Longarm 397 : Longarm and the Doomed Beauty (9781101545973)

by Evans, Tabor

  “Ignore that damn thing—it has a mind of its own.” Longarm slapped the soap into her open palm. “If you’re gonna scrub, scrub. Be quick about it, so I can get out of here. Damn unprofessional, is what this is.”

  “How ’bout this?” she said in a sexy-raspy voice, so close to his ear that he could feel her hot breath. She reached into the tub and wrapped her hand around his cock. “Would the powers that be consider this unprofessional, too?”

  She pumped him slowly.

  Chapter 14

  Longarm groaned as the girl, her delicate, long-fingered hand wrapped around his piston-hard staff, pumped him once more.

  Longarm’s eyes grew heavy and slid slowly down over his eyes. “Oh . . . that ain’t nice, Miss Jo . . .”

  The girl tittered as she ran her hand very slowly up from the bottom of his cock, her hand making wet sounds against his skin. “I think you like it.”

  “Just the back’ll do.”

  “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “I said . . . I’ll thank you to just scrub my back.”

  “Oh.” Jo removed her hand from his cock, leaving it to stand there at full, throbbing mast between his legs. “All right. Your back it is,” she said with a sigh of feigned resignation.

  As she rinsed the rag out in the water near his cock and balls, he could feel her penetrating eyes on the side of his face. He watched her hands, fascinated, lust stabbing through him from bowels to throat, constricting his breathing. She ran the soap over the rag, set the soap onto the chair.

  “Lean forward,” she ordered him.

  He did as he was told, and she raked the rag across his broad shoulders. She scrubbed hard, and he could hear her grunting softly as she worked, working the rag across his skin from the back of his neck down to the small of his back.

  It was a wonderful feeling—having all those tight muscles worked, getting all that trail grime off. A sweet, luxurious feeling. When she was finished, unable to help himself, unable to keep his raging need for the girl on its leash any longer, he reached back, wrapped his hand around her arm, and drew her to the tub’s right side.

  “What is it, Longarm?” she asked quietly, throatily.

  Her lips parted. They were dark pink and etched with very tiny vertical lines. Her skin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Her green eyes danced with gold dust while strands of her honey-blond hair curled down over her forehead and brushed the sides of her face.

  “I think I’m gonna kiss you, Miss Jo.”

  “I’d like nothing better, Longarm.”

  “And then I’m going to enjoy your body, but with the understanding it’s damn . . .”

  “I know,” she said, sliding her face up close to his, taking his head in her hands and gently tugging on his ears. “Damned unprofessional.” She kissed his chin. “Don’t worry—it’ll be our secret.”

  He tightened his grip on her arms, drew her closer, and closed his mouth over hers. They kissed gently for a time while Longarm sat there in the tub, and then, as their body temperatures rose and they each started quivering slightly with desire, and their heartbeats quickened, they entangled their tongues and ran their hands desperately across each other’s bodies—feeling, grasping, working, kneading.

  Finally, Longarm rose from the tub, water cascading off his long, broad, brown body, and reached for the towel.

  The girl grabbed it first. “Let me,” she said.

  Remaining on her knees beside the tub, she began running the towel, which was damp from her own bath, across his left hip and down his left thigh. While she did, she held her face within two inches of the large, mushroom head of the big lawman’s throbbing member.

  “That is some cock you have, Longarm.” She looked up at him from beneath her thin, blond brows. “Do you think me depraved for saying so?”

  “Not at all,” he croaked.

  While she dried his other leg, she leaned forward and touched the end of her tongue to the tip of his cock.

  Longarm drew a shallow breath.

  She looked up at him, smiling. “I can’t wait to get that inside me.” She caressed it again with her tongue, then drew her tongue back into her ripe mouth, and swallowed. “I’ve only been with two men in my life—one being Mr. Cable.” She shook her head as she inspected the large, throbbing cock before her. “Never even seen one that size!”

