hands framing her face. "Don't you know?" he asked softly.
He bent and laid his mouth over hers. She stiffened and pushed at his chest, but he was hungry, and she obviously belonged here, or what would she be doing in this room?
Her struggles didn't bother him. He'd known prostitutes who felt obligated to put up a fight at first. It never lasted, and they were usually the most ardent ones. He kept on, his experienced mouth slow and sensual on her soft lips, until she relaxed into the covers and submitted.
It was interesting that she stiffened when his hand smoothed over her breasts again. She started to protest, but his mouth opened hers and probed gently inside. Her fingers bit into his hard arms, but she stopped fighting the minute his hand slid under her bodice and over her pretty breast.
"You feel like apples," he whispered into her mouth. "Your breasts are perfect. I want to take them inside my mouth and feel them with my tongue."
She understood English. She must, because the words made her moan.
He untied the string that held the bodice together and slowly pulled it down, baring her to his eyes. He caught his breath audibly at the sight of her white skin. Her nipples were a dark, soft pink, tight and thick against the elegant rise of flesh.
"Sweet Jesus," he whispered, touching her with his fingertips. "I've never seen anyone like you!"
Her voice failed her. His eyes were eloquent. He just looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes fascinated. Then he began to touch her, his fingers slow and gentle, tracing every line and curve of her, making her untried body yield without any effort at all.
"Sit up, little one," he whispered huskily.
He brought her into a sitting position and slid the top away. "I'm going to take a very long time with you," he said as he bent to suckle at her breasts. "I'm going to make it last all night long…"
She felt his hand in her hair as he arched her and began to kiss her body. The sensations were frightening, but not unwelcome. Her legs felt heavy, and there was an unfamiliar tingling in her lower belly. She loved his callused hands on her silky flesh, loved the way he was touching her. He was a stranger. She should not permit this. But just as she thought it, his hand trespassed under her skirt, under her drawers, and found her where she was untouched.
She made a jerky cry at the shocking intimacy and would have captured his hand, but the throb of pleasure his movement there kindled paralyzed her. Her eyes flew open, along with her mouth, and she gaped at him.
"Here?" he asked quietly, and did it again.
She had never dreamed that it would be like this. He touched and stroked and probed, and her body was his, owned by him, possessed by him. He made her reach a pinnacle almost at once, watching her arch and sob and cry out to him. And even as the pleasure began to fade away, he kindled it again and
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