The Cowboy

"Inquisitive, aren't you?" he replied humorously, and answered my questions one at a time.
It wasn't until the town was well behind us that Mr. Blake pulled on the reins and stopped the wagon, the horse snorting and blowing at the delay. I looked over at him in question and opened my mouth to speak, but he silenced me with a kiss. Not a simple peck, but an assault on my senses. It was my first kiss and it was nothing as I'd imagined. I expected cold lips pressing against mine, a mere brushing and then gone. Mr. Blake, it seemed, was not a man to do something with half measure. At first, yes, his lips brushed over mine, but they were warm and gentle, but only briefly. His tongue plunged into my mouth at my surprised gasp and I tasted him; minty, as if he'd eaten a peppermint candy from the mercantile, with a hint of something else. Something manly and dark that promised my every carnal desire would be met.
I didn't know how long we kissed, but when he pulled back, my fingers--to my surprise--were tangled in his silky hair at his nape. I moaned low in my throat at his retreat, which had me blushing. Or perhaps it was the carnality of it that did that. The kiss had bumped his hat askew and he righted it.
"Now I know how to quiet you," he replied, his voice rough.