  She closed her mouth over the head of it and groaned as she sucked, making her cheeks bulge. She turned her head from one side to the other, groaning and sucking and running her wet tongue across his cock, slathering and sucking and making little gagging sounds when she drew the head too far down her throat.

  Longarm opened his mouth to draw a deep blast of air into his lungs, rocking back on his heels in the tub.

  She made another gagging sound, then drew her mouth back off of him, spittle webbing from her moist lower lip to the head of his raging hard-on. “Am I doing it right? I’ve never done it before. Always wanted to, but I reckon I didn’t know the right man.”

  Her smile dimpled her cheeks.

  “You’re goin’ at it like a pro,” he said around the frog in his throat.

  She was about to slide her lips over him once more when he sandwiched her head in his hands and held her back. “Time to do this good and proper.”

  He grabbed the towel off the chair and stepped out of the tub. She rose and stepped back, quickly unbuttoning her shirt. She watched him as he dried himself. He stared at her, watched in sublime fascination as she removed the big shirt, dropped it to the floor, and then lifted her chemise over her head, dropping it onto the shirt. Her breasts were large and ripe, the pink nipples jutting like spring rosebuds ready to burst. One was ever so slightly larger than the other.

  He dropped the towel and stood watching her kick out of her boots and shuck out of the rest of her clothes until she stood naked before him, her hair hanging in a beguiling tangle around her face. She held her chin down and stared at him, her green eyes dark with need.

  As though an unseen hand reached out from reality to touch his shoulder, reminding him of the possible danger, he glanced out the window. The clearing was filled with shadows. Night was falling quickly. Nothing moved except a single mountain jay that had perched on the windowsill and was tilting its pointed-beaked head from side to side, as though deeply interested in what was happening on the other side of the glass.

  Jo laughed. “He thinks we’re fascinating.”

  Longarm moved to her, raked his fingers lightly across her shoulders. “He’s about to get a show.”

  She drew a deep breath through parted lips.

  Longarm kissed her hard and passionately. After a time, while she stroked him with both hands, he crouched and sucked each nipple in turn, until both were hard as stones and her breasts were rising and falling heavily as she breathed.

  Finally, Longarm placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her gently toward the table. He spread her legs about shoulder-width apart, stuck his hands between her legs, and fingered her damp, silky nest.

  “Oh!” Her hair flying, she bent forward against the table.

  “Are you ready?” Longarm asked her, sticking two fingers between the petallike folds, poking and prodding and causing her to moan and sigh.

  “Never . . . been . . . readier . . . ! Oh, Jesus, fuck me, Longarm!”

  “I oughta be ashamed of myself,” he said, glancing out the window on the table’s other side, making sure the clearing was still empty. “But I reckon we’ve come too far to turn back now.”

  He used his hand to guide his cock between her legs and into the pink slit waiting for him beneath her partially spread buttocks. As soon as the mushroom head disappeared, she lifted her head and arms and clamped her hands over the far edge of the table.

  “Oh . . . God . . . that feels good!”

  Longarm grunted, drawing his lips back from his teeth as he spread his feet on the splintery floor and slowly shoved the entire length of his rod inside the girl’s womb. As
he did so, she arched her back tighter and tighter and gripped the table harder and harder, groaning as though she were being slowly run through with a bayonet.

  “Oh, fuck . . . oh, fuck . . . that feels soooo fucking good!”

  “Such farm talk,” Longarm chastised the girl as he hit bottom and, feeling her sweet, hot snatch convulsing around him, began sliding back out.

  “Yes,” she said, wagging her ass, “the good reverend wouldn’t approve. Well, fuck him!” she cried. “Fuck them all!”

  Longarm chuckled and rammed himself hard inside her. She threw her head back and mewled as though in the throes of death, and then lowered her head once more as he started withdrawing again.

  When he’d pulled out the third time, he began hammering against her, harder and harder and with the regularity of a ticking clock—over and over, over and over, making the table lurch loudly back and forth across the floorboards, and evoking piercing love howls and coyote-like yammers from deep in the girl’s bosom.

