At the Cowboy's Mercy by Emma Jay Page A

the tone, but he ignored them and marched into the house with her still wrapped around him.  
    He closed the door but it popped open again with a bounce, so he used a firmer hand, turning her and pressing her against it. She laughed and nuzzled her face against his neck.  
    "You aren't serious."
    "Sh."  
    Using his body, he pinned her to the wall and slid his hands under the hem of her shorts and panties, over the curve of her ass. He stroked his fingertips over the soft smooth skin and pushed aside the image of any other man touching her. He pressed his hips forward, between her legs, and she moaned. The sound shot straight to his cock, which ached with the need to be inside her. He reached between them to yank at the button of her waistband, peeling open her zipper, sliding his hand inside to find her hot and wet. She squirmed against his questing fingers, panting with need.
    He pulled his hand free and lowered her legs to the floor. "Take them off."
    "The bed--" she managed.
    "Here." He opened his pants and stroked his cock, already hard as stone.
    Her gaze widened as she saw how ready he was, and she shoved the shorts down her legs. She'd barely stepped out of them before he lifted her again. The shorts caught on one foot and he could feel them against his ass before they dropped to the floor--and he thrust inside her.
    He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the muscles of her pussy squeezed around him, accommodating him, as her wet heat registered--he wasn't wearing a condom.
    And he wasn't stopping now. Jesus, it felt like heaven, the slickness of her body, the skin-on-skin contact. He drew out and plunged back in, drawing a sigh from her that gusted against his throat. He lifted her ass, angling her so he could go deeper, harder, lose himself in her. God, he'd missed her.  
    As he fucked her, she clutched at his shoulders, nipped at his throat with her lips and teeth, fueling his need. With each slam of his body against hers, she grew wetter. She wriggled against him, her movements limited, but her need clear. As much as he hated leaving her body, he withdrew and lowered to his knees. She gave a strangled kind of cry when he flicked his tongue over her clit, then parted her wider for his mouth. As horny as he was, he couldn't resist drawing out her pleasure, toying with her clit before dipping inside her, his fingers playing along the flesh between her channel and rosebud. The muscles of her thighs tightened, her keening cries grew louder, and he took mercy on her, stroking her clit with lightning speed, two fingers hooking inside her.
    She came with a moan that damn near rattled the windows--which were open, he recalled as he straightened and plunged inside her again.
    Oh, yes, the ripples of her orgasm felt amazing along the length of his shaft, squeezing, stroking. And he couldn't hold back, hammering into her over and over, watching her face as she rode the remnants of her climax, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, her head tilted back so her hair fell along his arm. All of that, all of that combined to carry him over the edge, the orgasm tearing through him like a goddamned hurricane, and he emptied into her.
    He held her against the door for a moment longer, his body pinning her, unable to move, his legs shaking.  
    A giggle, a little breeze of air against his neck, a little quiver running through Kennedy, snapped him back to reality. He pulled back, sliding out of her body--Christ, he hadn't used a condom and was slick with her juices, with his own come. He waited for the terror, the fear that she could get pregnant, to sink in, but it didn't come. Instead, a strange kind of pride filled him, and that   was scary.
    He made sure she was steady on her feet and fastened his pants quick, before the sight of her half-naked, tousled and shaky from the orgasm he'd given her gave his dick more idiotic ideas. She pulled up her shorts and pushed her hair out of her face--when had it fallen out of its