Times were different in the Old West of 1876, but love was not. Love has no age limit.
Painfully shy Amanda Locke doesn’t understand why a younger man would be pursuing her. She’s sure there’s nothing special about her, and in fact, her looks are not at all fashionable. However, pursue her, he does, to the chagrin of at least two other, younger women in Stagecoach, Nevada.
Rocky Pascal sees Amanda’s beauty and is charmed by her shyness and the grit and determination she shows with her difficult life. He understands having a rough life very well; his has been no picnic.
This is book two in the Stagecoach Daddies series and can be enjoyed independently.
Publisher’s Note: This historical western May December romance contains elements of mystery, action, adventure, sensual scenes and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
Amanda watched him yank down his pants and throw them into the corner with his other clothes. The dogs stirred nearby but didn’t get up from their warm bed near the hearth. She was wet between her legs and the sight of him, jutting forward, eager for her, made her body burn with need. Holding out her arms, she welcomed him when he knelt between her legs. The fire nearby popped but there was not another sound other than their breathing, except for the crackle of the waxed paper that held his condom. He rolled it on without a word.
“Make me yours,” she whispered between kisses. His arms were thick and hard beneath her hands as he held his body over hers.
“Open for me, sweetheart.”
She wrapped her knees around him and pulled the crotch opening of her knickers aside, angling her pelvis up with abandon.
He rose onto one arm and guided his ready member into her, sliding through her wetness until he was lodged deep. She moaned with pleasure. How she’d missed him!
“Yes, very,” she said.
Stroking in and out of her, he built a rhythm that brought her excitement to a fever pitch. She pulled him closer with her legs and touched his chest and nipples. At one point, she reached between them to feel his hardness sliding into her wetly, the condom a barrier but not an impediment. It gave her a sense of power to be there, beneath him on the floor being taken.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“A little pain is good, Rocky. It’s good.”
He went down onto elbows and forearms and rocked her with hard strokes. She groaned with each movement, loving the sensation of being his for this time—his, and he was hers. Only hers. The others before, and the ones after didn’t matter even a little. They were together.
The sensation came upon her suddenly as she peaked and called out his name.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Come to me.”
“I won’t stop. There’s more in you. Come to me again.”
The pounding between her legs drove her mad, sent her into paroxysms of joy. “Yes!”
With two mighty thrusts that shook her to her core, he groaned and paused. There were a few more strokes before he rested, breathing hard, his body slick with sweat. She touched his scarred back, feeling that familiar sense of sadness that so perfect a form could be marred by the evil of another man. But it made Rocky what he was, strong, steady, determined to succeed on his own. She was very much in love with him. And, at that moment in time, it was enough.
That night, for the first time, they slept together in her bed, snuggled up like spoons in a drawer.