  As he toiled, Longarm reached around her and cupped her flopping breasts in his hands. She released her own right hand from the table and mashed it hard over his right hand against her breast, and swore as he continued ramming himself deep inside her.

  They came together in a cataclysm of hot, naked, sweating flesh, love cries, and jetting fluid. When their joint screams had died, Jo flopped breast down against the table, and for a moment he thought she’d stopped breathing. Then her sides expanded as she drew a breath, and he lifted her, turned her around, and kissed her.

  She snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him, returning his kiss and mashing her breasts against his chest.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned when he stopped to scoop her up in his arms and carry her over to one of the two cots on the room’s far side. He laid her onto the furs, then walked over to the hearth and chunked several more logs on the fire.

  Brushing his hands across his thighs, his dong still at half-mast and swinging back and forth, half slumbering, he strode to the window and looked out. Nothing. He opened the door and walked out onto the worn area in the ground fronting the cabin. The stove, steam, fireplace, and heat of his and Jo’s passion had stoked a fire inside him, and the cooling night air felt good sliding against him.

  The breeze smelled like pine. Smoke from the chimney hearth slithered down over the roof and flitted away on the breeze stealing over the granite crest of the mountain.

  “Longarm!”

  He bolted back inside the cabin, half expecting to see an unshaven brigand grabbing Jo and holding a knife to her throat. “What the hell is it?”

  She rolled over on the cot to face him with an enticing grin. “That was fun. Will you do me again?”

  “Christ, girl,” he said, closing the door. “Thought ole Babe Younger’s boys had ya.”

  “Nah.” She giggled and lowered her eyes to his cock. “Just horny!”

  Longarm chuckled, picked up his gun and shell belt, and returned to the cot. He coiled the rig around the right post at the front of the cot, so that the .44’s handle was within easy reach if he should need it. Sagging down beside the girl, he kissed her while she stroked him back to life again, pulling at his cock, massaging his balls.

  When he was fully erect and could feel his blood washing in his ears, he positioned himself between her legs, which she spread as wide as she could and made little grunting sounds as she scuttled down lower on the cot and dug her heels into the backs of his legs.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered, running a hand down his unshaven jaw. “Fuck me one more time, and I’ll never ask you for another thing.”

  Longarm fucked her slow and easy at first, taking his time. After about ten minutes of this, the cot creaking gently beneath them, he rose up on his outstretched arms and his toes, and drove her hard.

  She mewled beneath him, panting and grunting and flopping her knees and digging her heels into his legs, occasionally lifting her head to close her mouth over his shoulder. He was nearly to his climax—thrusting, withdrawing, and thrusting again—when he saw a shadow move in the front window to the right of the door.

  His loins heaved deliciously, and he exploded inside the girl, who lifted her head and loosed an ear-rattling shriek as she bucked up against him.

  Longarm looked at the front door. The metal knob turned slowly.

  Unable to stop to save his life, Longarm reached forward and, as he continued pumping, his seed jettisoning into the screaming girl, he slid his Colt from its holster.

  The front door slammed inward with a bang. A coated, bearded figure bolted into the cabin.

  Longarm extended the Colt straight out from the bed and fired twice, the blasts sounding like cannon fire in the tight confines. As the man there screamed and spun back out the opening, the back door blew open and another man ran into the cabin, raising a carbine and aiming toward the bed.

  The Colt leaped and roared twice more in Longarm’s hands. The second shooter flew back against the wall, firing his carbine into the ceiling before piling up at the base of the range, blood oozing from the two holes in his forehead.

  Longarm lowered the smoking pistol, rose up on his toes, and finished flooding the girl with his hot jism.

  She stared up at him, wide-eyed, laughing hysterically, believing, it seemed, that the shooting had been merely to celebrate his and the girl’s simultaneous fulfillment.

  Chapter 15

  Longarm dragged the second man he’d shot through the brush lining the creek. He had the man’s ankles clamped under his arms. He trudged forward through the thick brush, dragging the man behind him.

