Page 32 of Sure as Shooting

Huntley’s dark and thoughtful eyes didn’t leave Belle’s face. “Women don’t have orgasms.”

Belle said hurriedly, “That’s what I thought, too. I thought, ‘Oh, how absurd.’ But the first time Whit brought me to climax, he assured me it was the identical sensation that a man has.”

Whit said, “And wouldn’t that be fantastic, Huntley, if you could give a woman the same sensations? You’d have her eating out of your hand.”

“Or eating something else,” Huntley said darkly.

She giggled nervously, shook him by the sleeves, and said, “Of course, we’re certainly not insisting, if you don’t want—”

All in a rush, Huntley dipped at the knees, placed his strong hands around her waist, and lifted her feet off the granite. “I do want,” he growled as he carried her like a furry column and set her ass upon a niche in the boulder. The boulder where he’d just been sucking on Whit’s penis so voraciously. Belle must have been incorrect in her assessment of this man as a shit sack in matters of sex. He nestled his hips between her thighs and nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. “You are more than an open peony blossom, my exotic lotus maiden,” he whispered.

Belle wiggled her bottom on the little ledge as Huntley raked his fingers through her plaits. The long locks of her hair were only held in place with leather thongs, and the squiggly strands easily came away between his urgent fingers. She whispered, “They call you the King of the Tulareños.” It was heavenly to thread her fingers through his thick mane of hair so glossy any woman would be envious.

He brushed his soft lips against hers. “I don’t wish to be called that any longer. I’m no longer the king of them.”

Belle licked his lower lip, nipping at it. Whereas Whit smelled of cinnamon, as though he’d been baking delicious sweets, Huntley had an earthy musk smell—like one of the oil bottles in Whit’s medical bag! He smelled of the Orient, similar to the patchouli oil her beau had used to frig himself. “You are the King of Agua Fria,” Belle reminded him.

“That’s good enough for me.” And he kissed her deeply, leveraging her up off her ledge with the power of his hips.

She parted her thighs eagerly, allowing the bear’s fur to fall away so she could plaster her bosom to his chest. She had read a romantic novel where the heroine was swept away—was it Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded?—and now she knew what the writer meant. Whit had captured her heart with his keen intellect, questing curiosity, and yes, his sexual talents. He was untutored in the ways of women, a quality that had enticed her. But this man between her thighs, rotating the hard head of his prick so urgently against her pubic mound, he had more of a searching animal quality, as though he couldn’t contain his masculinity, or it would keep erupting in base, stimulating ways.

Their tongues twined together as she pulled him to her breasts, and he balanced her in the air with just the power of his hips. Whit insinuated himself between them, easing the fringed jacket from Huntley’s shoulders. Belle and Huntley broke their kiss reluctantly, Belle with the toes of one moccasin wedged up high in Huntley’s gun belt.

“Now, Hunt…” Whit used his instructional medical voice. “It’s really very simple. I want you to feel Belle come. Start right here. She’s such a tender, sensitive flower—you’ll be frigging her like a master in no time at all.” Taking Huntley’s hand, he needlessly guided it to the slit in Belle’s drawers while she lay back like the Queen of Sheba. Two men servicing her, “instructing” her, pleasuring her! Her clitoris was already swollen and slick, and Whit’s accomplished fingers stroking the length of it already had her jumping and twitching, gasping like a wildcat. “She enjoys it like this. Just take your middle finger and flick it up and down…Yes, that’s good…”

Huntley caught on quickly, and soon her pussy was clenching reflexively, wanting to be filled. Belle kept herself aloft on the boulder with a foothold in another niche, and she feared she was dripping female juice on the leather crotch of Huntley’s buckskins, his erection thrusting against her backside as she strove to give his fingers room to play.

“Like a banjo.” Huntley smiled against her mouth.

Whit instructed Huntley, “You can feel her orgasm around your cock. She comes powerfully. Near about took my finger off.” Whit slid a hand down Huntley’s lean abdomen, aggressively unbuttoning the broadfall that was threatening to burst.

