Whit tried his best to meet her urgent demands. He flicked his tongue across her clitoris and then licked through the succulent flesh of her pussy. Opening his mouth wide, he then clamped his lips against the slick folds of her vagina, sucking as hard as he could.
"Yes!" she screamed, her words reverberating through the small houseboat. "Just like that. Oh, Whit!"
But Whit could only kiss her vagina for so long. His desires were getting the best of him, and he just had to sink his penis into Barbara as soon as he could.
"Oh, yes, now," she chanted. "Give it to me now, Whit. I want you in me so deep. So good and deep, baby. Ohhhhh!"
Whit mounted her easily, despite the fact that they had very little room in the tiny bunk. She spread her legs as wide as she could, enabling Whit to slide his penis in to the hilt on the first stroke. His following thrusts were teasing, tentative movements, but it didn't take him long to move into a steady pumping rhythm.
They wallowed mindlessly in the small bed, giving themselves up to their physical needs. Soon, cries and moans that signaled their mutual climax erupted in the tiny boat…
The temporary loss of Don George from the Courier's staff threw an extra workload onto his fellow cameramen. Don was so well liked, though, that the additional assignments were willingly accepted, and most of the newspaper's personnel even juggled their busy schedules in order to visit him in the hospital.
Shortly before noon on the Friday following Don's attack, Lance Shelby appeared at the door of the City Room. He announced his intention of stopping by the hospital during the noon hour.
"Would you girls care to go along on an errand of mercy?" he asked them.
Barbara glanced hopefully at Melinda, who nodded.
"Of course! Why don't you ask Ted Rigney to come along, too?" the Society Editor suggested. "He and I have a meeting to cover at that end of town this afternoon. You can drop us off at the auditorium on the way back."
Barbara found the hushed atmosphere of the hospital depressing, especially after a stern-faced nurse cautioned them to confine their visit to fifteen minutes and to avoid exciting the patient.
Don lay flat, his face almost as white as the bandage which swathed his head. Nevertheless, he insisted that he would be back on the job within a few days. His main reaction to the attack was one of anger.
"If I ever find the guy who hit me, I'll pulverize him with his own blackjack," he threatened darkly.
"You haven't any idea of what he looked like?" Lance probed.
"No, he must move like a cat. I didn't even hear him." Don glared belligerently at the circle of faces surrounding his bed. "Well, how was I supposed to know somebody was going to sneak in and conk me over the head? Why pick on me?"
"Easy!" Ted warned. "They'll throw us out of here if you start hollering. Lance was just offering to head a vigilante committee in case you could point out the varmint. None of us likes this any better than you do."
"I'll bet it was one of those clowns from the Herald, jealous because we're finally getting back some of our own business," Melinda declared. "Do the police have a lead yet?"
"Not that they confided to me," Don grumbled. "I doubt it, though. Every cop in town must have been in here last night, spouting questions. Some who weren't exactly cops, too."
"What do you mean?" Lance asked quickly.
Don started to shake his head, then thought better of it. "They were asking the questions, not answering them. Maybe the district attorney's office got in on the act. I never saw them before, and they didn't bother to introduce themselves."
Barbara, who had been listening apprehensively, exhaled in relief. How wise of Mr. Quinn to keep his identity unknown. A hint to any of these inquisitive news hounds that the Federal authorities were involved could have landed the case on the front page. And that, she thought with a gasp, would have been the end of Greg Maiden!
Ted carefully refrained from mentioning the damage to the irreplaceable negatives, fearing that the knowledge of their destruction would only excite Don further. Instead, he urged the young cameraman to relax and enjoy all the service and attention while he had the chance.
"It won't be long before you're back in the clutches of slave-driving MacFarland," he added.
A short time later, the four left the hospital and, after depositing Melinda and Ted at the door of the auditorium, Lance invited Barbara to lunch with him.
"I'll have time for a quick sandwich," she told him.
This was the first overture of friendliness the star reporter had made since their dinner date at Pietro's. Barbara wondered whether an ulterior motive lay behind the invitation. Lance seldom did anything without a reason.
Almost as soon as they had seated themselves in the drugstore booth, she found that her hunch was correct.
"How did you and that redheaded swabbie happen to be on the scene last night?" he asked. "Don't tell me you have an inside track with the Demon of the Darkroom?"
Barbara realized that his highly trained senses of observation were operating at full speed. She couldn't afford a single careless word!
"Looking for another scoop, Mr. Shelby?"
"A reporter's life isn't all fabulous trips to the Orient," he admitted. "Have to fit in a few slices of bread and butter once in a while, to go along with the cake."
Barbara pulled a napkin from the dispenser. "Blind luck, that's all," she said finally, deciding that to tell the truth with certain vital omissions would be her wisest course. "I telephoned Don, meaning to ask him about the pictures he had taken for one of our features. I guess the constant ringing of the phone must have restored him to consciousness. He answered just as I was about to hang up, and managed to gasp out a few words about needing a doctor."
Lance seemed unconvinced. "You were home and yet you came all the way back into town?" he said skeptically. "Why?"
Irritation at the cross-examination showed in her voice. "Because Don is my friend. I didn't know what had happened to him, but I wanted to be there in case I could help. He might have been dying!"
"Everyone is sure touchy today," Lance complained. "First Don explodes in my face, and now you!"
Barbara felt like telling him to stick to cake if he didn't care for the commonplace bread and butter his attempts to pump her had evoked. Instead, she thanked him politely for the grilled cheese, reminding herself that he was only doing his job. Given his driving ambition to gain a story whatever the cost, it was only natural that Lance would try to ferret out all the details behind the assault on Don.
I suppose all's fair in love and newspaper reporting, she thought grudgingly. But I don't have to like it!
The bridal shower that Fran Harris had planned presented another problem. Like everyone outside the immediate family and a few close friends, such as Barbara and Whit, Fran knew nothing of Greg's disappearance. Barbara, balancing conscience against intuition, could not decide whether to spoil Fran's surprise by telling Regina in advance, or whether to risk the possibility that her friend might find the party one shock too many. After an almost sleepless night, she came to the conclusion that Regina should be forewarned of the surprise which lay in store for her.
"It doesn't seem quite fair to Fran," she concluded guiltily on Saturday morning. "But I was afraid-"
"That I might go into hysterics?" Regina's ghost of a smile was rueful; the tiny blonde girl appeared to have lost ten pounds in the past week. "I'm glad you understand. I'm not sure that even Mother realizes how I feel. If I let myself think for one minute that Greg mightn't be coming back, I'd probably just stand around screaming. But he will come back, Barbara; he is alive and well. I must keep on believing that!"