Lone Star 04 by Wesley Ellis Page A

orgasm was nearly an agony of delight, a force that lifted her up and swept her along in its fury. For a while she was almost certain it would never end—half afraid that it would, half afraid that it wouldn’t ...
    Finally, Feodor let out a breath, rolled over on his back, and drew Jessie over onto his chest. “I think you are right,” he said solemnly. “There is much to be said for pleasure between a man and a woman.”
    Jessie stared at him, then broke into laughter. “Think it’s something you’re going to like, do you?”
    â€œYes. I think so.” Feodor gave a long, deliberate yawn. “I would like to try it again sometime.”
    Jessie kept a straight face. “Well you really weren’t bad, you know. For your first time, I mean. I guess I ought to tell you.”
    â€œGood. I appreciate that.”
    He looked so terribly serious that Jessie couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Feodor, you are a crazy Transylvanian. And if that was your first time, I don’t think I can stand the second—when you really get the hang of it.”
    â€œI hope that is very soon.”
    She looked into his dark eyes and gave him a long, searching kiss. “Oh, I think we can arrange that. I really think we can.”
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    The horse was a sturdy farm animal, and Jessie rode along easily behind Feodor, her arms wrapped tightly about his back. After their lovemaking, she’d taken the time to rinse her clothes, and he’d carried them up the bank and spread them over a bush. They were still a little damp, but the cool cloth felt good against her skin.
    Feodor kept to the far edge of the creek, under the trees. When they were close to the settlement, Jessie asked him to pull the horse deeper into the thicket, telling him she wanted to get off and talk with him for a few moments.
    They dismounted and walked toward the creek, where Jessie stopped, pulled the revolver out of the waist of her denims, and inspected it in the light.
    â€œDo you usually do away with your lovers after you use them up?” Feodor smiled.
    Jessie laughed. “I didn’t know you were used up. No, I left this out on the bank back there while we were, uh, occupied. I just wanted to make sure it didn’t get any water or sand in it.”
    Feodor eyed the weapon with interest, and Jessie handed it to him.
    â€œIt is very beautiful pistol,” he said. “What fine workmanship!” He turned it over and let the sun glint off the barrel. The polished peachwood grips were a perfect match for the light slate-gray finish.
    â€œMy father gave it to me,” said Jessie, “and taught me how to use it. Started me out on a .44, but I practically had to lift the thing in two hands, and it kicked like a mule. So he had this made for me. It’s a double-action .38 on a .44 frame, and fits me just right.”
    Feodor looked at her and handed back the weapon. “Jessica, your eyes sparkle when you talk about that pistol. I think it is the man who gave it to you who brings such pride to your eyes.”
    â€œYes, you’re very right about that.” Jessie swallowed and looked away. She had shared a great deal with this man, and she trusted him. For a quick moment she felt like clinging to him and telling him all about Alex Starbuck—what he was and what he truly meant to her. And how greatly she missed him. She hesitated, though, knowing this wasn’t the time and place for such confidences—even with a man like Feodor. The story of her father was one too tightly entwined with one she couldn’t tell, one he might or might not understand.
    She turned away for a moment and listened to the water trickling by in the creek below. “I’d like to tell you something,” she said. “It’s something you should know, Feodor. But I want to ask you something first.”
    Feodor looked puzzled. “Of course, Jessica.”
    She turned