Was Whit seriously urging Huntley to do what he himself had not obtained first? It seemed a sign of friendship on Whit’s part—and it definitely was friendly when Whit plunged his hand into the steamy depths of the trousers and withdrew Huntley’s rigid prick. Whit even humped Huntley’s hip, clamped between his thighs as he expertly massaged the large tool. With his chin on Huntley’s shoulder and his eyes half-closed, Belle could see that Whit had a vast affection for the major.

It had been so long since she’d been used in this manner, she shook a bit in her moccasins at the prospect, but with Whit circling his thumb over the dribbling tip of the cock and the way her pussy trickled juice down Huntley’s wrist, Belle had little to fear.

“That’s it,” Whit encouraged his friend. “Keep up the action on her clitoris. Don’t slow down. If you pause for even a second you might lose the momentum and she’ll have to start all over again. Now slide this delicious cock inside her pussy, but don’t think about it.”

Huntley needed little guidance to nudge the bulbous tip of his penis inside her, but he chuckled a little. “Don’t think about it?”

Whit remained serious. “Yes. It’s a sort of Eastern, mystical practice I’ll tell you more about later, but don’t think. Concentrate on pleasuring her. You’ll come soon enough, believe me.”

Huntley spoke against Belle’s jaw. “Oh, I don’t doubt you, amigo.”

His cock seemed to expand inside of her as she lifted her hips to him. Belle gasped. “This position is ‘the butterfly exploring a flower.’”

“I’d love to explore your flower,” Huntley murmured.

All urge to giggle at this sappiness went out the window when he gently slid his cock inside of her up to the hilt. Admirably, he held himself there, abiding Whit’s rule to concentrate on frigging her clitoris.

When she exploded with a loud gasp, Huntley must have felt the first few initial spasms of her inner cunt that clutched at his massive tool. Whit instantly knew, too, for he goaded, “Now you can move. Fuck her, Hunt, fuck her! But don’t stop with the fingers!”

“Oh, God’s holy…!” Huntley threw his head back, the words strangled in his throat.

Under Whit’s tutelage, Huntley was—more than adequately—juggling at least three highly-skilled stunts at the same time. Such a new and delightful sensation, to be coming around an eager, hot prick that was spurting jets of semen against the opening to her womb.

Whit kept up the banter like the controlling taskmaster that he was. “Feel that enticing pussy sucking away at your cock, just milking all that savory nectar from your balls.”

Gasping for breath, Huntley and Belle pressed their foreheads together. It had been so long since she’d been fucked, Belle had completely forgotten one of the best parts—what a lamb a man turned into after shooting his load inside a woman. Or, she thought, inside another man…

Clutching each other like drowning people, a low rumble of laughter came from the pits of their stomachs. Belle felt ten pounds lighter, as light as the twilight mountain air. Her toes that had been pinioned against his hip slowly slid to the ground as his fingers regretfully gave her clitoris one last pet.

When they finally separated, Whit was nowhere to be seen. Huntley smeared the hair back from his forehead, whipping out a head kerchief to knot around his head. “Off pissing,” he assured Belle, reading her mind. She let out a deep breath, smiling at Huntley in a new way, a fresh way of looking at him. He was quite fetching with this unfamiliar aura about him—what was it? He was no longer the distant, forbidding, and stern Rocky Mountain man, ordering people about. No, he looked at her from under his lashes almost shyly, like a boy caught looking at a lady’s ankle. Belle liked this new Huntley.

She even dared lean against him, clutching his arm as though they were out for a romantic promenade. “That was quite impressive,” she whispered flirtatiously.

“Well,” Huntley responded with false gruffness. “Can’t let Dr. Whitney get all the glory now, can I?”

“What exactly is going on around here?”

Belle twirled around, still clutching Huntley’s arm.

“You heard me! What in Sam Hill are the nefarious doings I see before my eyes?”