Pensee burst into peals of mirth. “Touché. I admit I am thinking of only one thing.” She stepped up close again and placed her hand on his manhood. “I am thinking of this.”
Fargo felt himself stir. “Damn, you are a tease.”
“And you like it, admit it?” Pensee ran her hand over his hardening pole. “Goodness. You grow and grow.”
A constriction had formed in Fargo’s throat and he had to cough before he could say, “Isn’t there somewhere private?”
“Are you shy?” Pensee asked, and tittered. “Men! They act so big and tough. But in a woman’s hand they are kittens.”
“I’ll give you kittens,” Fargo said, and plunged his hand between her thighs. At the contact she arched her back and her mouth parted in a tremulous gasp.
“Oh! No.”
“What’s the matter? Are you shy?” Fargo gave as good as he got.
Pensee glanced toward the other fires and the tents, then clasped his hand and pulled him around the cypress to the other side. “One thing I am not is that, monsieur,” she said huskily. “But like you I don’t need an audience. That is how I got into trouble before I met Remy.”
“Trouble how?”
“There was this gentleman who shared my lack of inhibitions. We let people watch for money. You would think the world was coming to an end, to hear the upstanding citizens who wanted us hung for our crime.”
“There are limits,” Fargo said. Not that he had room to talk. He had done more than a few things in his time that most would brand scandalous.
“Not for me. Not then. Not now. Not ever. I like to live to the fullest. And if some are upset, that is their nature, not mine.”
“Did you bring me behind this tree to make love or talk me to death?” Fargo asked.
“Talk is a poor second to making love.”
With that Pensee melted into his arms. Her molten mouth fastened to his and her lips widened to admit his tongue. She groaned when he sucked on hers. He cupped a breast, pinched the nipple.
The night was suddenly a lot warmer.
Fargo pressed her against the tree. Her arms rose to hook around his neck and her pelvis glued itself to his. It occurred to him that he had left the Henry lying on his blanket but he decided to leave it there. He doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try and steal it.
“Why did you stop? Don’t you know what to do next?”
“I reckon I do.” Fargo rubbed his forefinger across her nether lips; she wasn’t wearing undergarments. She shivered and cooed and bit his shoulder, and not lightly, either.
“Do that again.”
Fargo did, dipping the tip of his finger into her. She ground against him and lathered his neck and his ear. At the same time she pried at his buckskin shirt, raising it so she could slide her hands underneath and rove them over his muscular chest and knotted belly.
“Nice. Very nice.”
Fargo could say the same but chatter was a distraction he could do without. He shut her up with another kiss and kept his lips there while he kneaded and tweaked her breasts. Soon her chest was heaving. Her breath fanned his throat as she bent to run her tongue from one side to the other.
By now Fargo’s pants bulged. He needed release. Unbuckling his belt, he lowered his holster and the Colt, then let his pants slide down around his knees. As his pole came free she let out a soft cry of delight.
“Mon Dieu! I have struck gold.”
Eagerly, she enfolded him with her fingers. Fargo had to clamp down a mental lid to keep from exploding before he was ready. The constriction returned as she delicately ran her fingernails up and down and then cupped his jewels.
“I would like to chop this off and keep it with me always.”
Fargo’s rising ardor deflated. He looked at her, half inclined to swat her hands away. “What did you just say?”
“I was joking. I wouldn’t cut you, my handsome tug-mutton. It is just that you are a stallion.”
“Your handsome what?”
Pensee didn’t reply. She had tucked at the knees, and the next Fargo felt, his member was sheathed in velvet. He braced an arm against the tree and closed his eyes.
The velvet sensation went away but only long enough for Pensee to ask, “You like, yes?”
“I like, yes,” Fargo confirmed, and gave himself up to the pleasure. She stayed tucked a good long while. Several times she brought him close to the brink but each time she showed the savvy not to send him over.
“Damn, you’re good.”
“Merci. But in truth I am bad.” And Pensee chortled in naughty glee.
Fargo pulled her to her feet, spread her legs, inserted his tip, and looked into her eager eyes. “Ready?”
“Always.”
A lunge, and Fargo rammed up into her. For a few seconds she was still, transfixed with rapture. Then her body began to move of its own accord and Fargo went with the flow, ramming ever harder and steadily faster until she tossed her head wildly and thrashed uncontrollably. But she didn’t cry out. Instead, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.
Fargo didn’t stop. Her velvet sheath grew wetter. At his next thrust she went into a paroxysm of ecstasy, lost in the delirium of another release. Fargo kept ramming. She clung to him, spent but wanting more. He rocked on his boots, virtually lifting her off the ground. Then his own moment came, and it was everything it always was, the moment when a man felt most alive, the moment a man lived for.
Covered with sweat, they coasted to a stop and Pensee sagged and whispered, “E’tonnant.”
“Eh?”
“It was wonderful. I thank you.”
“Any time.”
“I will hold you to that.” Pensee kissed him, then closed her eyes. “I am so tired and content I could fall asleep standing up.”
“No need for that.” Fargo slid out of her and pulled himself together. As he strapped on his Colt he heard splashing from the swamp. Not much, and not loud. A gator, he figured.
They walked around the cypress to his blanket. The Henry was where it should be.
Fargo sat and patted a spot next to him. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”
“I would like nothing better. But I usually sleep by myself so as not to have the men jealous of one another. Comprendre vous?”
Fargo shrugged and sank onto his back. “Whatever you think best.”
“Tomorrow is another day, yes?”
Struggling to stay awake, Fargo rose onto his elbows and stared after her until she went into a tent. Then sleep claimed him and he knew nothing until his eyes snapped open and he lay there wondering what woke him.
Fargo felt sluggish, as if his blood was pumping in slow motion. He was content to lie there and drift back to sleep. He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, and that was when the strangeness struck him.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard.
The swamp had gone completely still. A silence so deep, not even a mosquito buzzed. No croaks, no bellows, no roars, no screeches, no bleats of any kind.
Puzzled, Fargo raised his head. He couldn’t see many of the stars through the canopy but he did spy the Big Dipper and by its position he guessed it had to be close to four in the morning. He slowly sat up.
The fires had gone out and the tents were dark. Fargo remembered Remy saying that they never let the fires die at night. He wondered if whoever was keeping watch had fallen asleep. He debated getting up but decided he was worrying over nothing and was about to lie back down when a darkling silhouette appeared, moving toward the water, with an odd hopping gait.
What the hell? Fargo thought. There was something familiar about the figure but he didn’t realize what until a low titter reached his ears. Grabbing the Henry, he rose. The figure had reached a canoe and was clambering in. Fargo ran toward it as a paddle swished. The canoe faded into the dark.