...Now all that kept her upright was his strong arm across her back, clasping her just above the waist. She clutched at his arms, but her hands seemed to lack the strength to hang on. The room tipped and rocked beneath her feet, bare on the dusty floor. And still he kept on kissing, his lips moving and shifting on hers, now gentle and now fierce, nibbling and nipping with a growing urgency.

When he finally raised his head, she was too dizzy and weak to react at once. He scooped her up, much as he had the night before, and carried her two steps to the bed. He placed her in the center and drew his arms back, standing straight again to look down at her. A delicious lethargy held her immobile, trapped beneath the fire of his gaze, as a sizzle of heat and breathless excitement danced upon her skin like a swarm of fireflies.

Then he began to undress, tossing aside the short jacket, following it with his shirt, which seemed to be made of the same soft fine fabric as the shift she still wore. He took a wooden boot jack from the wall and levered off first one high-heeled boot, then the other. Finally he undid the heavy buckle at his waist and removed his gun belt, hanging it on the back of a chair near the bed, then unfastened his trousers and let the weight of the woolen cloth drag them over his hips and down his legs.

I should look away, but I can’t! She had never seen a man naked before, but the pictures in her art books at college and statues of ancient Greek and Roman heroes had prepared her to some extent. But none of them were anything like this. No stylized grape leaf reposed coyly at his crotch to conceal the cock many a bull or stallion could have proudly claimed. Behind it, his cojones plumped to either side, the skin dark and pebbled. His body was roped with muscle, marked in places with irregular white scars, souvenirs of old knife and bullet wounds, or so she suspected. His skin was a lighter tan where the sun rarely touched it, but still much darker than hers. And he was heartstoppingly beautiful.

Rita felt the blood rush to her face, heating her skin in a glowing blush, but she still did not lower her gaze. He was too marvelous, too magnificent to deny. He paced back to the bedside, stood to look at her a moment again and then put one knee on the edge, leaning down toward her. With one hand, he caught her shoulder and raised her into a sitting position, while the other hand fisted a handful of fabric at the bottom of her shift and began to roll it up her body. He lifted her enough to slip the simple gown free from beneath her hips and bottom and then, with a quick tug, he had it over her head and off. He tossed it down beside his shirt.

Rita fluttered her hands a moment, not sure whether to try to cover her breasts or the dark triangle of curls between her thighs. In the end she did neither because Carlos lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms again. With a sigh of acceptance, of surrender, she let him, all but melting when her bare body came into contact with his. It felt like pressing against a stove, his body was so hot. Of course it did not burn, but only sent liquid fire surging through her body. His skin was smooth, except where very lightly haired on chest and belly. The few strands felt soft when she touched them.

For several heartbeats, he simply held her, clearly giving her time to get used to the new sensations. Her breasts ached, the nipples hardening into aching bronze peaks. Sticky moisture dampened the insides of her thighs, which she clamped together against the dull, hollow pain that surfaced there.

Finally he rolled enough to place her on her back and propped himself up on one elbow over her. With his free hand, he began a patient exploration of her body, starting at her right shoulder. Although his hand was big and hard, the touch felt very soft. He stroked her as one might soothe a half-wild filly to accept a rope, to learn to tolerate a saddle. She trembled much as a wild creature might, fearful yet fascinated by this alien touch. First he slid his hand down her arm, folded his fingers around her wrist and held it a moment, as if marveling that he could almost encompass it twice. He shook his head.

“Que pequeño. How tiny your bones are.”

He released her wrist and reversed the path up her arm, hesitated a moment before drifting to cup her right breast, kneading it with the tips of his fingers, then plucking the nipple in a teasing pinch. That nearly brought her off the bed, it was so intense. Bolts of energy seared through her body to home in on her pussy.