Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Robin Gideon

aching for Phantom’s skilled caresses.
    The threat of discovery mingled with her passion, escalating its intensity, heightening its force. Nectar moistened the lips of her pussy, readying it for even greater intimacy.
    Why did it have to be Phantom who made her body come alive? Previous experience in kissing had taught her there was nothing pleasurable in the act, but even the first of Phantom’s kisses was addictive.
    A particularly loud and vulgar laugh from one of the poker players made Pamela flinch in Phantom’s arms.
    “Don’t think about them,” he whispered into her ear, his body pressing into hers. The tip of his tongue traced the circumference of her ear briefly. “They mean nothing to us. They’re no danger at all.”
    “I can’t help thinking of them,” Pamela replied softly. She stifled the moan that threatened to escape her when Phantom caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit gently. “They’re so close.”
    “They’re a world away from where we are now,” Phantom replied.
    Why did his words make sense to her passion-addled brain? Those dangerous men below, all bearing pistols be neath their fine uniforms , were not a world away—they were very close. Dangerously close. That was why she and Phantom had to whis per, so that they wouldn’t be heard—which was why Pamela was at that very moment in Phantom’s arms.
    No, that wasn’t the reason, and she knew it.
    She was in his arms because that was right where she wanted to be, even if she couldn’t quite admit that damning little fact to herself.
    “Forget about them,” Phantom repeated, his lips at Pamela’s throat, warm and moist, touching her flesh yet caressing her deeper than that.
    His right hand was at her hip, pulling her toward him so that the fit of their bodies was more secure. She parted her knees just enough to capture his thigh between her own. Phantom moved closer still—close enough to slide his hard-muscled leg up to the juncture of her thighs.
    The pressure of him pushing against her pussy so intimately drew an immediate and surprising response from Pamela. Though layers of clothing actually separated them, she could feel the heat of him, and even more, the heat of her own passion, escalating now at a furious pace. Her clit throbbed with an almost painful intensity.
    The dewy moisture of Pamela’s desire was centered down low yet traveled throughout her body. She tried to clamp her thighs together, to prevent his thigh from rubbing even more intimately against her, but all she really accomplished was trapping Phantom’s leg against her pussy.
    “It’s not wrong to give in to your feelings,” he whispered.
    There was a half smile on his lips that was at once seductive and thoroughly infuriating. As Pamela looked into Phantom’s dark brown eyes, she realized that, to him, this encounter, this stolen moment of eroticism, was noth ing more than a diverting way to pass the time while wait ing to escape from the well-guarded Darwell estate.
    With a forceful shove, Pamela put her hand on his hip and pushed him away with all her strength. At the same time, she unclamped her thighs and slid her hips away. That kind of contact had been much too pleasurable to be allowed to continue, especially with a man as devilishly seductive as Phantom.
    “It is wrong,” Pamela said through clenched teeth, as angry at herself as at him.
    “Why?” Phantom asked, his half smile still tauntingly in place.
    Pamela opened her mouth as though to speak, though no words came out. The answer was obvious, yet when she came to put words to it, she could find none. Why, indeed, was it wrong to give in to one’s feelings? Society, she knew, considered it to be perfectly acceptable for men to let their passions run free. Why was that freedom not ac corded to women?
    “Well?” Phantom chided, sliding closer to Pamela once again. He eased his hand from her hip, running it around to the small of her back, very subtly pulling her to him