Wolves of the Wild West Wolf Tracker by Cynthia Sax

Author:Cynthia Sax [Sax, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

“I’m facing the wrong way.” Harriet sat backward on his horse, her purty skirt rucked up around her soft, tanned thighs, her ass cheeks pressed against the horse’s withers.

“Nah.” Trace grinned as he swept the dirt behind them with the bearded bastard’s tattered Stetson, erasing their trails. “Ya ain’t the wrong way.”

“I’m not?” She raised a fine black eyebrow. “I’m turned toward the tail.”

“Ya ain’t.” He vaulted onto the horse’s back and pulled Harriet into his lap, her legs straddling his waist, her naked skin sliding along his breeches. She was bare under her dress, and he pushed the fabric aside to press her hot cunt directly against his hard cock, only a layer of buckskin ’tween him and paradise. “Told ya.”

“Trace.” She gasped, clutching his shoulders. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Nah?” He nudged the horse into a walk, and Harriet’s breathing deepened into erotic little pants as her firm, round ass bounced against his thighs, her pussy lips rubbing along his shaft. “You wanna stop?” He held her, his hands spanning the small of her back, while he controlled his mount with his legs.

“Ummm…” Harriet’s cheeks flushed a delightful pink, her head falling back, her hair cascading over his hands in a ripple of midnight waves. Her erotic display of sensual abandonment thrust her breasts upward, and Trace frantically worked on freeing the parade of tiny pearl buttons marching down her spine.

“Hmmm… Hmmm…” She undulated against him, moving with the rhythm of the horse. Her nipples poked against the cotton, begging for his lips.

Damn it! Trace gritted his teeth. Why did womenfolk insist on binding themselves up so securely? He folded the fabric back, exposing fragile shoulder blades, her skin soft under his rough fingertips. Plucking and tugging, he couldn’t pull the bodice down.

He brushed and stroked her flesh while he rested his chin in the gentle slope where her neck met her shoulders, her breasts pressed against his chest, rubbing, teasing, driving him crazy. “I ain’t gonna last. I need ya something awful.”

“I —”

He ripped the back of her dress, buttons popping off in all directions like bullets at a shootout. She jerked in his arms, spooked by his roughness. “Easy.” He kissed her neck, reassuring his skittish she-wolf.

The cotton fell to her waist, revealing small, firm breasts, colored a lighter brown than her shoulders and tipped with rosy nipples. “Gawd, Harriet.” She was a sight to see, all smooth and tanned and perfect, with the sunrays playing over her skin, cheerful fingers of warmth pointing the way to happiness. Trace kissed down her neck, over her collarbone, to the gentle slopes of her right breast.

“Yes. God. Yes.” She gripped the nape of his neck, leveraging off his body to push her breast farther into his mouth. She tasted of salt and summer fields, and he suckled with an increasing urgency, drinking from her love, savoring her passion. He flicked her nipple. He nibbled until she cried out for mercy.

“Trace, I need…” Harriet slid her palms down his chest, his stomach fluttering under her touch, to the waistband of his breeches.

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