Free Working the Lode by Karen Mercury Page B

on. I want to suck on your delicious hefty cock till I swallow every drop of your semen.”
    “I try to be gentle and tender with you.” Gentle and tender, be dogged. “You seem to be accustomed to being taken like an animal. But you’re a gorgeous, delicate mountain flower, and shouldn’t be bruised.” This luscious woman rotating her hips against his prick was nearly bringing him off, her breasts warm against his chest.
    “Yes, I am unaccustomed to tenderness in a man,” she admitted petulantly, then yanked up the bottom hem of his fringed shirt. “But I’ll not break, you old hoss. Take this off. I want to feel your bare chest against me.”
    “Is that why you bought Quartus the drum?” Cormack murmured as he allowed Zelnora to whip his buckskin and cotton shirts over his head in one swift motion.
    “Yes, that’s why.” She nearly knocked the air from his lungs when she flung her arms around his torso and smashed the mounds of her breasts flat against him. She kissed him deeply, chewing on his lower lip, licking the backs of his teeth with her sweetly formed mouth. Cormack’s prick was up like a hammer against her lap, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out this time. When she deftly undid the buttons of his buckskins and slid her hand down the plane of his belly, he nearly went out of his head.
    She had never touched his cock, though she’d often proclaimed it to be thick, long, and straight. The first slight feel of her long fingers playing an adagio on the underside of it had Cormack gasping for air—he wouldn’t last long in an experienced grasp such as that. She loved the bursting head of it with her palm, using her thumb to rub the slime at the tip, rotating it around and around the bulbous head until he panted and gulped air. Tiny clear bubbles floated before his eyes as he pumped his hips into her, yanking down the broadfall of his pantaloons so his cock could swing freely.
    “Oh, dear Lord,” she muttered against his mouth, “you are the most well-hung stallion I’ve ever had the pleasure to hold in my hand.”
    Ho, boy, he was gut-shot. Grabbing her about the waist, he flung her back onto the buffalo robe and straddled her. Thick squiggles of her shiny hair spread onto the robe, her face a beatific white oval in a sea of curls and animal fur. She stroked his cock, which loomed immensely, throbbing with its own pulse, gleaming and purplish in his arousal.
    “You’ll not mind if I’m not so gentle from now on.” Cormack slid her skirts up her thighs and hitched his fingertips under the hem of her stockings to draw them down—he’d never felt her bare legs wrapped around him before.
    But she cried “No!” and lunged forward, arms enfolding his ass, and swallowed his prick.
    She just gobbled it up like mad, as though it were a turkey leg!
    “No,” he groaned, one long-drawn-out sound from the pit of his stomach. He cradled the back of her skull, driving his prick down her throat. She wanted to pleasure him; that heap of fat meat would definitely shine in most normal sprees. But this wasn’t a normal spree by any means, and as he felt her throat muscles contract around the tip of his cock, her puffs of hot air against his pubic bone coming strangled and frantic, he realized he was about to spill his load down her gullet, and he forced her away, pressing against her shoulders.
    She detached with a great sound of suction, her surprised round eyes full of awe as her torso hit the buffalo robe. From the waist down, she squirmed like a worm on a fishing hook, and Cormack panted, his cock elongated to such lengths as he’d never viewed it before, throbbing in the air over her bare, mounded breasts.
    “Old hoss,” she breathed in wonderment, gripping his cock in her fist. “Now I know why they call you a hoss.” She looked to be grinning a bit when she said, “You’re a tall, beautifully shaped roan stallion.”
    He hovered over her, balanced with elbows on either side of her