The Gaucho’s Lady
He pushed her up against a crumbling brick wall and canted himself over her until his large body fully encompassed hers. He set his forearms flat against the wall over her head, tilted his face toward hers.
He was shielding her from whatever might happen in the street. Protecting her.
Her world had shrunk to nothing but the dark bulk of him, the working of his lungs the only noise she could hear, his breath the only air she could draw. If she were to move, his body would be the only thing she could touch.
She lifted her face to the sun of his.
His beard was thick, tangled, while the cheeks above were smooth. And his eyes—had a man ever looked at her with such gentle, reverent intent?
She pressed her hands into the wall behind her, curled them around the sharp, rough hunks of brick and held tight, her breath coming in short bursts.
One thigh came against hers, pressing her legs apart. Her heartbeat was thick in her mouth. Then his other thigh came to rest against hers. Her skin tightened in a rush. And finally his hips came flush into the cradle of hers, a hard length pushing into her belly.
Heat spread through her in a dizzying rush. While she might have been sheltered from society, she wasn’t sheltered from nature, not on an estancia where the business was breeding. She knew the difference between a bull and a cow. And Señor Moreno was all bull with that thing between his legs.
Outside their alleyway, the marchers chanted on, demanding to be heard. Inside herself, her desire hammered hard, demanding relief.
She lifted her lips to his.
His beard wasn’t soft exactly, but not coarse either. Intriguing was what she would call it, the brush of it against her chin and cheeks making her crave more.
His lips—now, those were soft. And warm. He made tiny motions with them against her mouth, as if asking her something. She’d never kissed a man before, so she wasn’t sure if this was some kind of code, if there were a language of kisses one learned with practice.
Her pulse took possession of her entire body, making her limbs echo with its beat. Her senses came alive in a way they never had before, so full as to be almost painful.
She made the little motions back, nibbling at his lips. Hints of his taste touched her tongue as she did. He tasted of mint and mate and… warmth. And need.
Or perhaps that was her own need, spreading throughout her. She didn’t fight it as she had when he’d kissed her neck in his sleep—she was free and independent and had money of her own. And her body had some demands.
She released the bricks and reached out to grab handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer to her. There was no one to see, and his response to her made her brave. Daring. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, and she caught a gasp in her throat.
So that was what he’d been asking. A vague shimmer of shock went through her—one could kiss with tongues too?—as she pressed her tongue to his lips, mirroring his motion.
He groaned and nudged her with his hips, a short roll that made her belly tighten.
He dragged a hand through her hair and sank his fingers into the strands, holding her tight as his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. It was so raw, so possessive, all of her leapt in response, her nerves alight with heat and sparks. The heavy length pressing into her belly hardened, and she gasped. It was so improper, so animal for bodies to react so, which made it all the more delicious.
She jerked her hips against his, her body begging him almost against her will. Dear Lord, did she ache.
He pulled his mouth from hers and rubbed his beard against her neck. That was almost as bad as his mouth on hers, that delightfully rough caress.
Eliana could see now why the maids had swooned at being kissed by a gaucho. And had bragged about the experience.