Black Hills Badman by Jon Sharpe Page B

here.” Rebecca hesitated. “But you don’t think any Sioux are around, do you?”
    “No.”
    “That’s a relief. I don’t mind admitting they terrify me. I would hate to end up in some buck’s lodge.”
    To shut her up Fargo kissed her, mashing his lips against hers. She tasted like cherries with a hint of mint. The fragrance she had splashed on was intoxicating.
    “Oh, my,” Rebecca whispered when he broke for breath. “But must you be so rough?”
    Fargo grinned. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

10
    Fargo went to kiss Rebecca again but she put a hand to his chest and nervously glanced toward camp.
    “Not this close. Someone might hear us.”
    Fargo couldn’t see how, since most were asleep. But he took her hand and moved deeper into the dark.
    “Let’s not go too far,” Rebecca whispered. “I want to be able to see the fires.”
    “Make up your mind.”
    Sixty feet from their camp, Fargo stopped and pressed Rebecca against a tree. She responded to his kiss but her body was tense and stiff. “What is it now?”
    “I’m nervous, I guess.” Rebecca looked anxiously about as if she expected a shrieking warrior to come rushing out.
    “Relax. We’re safe. The Sioux stick close to their lodges at night.” Fargo didn’t add, “except when war parties go on raids.”
    “You’re sure? What about bears? Or cougars?” Rebecca swallowed. “I don’t like these hills at night. I don’t like them at all.”
    Fargo ran his fingers through her hair and placed his other hand on her hip. “Animals won’t come this near to fire,” he assured her, which wasn’t entirely true. A bear might, out of hunger or curiosity. A cougar might, too, if it caught the scent of the horses.
    “If you’re sure,” Rebecca said uncertainly.
    Fargo sensed she might change her mind. To prevent that from happening, and to take her mind off what might be lurking in the dark, he cupped her breast while at the same time he slid his other hand between her thighs. She stiffened, and gasped.
    Gradually, Rebecca relaxed. Her body molded to his. Her kisses became delicious wellsprings of passion. She sucked on his tongue. She ground against him. Her fingernails scraped his skin.
    Fargo relaxed, too. Making love to women had long been a favorite pastime. He would rather poke a willing filly than do just about anything else. He liked it so much that when he went without for more than a week or two, the need built in him until he was fit to explode.
    Fargo never could savvy men who swore off women, whatever their reasons. Priests, for instance. Or those who were content with a poke a month, if that. It had surprised him considerably when it dawned on him years back that some men didn’t feel the same need he did. For him, the treats a woman offered were a slice of the best the pie of life had to offer, and any gent who didn’t care for a taste must not have any taste buds.
    Fargo thought of that now as Rebecca continued to warm to their caresses. She pried at his shirt and his belt to get at his pants. He helped, and presently his gun belt was on the ground and his pants were down around his knees. His manhood had become a rigid pole. He shivered when she lightly clasped him and commenced to stroke. He thought he would explode when she cupped him but he was able to contain himself.
    Fargo got her robe undone and delved into her charms with ardent zest. He licked her neck. He sucked and nipped an earlobe. He traced the tip of his tongue from her throat to between her breasts and then to a nipple. Inhaling it, he swirled it with his tongue and it became a rigid tack. She groaned when he cupped her other breast. Her hips thrust hard against his member. It was plain her fruit was ripe for the plucking.
    Fargo lathered her tummy and stuck his tongue into her navel. He ran his hand from her knees to the junction of her legs. She was burning hot for him. She was wet, too, as he found out when he parted her nether lips with the tip of a