Page 38 of A Good Prospect

Sal cradled her head to him in his big capable hands, and they fell into a deep, swooning kiss. Oh, this was so utterly opposite from being forced to kiss Niall! No, kissing Sal only enlivened the surges of lust racing up her channel as Ophir tongued her more potently now, flicking his tongue up and down the length of her button, the tip of which was so sensitive she felt she might crash around him at any second.

Reaching her arms behind her, she wove her fingers together behind Sal’s neck and feasted on his delicious mouth. She had never known how stimulating it could be merely kissing a man. Something as simple as sucking on a man’s beautifully shaped lips, touching the velvet of the back of his neck, rotating her shoulders like a cat against his firm chest—there were simply worlds of sensations she had never dreamed were even possible. And if she hadn’t known such feelings were possible, how could she have ever craved them?

She arched her spine to press her shoulders more deeply into that hot athletic chest, and to give Ophir a better angle to access her labia. He slurped away like a pig at a trough, and when Sal slipped one warm palm down the neckline of her fancy blouse to cup her breast and tweak her stiff nipple, she had reached that apex from which there was no turning back.

It always came upon her so suddenly she knew she’d have no chance to react—a couple of times she was so taken by surprise she had fallen off the chair where she frigged herself, and once she had even tumbled out of bed. So she frantically clawed at the collar of Sal’s linen shirtfront, so enraptured with the building flooding sensation filling her pelvis she was barely aware she was finally able to rub her cheek against the exquisite expanse of his bare chest. The oily silken hair invigorated her skin as she flicked the tip of her tongue out to lick his nipple. When he gasped with pleasure, Tamasin lost all control over her willful quim, and the contractions of her climax crashed down on her violently, her viselike thighs clamped around Ophir’s neck.

Wave after wave of contractions clenched at her core, and she bucked around the man’s neck as though riding a testy stallion. She realized later she had probably gnawed a bit too strenuously on poor Sal’s nipple, but she couldn’t help it! And she was probably choking Ophir between her thighs as he gasped for air against the flood of juices that washed his face. But he didn’t seem to mind, as he in turn humped her ankle with his enormous erection until she felt his own semen coursing down her leg to puddle on the floor, such an erotic event she was set off on another round of bucking and twitching.

It seemed to go on for much longer than normal, this apex of ecstasy. When she frigged herself, maybe twenty contractions would clutch at her muscles, and she was easily able to clear her mind afterwards, and go about her work. Current after current raced through her belly and clenched her sex against Ophir’s talented mouth. Soon the rhapsody built to such a high pitch she found herself unlocking her thighs and shoving Ophir away.

“No!” she gasped against Sal’s chest, squirming like a beached fish.

Sal laughed, a low amorous growl that vibrated through her body. He petted her hair affectionately. “Now that was an impressive orgasm.”

Tamasin forced her eyes open a slit, so she could see Ophir leaning on the balls of his bare feet, wiping his face with his hand. “A whopping orgasm,” he agreed.

Tamasin tried to force herself to sit upright. “Orgasm? No, I just had one of those crashing, squeezing, exploding feelings. It happens when I frig myself.”

Through her puffy eyes, she saw Sal smile indulgently down at her. “Yes. Orgasm. Right, Ophir?”

“Right,” Ophir said cheerfully. “I know a whopping female orgasm when I taste one.”

At this, Tamasin blushed hotly and forced herself to her feet, smoothing down her skirts. “Men have orgasms,” she said, wandering to the table where she’d left her aguardiente. “Women have those clenching, crashing—” She inhaled suddenly in fear when she noticed she was staring directly at a strange man’s face as he peered into the glassless window!

All three people in the little apartment went still, and Tamasin could swear the stranger was as shocked as she was, his mouth forming a gaping O. However, as he collected himself and vanished from sight, she recognized his leering, rodent-like face. She pointed at the empty window. “Tyke McCarthy! What’s he doing here, looking in our window?”

Sal, being still mostly dressed, was already swinging open the door. “I’ll find out,” he barked, and was gone, slapping his holster to make sure it still contained his pistol.

Ophir had many more items of clothing to put on, so Tamasin straightened her blouse and made for the door too.

“What are you doing?” Ophir asked. “Don’t follow that madman—we don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“It’s fine,” she said ambiguously, also fingering the bulge at her hip where she’d secreted a ladylike pocket pistol. Ever since Niall’s death she liked to keep it upon her person, because you never knew what sort of violence you’d encounter.

Sal had met up with Tyke at the corner of their outbuilding. Tyke shuffled his feet around nervously, although his manner was belligerent, and he was protesting, “I was just looking for my buddy, Abel.”

Sal glowered at Tamasin. “Tamasin, go back inside.” Tamasin didn’t budge. “Now, Tyke. Can you explain to me why Abel would be lounging about inside our hacienda? And why you had to leer through the window instead of knocking on the door, if you really thought he was inside there?”

Tyke obviously had no ready answer, as he shifted from foot to foot, muttering something about Abel moving very fast and hiding out in hovels. Then to forestall another accusation by Sal, he blurted out, “I seen you performing all sorts of poofy things in there.”

Tamasin only had a vague idea what “poofy” was supposed to be, but she surprised herself by speaking out. “So you lurked at the window long enough to watch us? Why didn’t you leave once you realized Abel wasn’t there?” She turned to Sal. “These lies don’t make any sense.”

“I know,” Sal said shortly, before poking Tyke in his bony chest. “Well, you’re leaving now, señor. I want you off my land.”

“Well,” Tyke sneered. “If by ‘off your land’ you mean anywhere between the Merced and Mariposa, as you claim, I think I pretty much own Hornitos and everything around it by now.”

Tamasin had witnessed Sal’s anger before, and she knew how quick he could be to make decisions that might result in a death, so she stepped in between the two men. “Mr. McCarthy. I think you’d best take his suggestion to leave.”

“Tamasin, be careful.” Sal grabbed her by the biceps and bodily lifted her out of the way, but fortunately Tyke was leaving.

“David Smock from Hornitos won the horse race,” Tyke called menacingly over his shoulder. “While you was engaged in poofy acts.”

“Oh, who cares about the damned horse race,” Sal muttered from between clenched teeth.

Ophir headed toward them, actually brandishing his own weapon, his finger on the trigger, but Tyke was out of sight around the corner.

Tamasin said, “I think he was looking to rob us. Don’t you agree?”

Ophir nodded. “That had to be it. Unless he randomly wanders about peering into windows hoping to catch sight of people engaged in sex.”

Sal narrowed his eyes in the direction Tyke had gone. “Someday I am going to have a severe disagreement with that hombre.”