Arizona Renegades by Jon Sharpe

mutual. Fargo dallied at her mounds, giving both nipples their due. He licked her snowy slopes, working around them, then up and down, increasing the heat they gave off and causing her to squirm in boiling anticipation.
    “You’re good, handsome. You’re sooooo good.”
    Fargo had more practice than most, but he didn’t tell her that. He cupped her right breast, kneading it with his strong fingers. Melissa threw back her head, her eyes hooded, her mouth parted in a delectable oval. Her eyelids fluttered when he cupped the other breast and gently squeezed both.
    “Harder, big man! Harder! I don’t mind it rough!”
    If that was the case, Fargo was happy to accommodate her. He clamped his fingers tight. Melissa had to cram a hand in her mouth to stifle a scream of purest delight. Closing his own mouth on her right nipple, he pulled on it, stretching her breast as he might an elastic band, inciting her even further. Her fingernails sank into his upper back, digging deep, sparking pain and pleasure in equal degrees.
    For the longest while Fargo dallied at her breasts, stoking her as a blacksmith stoked a forge. He didn’t undress her, as he would have liked. It wouldn’t be wise, he felt, for either of them to shed their clothes or footwear. But he did unhitch his gunbelt and set it aside, within easy reach.
    Melissa mistook that as a sign he was ready to plunge into her. She tore at his pants, undoing them and pushing them down over his hips. Brazenly, her right hand drifted to his organ and her fingers grasped it.
    “Ohhhh! You’re so big! I had no idea!”
    She was a bald-faced liar. Fargo had caught her staring at his crotch several times, like a matron in a meat market assessing the size and worth of a slab of prime beef. She’d had a fair idea of what she was in for, and it had fueled her hunger, not dampened it.
    Women had perfected being coy to a fine art. When it came to what went on under the bedsheets, they liked to pretend they were as innocent as angels. To be fair, it didn’t apply to all of them. And, the truth be known, while many men traipsed around imitating bull elk in rut, as many males as females were shyer about making love than they were about belching in public. Some folks went so far as to only make love in the dark. They would never undress in front of their lovers, never so much as kiss in front of others. They were the ones Fargo could never quite understand. To him, lovemaking was as natural as breathing. What was there to be shy about?
    Now, Fargo felt a tingle shoot up his spine as Melissa began to stroke his member. She ran her fingers up and down, around and around, then cupped him and kneaded him as he had kneaded her. It was all he could do not to explode.
    “Are you ready, handsome?”
    No, Fargo wasn’t. Easing her legs apart, he sank to his knees between them. She guessed what was coming and let go of him. He hiked her dress to her waist, bent, and adjusted her undergarments so her womanhood was exposed. She gasped when he blew on her downy hairs. Her gasp became a strangled cry as his tongue flicked out.
    “Ahhhhhhh!”
    Fargo licked again, relishing the taste. Melissa was delicious, sweeter than the sweetest fruit, more sugary than a fresh-baked pie. He plunged his tongue into her tunnel and she arched her back, her fingers hooked in his hair.
    “Yes! Yes! Keep it up!”
    Fargo indulged himself, arousing her to whole new heights of rapture. Melissa was so hot, so wet. Her body responded to his slightest touch, her thighs opening and closing in abandon, her breasts swelling even more. He found her core, and flicked it as he had her nipples. Her reaction was predictable. She bucked like a bronco, her thighs gripping his head like a vise.
    Fargo slid his hand over her pillowy backside, along her outer thighs, then up to her giant globes. He glimpsed her face, her expression one of total bliss. Then he rose on his knees and gazed down at her marvelous charms.
    Some men liked to