  When he came to the place to which he’d dragged the first man, he dropped the second dead man’s feet without ceremony. The man’s boots thudded to the ground, crunching last year’s dead leaves.

  He backed away from the cadavers, who lay staring upward, both men’s mouths still stretched in the same grimaces they’d worn when Longarm’s bullets had slammed through them. The lawman dropped to a knee, looking around and listening, his breath frosting in the air before him.

  The stars winked sharply overhead—more sharply in the east than in the west, where the sun had dropped only about an hour ago. A coyote howled in the toothy, rocky ridges rising in the north. There was a slight breeze that made the willow limbs scratch together and the new leaves flutter, and the stream chuckled quietly over its stony bed.

  Otherwise, it was quiet out here.

  No unnatural sounds, anyway.

  Longarm rolled a cold cheroot from one side of his mouth to the other as he continued to look around. Were these two the only two gang members out here? Or were there more? These two might have scouted the clearing alone, but others might have heard the shots, which would have carried far and wide on such a quiet night here in this natural amphitheater formed by the large block of granite looming from atop the western ridge.

  Others might have come and be out here now. Or be on their way.

  No way of telling.

  Longarm cursed and bit the end of the cold cheroot angrily. He’d been wrong about the Younger bunch growing bored with stalking the girl and hightailing it back to wherever they’d come from. Deep down, he’d known it was a long shot, or at least a medium-long shot. Men like that didn’t give up easily once they’d set out on a mission. Also, they’d see the killing of the girl for testifying against their leader as a matter of pride.

  The only good thing about Longarm’s and the girl’s situation now was that he’d managed to whittle the gang down by five over the past two days. That left eight, if he’d counted correctly. Long odds, but better than they’d been. He’d been up against eight before.

  He remained there on a knee, looking around and listening, for nearly ten minutes. Finally, when he’d heard nothing that seemed out of sorts, he rose and walked a few yards out of the trees, hugging the creek, as he made his way slowly over to the stable and corral. He checked on the horses, then continued tramping north away from the cabin, all his senses
alert.

  He spent another ten minutes at the far edge of the clearing, where the stony slope rose toward the northern ridge, scrutinizing every rock and shadow, his brain keen to even the slightest leaf rustle or the soft thud of a cone tumbling from a pine.

  He traced a broad circle back toward the cabin, cutting across the center of the clearing, ready to drop and fire his .44 at the slightest shadow movement, click of a gun hammer, or crunch of a grass blade. Seeing or hearing no one, he returned to the cabin, tapped quietly on the door with two knuckles.

  “Jo?” he said just above a whisper, looking across the dark, star-shrouded clearing behind him. “It’s me.”

  He heard the scrape of the locking bar being lifted from its metal brackets. The latch clicked, and the girl pulled the door open, stepping back, her eyes wide in the starlight. Longarm stepped inside, closed the door quickly, and returned the locking bar to its brackets.

  “Anything?” Jo said, keeping her voice low. She held Longarm’s rifle in her arms across her chest.

  He shook his head. “Got a feelin’ the gang had split up to scour the pass. Likely, the others heard the shots, though. We’ll have to assume they did.”

  Jo nodded, set the rifle across a chair, and sat down at the table upon which Longarm had laid out all his spare pistols and ammo. The coffeepot stood at the end of the table. She glanced at it. “Would you like a shot?”

  “I reckon.” Longarm looked around, wondering if there was any way to make the cabin more secure than he’d already made it by closing and latching the shutters over all the windows and barring both doors. They had a fire popping in the hearth, and another one made the range tick.

  Jo filled a coffee cup and slid it across the table. Longarm sagged down in the chair, picked up the cup, and looked through the steam rising from it. Jo closed her upper lip over the rim of her own tin cup.

  “How you doin’?” he asked her.

  She sipped from the cup, swallowed, and glanced at the pistol. “Scared as hell.” She hardened her eyes. “But if they get me, I’m gonna go down shooting.”