Every time he pulled back she’d thrust herself back onto his tongue. She sounded like she was having a heart attack. And then she moaned from deep inside, pushed one last time up against his face and let her hips sink into the duvet, her body shaking. As she climaxed, juices poured from her, almost like pee. He couldn’t remember this from their time before, but perhaps he hadn’t pleased her like this before. She tasted fantastic. They ought to bottle this. He drank deeply, drunk with lust, pleasure and relief that he’d pleased her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was fantastic. She hadn’t expected to come so quickly or so deeply. Months of expectation and doubt had climaxed in that loss of control and surrender. No wonder the French called it le petit mort. It was almost like slipping into a mini-coma and then recovering. And the mess she’d made! That hadn’t happened before. She lay back, eyes shut, completely self-obsessed for the moment. Every part of her body was tingling and one part. There were a good thirty men at the table we didn't know, but we did get introduced to Tiny Swink, the drive foreman for the bunch. His real name was Grave, but he had been called Tiny since he was a boy, and preferred it to his given name he said with a rueful grin."These are the yahoos who are going to be driving our cattle south to the coast. They've got three thousand cattle to ride herd on, and another fifteen hundred due in in the next few days." Trim told us over the noise.We were prepared to have our drink, and did, and another after that before trouble started. One of the men in Tiny's bunch took objection to the flirting that Chap Halkin was doing with the barmaid that he had decided was his. I suspected that Tiny's men had gotten to the bar quite a bit sooner than Trim's, and they weren't all drinking wine, as most Arborians do, but had been investing time in some of the distilled alcohol that was available as well."You little pissant sonofabitch!" We heard the yell and.
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