The Forgotten Cowboy. Kara Lennox

about him. She hadn’t even thought of birth control, ample evidence of just how far gone she was. Completely insane.

      She still didn’t care.

      The sofa was big and wide, so there was plenty of room for them to lie side by side. Hank kissed her some more as he stroked and kneaded her breasts, pausing every now and then to kiss her nipples, teasing them to hard peaks with his clever tongue. The stimulation was almost too much for her. She made strange sounds in her throat as he stroked her belly and then the dark curls of her mound. Her entire concentration became focused on those few square inches of her body as, with each stroke, he grew bolder, inching closer to those once forbidden areas. Each time he dipped a finger to caress the soft folds between her legs, she gasped. And then he was gently probing, exploring, as tension built inside her. It felt as if she were breathing in gallons and gallons of air and forgetting to exhale.

      All it took was one innocent brush against the ultra-sensitive nub of her sex, and she exploded. Wave after wave of ecstasy poured over her, shimmering outward in golden ripples. She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and pressed it over her own face to stifle the screams, so his landlords wouldn’t come running in the mistaken belief she was being killed.

      Only she was dying, in a sense. Petite morte, that was what the French called a sexual climax. Little death. She’d learned that in some literature class, but it only now made sense.

      Hank slid his hands underneath her shoulders and hugged her to him, grinning with obvious delight.

      “Proud of yourself, are you?” she said when she could again form words. “That was a bit sudden. I would have waited for you, you know.”

      “Simultaneous climax is overrated. Maybe even a myth. I prefer going one at a time. That way I can enjoy yours, as well as mine.”

      She threw one leg over his, bringing his arousal into close contact with her. “Then let’s move on to yours.” She spoke the words boldly, but she was still a little apprehensive.

      He kissed her, a sweet, soft kiss, then reached for the packet on the floor. In moments, he’d sheathed himself.

      He coaxed her legs open, not rushing, ever patient. Perhaps he could sense her slight tension. But soon his languid strokes to her thighs and belly relaxed her. And when he moved atop her, she didn’t even blink when he slid inside her, smooth as silk.

      No pain. Not even slight discomfort. Just the exquisite sensation of fullness, of completion.

      Then he began to move, and it wasn’t complete at all. It was just starting and it got even better. With each stroke, she felt him more deeply.