Range War (9781101559215) by C. J. Cherryh Page B

Someone was moving about in the rain for some reason.
    â€œWhy did you stop?” Delicia asked.
    Fargo didn’t realize he had. He got her dress up around her waist and tilted his head to appreciate her alluring symmetry. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
    â€œI want you.” Delicia stretched her full length against him and bit him, hard, on the chin.
    Below his waist, Fargo’s pants bulged. When she unexpectedly placed her hand on him, he thought he’d explode. She had none of the timidity of her more civilized sisters in cities and towns. Her need was urgent, and immediate.
    To Fargo’s extreme pleasure, she wore no undergarments.
    A twist of his wrist and he was there. Her slit was wet with her yearning. He stroked, lightly, and she stifled a groan.
    â€œI have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
    Fargo kept one ear primed to the rain. The storm continued in all its elemental fury, with no sign of relenting, which suited him just fine.
    Delicia lived up to her name. From her soft lips to her smooth thighs, she was exquisite. Her hands were all over him.
    When he slid a finger into her, she thrust with her hips, the friction adding heat where they were already burning.
    Fargo hiked her dress higher to expose her globes. As her melons fell free, he inhaled a nipple and sucked. She cooed and wriggled. He nipped lightly with the tip of his teeth, and she shuddered. He cupped and pulled and she sank her teeth into his shoulder.
    Petting, kneading, lips locked, their breaths became furnace pants of pure desire. When, at length, he inserted the tip of his manhood, she looked into his eyes and whispered, “ Si. Oh, si .”
    Fargo penetrated her. Delicia’s face became a mirror of ecstasy. She threw her head back and nearly bumped it on the bottom of the wagon. She did more grinding, matching her rhythm to his.
    Above and around them the rain pelted the world. In their own little shelter, they drifted on the rising tides of mutual pleasure until, with her next impalement, Delicia gushed. She came and she came, and at the height of her release, Fargo went over the brink.
    In inner free fall from the heights, Fargo happened to glance at the rear of the wagon and for a fleeting instant he swore that he saw a pair of legs and boots. They were there and they were gone. As Delicia collapsed on top of him, he placed his hand on his Colt.
    â€œYou are a magnificent lover,” she whispered.
    Fargo was watching for the legs to reappear. When they didn’t, he let himself relax.
    Delicia kissed his chin. “Thank goodness for the storm, eh? I hope we can do this again soon.”
    â€œYou and me, both,” Fargo said.

15
    The tempest lasted another hour. By then they had put themselves together, and as soon as the rain slackened enough that she wouldn’t be soaked, Delicia pecked Fargo on the cheek and darted out from under the wagon.
    The rear door opened and closed.
    Fargo was one of the first to emerge after the last few drops fell. The Ovaro, and everything else, was dripping wet.
    The fires were black circles. Dozens of nearby sheep looked miserable.
    Fargo decided to rekindle a fire and put coffee on. Firewood was kept in a box attached to the side of the wagon, and he was opening it when the squish of a stealthy footstep gave him a split-second’s warning. He turned, and a steel blade bit into the box instead of between his shoulder blades.
    â€œBastardo!” Carlos hissed. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he cut at Fargo’s neck.
    Ducking, Fargo backpedaled.
    â€œI know what you did with my hermana ,” Carlos snarled, and came at him like a madman.
    Fargo did more backpedaling. He didn’t want to kill him if he could help it but he might not be able to. He skipped aside, avoiding a stab at his chest, grabbed Carlos’ wrist, and wrenched. His intent was to disarm him but Carlos not only held on to the knife, he