Free Chance McCall by Sharon Sala

demanding relief. Chance responded to her mouth with his as he turned, taking them both into the shadows of the empty stall behind them.
    “This is wrong,” he muttered, as he gently pushed Jenny onto the sweet-smelling hay and tested the fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was delicate and pink, and it made him ache. “You weren’t made for cowboys and haystacks, Jenny. You were meant for furs and diamonds and more money than I’ll ever see.”
    “No, Chance. You’re wrong. I was meant for you. From the first day when I put bandaids on your face, to the day you saved me from Melvin, I’ve known. It’s just taken you longer to find out.”
    Her voice curled around his heart and stopped his breathing. He couldn’t think past the clear blue gaze and the open trust on her face. She didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. She couldn’t have loved him that long ago, she’d only been a kid. And then she moved, fitting herself against the swell behind his zipper, and sighed.
    He rocked against her, unable to resist what she offered. She moved with the thrust of his body and moaned. Chance shuddered. His movement was exciting her. Her mouth fell open slightly as her neck arched, spilling a dark curtain of hair across his arms and onto the hay. It was more than he could take.
    “This is wrong, Jennifer Ann. But, God help me, I can’t stop.”
    Her sleepy smile gave him permission as his hands slipped beneath the neckline of her dress. They brushed across the crests of her breasts and then she kissed him, capturing the sigh that slipped out of his lips.
    He was lost. His fingers slid across her shoulders, moving the dress straps down and off. His hands shook as his palms cupped and caressed her bare skin. Nubs hardened and peaked beneath his touch, taunting him by their presence until he could no longer resist a taste. They were sweet and soft, then at once achingly hard beneath his tongue. He shuddered and moved above her, lost in the feel of so much woman beneath him.
    Jenny’s fingers tore at his shirt, needing the feel of his skin against her body, the heat growing between them. The snaps of his shirt popped apart. She sighed as her hands came in contact with flesh and blood…and the man himself. The muscles she discovered came to life beneath her caresses as she moved across his back in a foray of discovery. She was at once elated, and then fearful of the unknown awaiting her.
    “Jenny, slow down!”
    His command was lost as passion fed the mounting ache between her legs. She moaned, whispering his name quietly into the silence, needing more than he was giving, unwilling to give up what had begun.
    Her lower body shifted and he fell into the valley she’d dug into the hay, allowing him access to a part of her that had previously existed only in his dreams.
    “Sweet Jesus!” His voice rasped as an ache swelled into a pounding fury. The need to bury himself in her was fast becoming a reality. His hands slid up the bare skin of her legs, moving of their own accord as they swept across her belly, fingering the lacy wisp bordering the nylon barrier that lay between him and heaven.
    She shuddered as his fingers slid lower. And then the gasp and moan that slipped past his ear told him more than words could ever have revealed. He was in virgin territory in more ways than one. He’d bet his little finger that Jennifer Ann had never made love to a man. The thought was sublime torture. It was a justification of every dream he’d ever had that she’d know only him, and a fear that he couldn’t be the one to take her when he knew he’d never be the one to keep her.
    His head dipped as he rested against her breasts. It was torture to breathe and not move. But finally…slowly and surely…he regained control of his passion. He couldn’t have Jenny in the way that he wanted, but he’d damn sure make certain that he’d be the first to show her what passion meant.
    “What are you…?” Jenny’s question