Page 62 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
Then he was on his knees, head going under the drape of her skirt. Her clothing was pushed aside while his face burrowed in. His whiskers played against her inner thighs, increasing the plumped sensation in her folds.
Her inner muscles clenched to keep the finger he removed. Two came back, plunging satisfyingly deep. She was full. Stretched in the most delicious way. His other hand spread her lips, increasing the tension right before a tickling caress swept across the exposed tissues.
“Virgil,” she gasped. Her hand went to the back of his head of its own volition, pressing to encourage him. It took all her strength to stifle her moan.
His tongue was hot and thorough, exploring and laying claim, tasting where his fingers were moving with luxurious care in and out of her, then licking up to toythere. The spot that made her navel pull in and her legs weaken.
She didn’t realize she was lifting her hips into his mouth until she faltered in the rhythm she’d set, and he kept going. In the next moment, they were in perfect harmony again, her thrusting into his face as his fingers plunged deep while all of her sang with tense, glorious need.
She wanted to tell him it was going to happen. She was nearly there, but suddenly it was happening. She was losing all her substance as she tipped her head back against the wall of logs and shivered in exquisite clenches of pleasure before riding the sweet tail of release.
Her whole body wanted to melt, but Virgil did something. Sucked and kept sliding his fingers in and out of her. Her body clamped down, and she was suddenly thrust back into the tension of near crisis.
She closed her hand against her skirt where it draped over his head and pushed her hips into his mouth more roughly. He kept moving his fingers inside her. She had to push the back of her free hand against her mouth to keep from crying out at how good it felt to balance between intense pleasure and wanting the release.
Some distant part of her was thinking,Look at yourself, Marigold, but she didn’t care. Her body felt like one live nerve. Nothing was more important than the filthy thing he was doing to her. When her climax struck, it was ten times as powerful as the first. The rolling waves were hard contractions in her middle that hurt, they were so intense, but they were so sweet and satisfying, she could have cried.
She was making sobbing noises, unable to stifle them. Her muscles had become twitching, useless things that could barely hold her upright.
Now he was tenderly sweeping his tongue over her quivering folds one last time, gently extricating his fingers, emerging to let her skirt fall and rising to draw her shaking body into his strong embrace. He held her up when she was utterly weak with gratification.
“We have to stop before they hear you clear across the valley,” he teased. “But that’s gotta be the best meal you’ve served me. Bear included.”
She choked on a laugh of outrage and gave him a light shove. They wound up kissing, and that, too, was a little bit filthy, given her scent and flavor was all over his lips and beard. It didn’t seem to bother either of them.
When they drew back, both sighing, he smoothed his hand over her hair and said, “You need to get to bed or I’ll keep you here all night.”
Yes, please.
She nodded, though, and slipped away, fixing her clothes as best she could. She paused at the bucket to splash her hands and face clean before drying them with her apron. Then she stumbled into the cabin for the deepest sleep of her entire life.
Chapter Sixteen
Virgil’s head was still up Marigold’s skirt as he went about his morning. It was bad, so bad what they’d done. But so fucking good. If that was a taste—pun intended—of the sex they could have once they were married, he was definitely marrying her at his first opportunity. Should they make a special trip to town? Or wait until the referendum in Septem—
“Fuck.” He stumbled as he walked across the stream bed. He tried to catch himself on the sluice box and wound up knocking it over. It cracked and spilled the gravel the men had been shoveling into it. This section had been paying out really well, too. “Shit!”
The men grumbled under their breath while Owen teased, “You drinking already, Virge?”
A fair question when the stream was reduced to a trickle by the lateness of the season and the dry weather. The rocks weren’t even wet and slippery. His own distraction had caused him to be so clumsy.
Since Owen had walked his horse over to stand next to him, Virgil braced his hand on Owen’s saddle horn as he rocked his foot up and down, back and forth. Not sprained. He was lucky in that respect.
Absently, he pushed his hand into his pocket, fingers searching out his good luck charm, but the nugget wasn’t there.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered again. He always changed into his clean clothes before he went to bed. Last night, he’d been so drunk on pussy, he’d forgotten to move his nugget from the pocket of the dirty ones into the clean ones. That’s why he was knocking over sluice boxes and jeopardizing their fortunes. He didn’t have his lucky nugget.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shit. Now all he could think was that Marigold would take his clothes down to the stream and lose it. “I have to run back to the cabin. Lemme take the horse.”
“I’ll go. What do you need?”
“You want me to sign a requisition form? Give me the damned horse. I’ll be back in a quarter hour.”
Owen dismounted with a sour look on his face, and Virgil urged the horse to pick his way out of the stream, then cantered up the path toward the cabin.
The laundry wasn’t on the line, but it was still early. He’d left Marigold sleeping serene as an angel. He’d had a smug swagger in his step when he walked to work, knowing why she’d slept so soundly.
