“Yellow Flowers, you’re a fine an’ beautiful woman. I mean that. But you don’t have to …”
“Please, Longarm. Do not shame me by sending me away from your bed. Allow me to pleasure you in the way that a woman pleases a man.”
He felt her hand caressing his cock and his balls, and his response was past his control even had he wanted to refuse. There was no way he could pretend disinterest now. Not with what Yellow Flowers was holding onto.
Besides, dammit … he didn’t want to shame the wife of a generous friend. That wouldn’t hardly be polite, now would it.
Yellow Flowers dipped her head and began to lick Longarm’s right nipple. The sensation of it tingled all the way down into his groin, and he commenced to moan and squirm on the coarse, matted hairs of the buffalo robe.
Her fingers continued to toy with and tickle his balls while she licked and suckled first one nipple and then the other. Longarm’s breath began to come faster and hotter.
Yellow Flowers took her time about her ministrations to him. Not that she needed more time to get him aroused and ready. Practically from the first touch he was hard as an all-day sucker, and after a couple minutes he thought he was sure to burst apart at any moment, just purely explode like a Chinese popper on the Fourth of July.
He reached for her, finding her skin soft and smooth and cool to the touch. He cupped her breast, then slid his hand down to her ass, which was nicely shaped and firm with muscle. He squeezed one cheek and tugged, pulling her on top of him.
Yellow Flowers continued to lick his left nipple while she straddled his hips and lowered herself onto Longarm’s waiting shaft.
She guided his spear into her body with one hand and tweaked his right nipple with the other.
Yellow Flowers was wet and receptive. Her pussy was surprisingly tight considering that she’d borne two daughters to Tall Man. She gasped a little when she felt the size of the tool that entered and filled her, but if she felt any pain or discomfort she did not show it. If anything she appeared to relish this massive intrusion into the most private recesses of her body.
She took him deep into herself and remained poised there for long moments, as if memorizing the exquisite feeling.
Then, slowly at first, she began the rhythmic rise and fall of the ageless dance that joins man and woman.
Her hips pumped and churned, and Longarm’s responses were quick and powerful.
He had been primed once by the noises Tall Man and Burned Pot had made. Teased anew by the compelling presence of the ghost girl Angelica. And now given respite by Tall Man’s generosity and Yellow Flowers’ willing body.
Long before he wanted this to end Longarm felt his juices gather in his balls like boiling water being pumped forcefully into a rubber bladder.
The pressures rose, higher and ever higher, until he could no longer contain them.
With an involuntary groan of deep satisfaction Longarm felt the inevitable explosion.
Wave after diminishing wave of hot fluid spurted out of him, washing Yellow Flowers’ hole and spilling back out again to flow onto his balls in a hot and sticky flood of semen.
Yellow Flowers sighed, seeming quite pleased herself, although he did not think she had reached a climax of her own, and kissed first one of his nipples and then the other before she raised herself from him and allowed his prick to slide free of her warmth into the cool of the air.
“Wait,” she whispered. “I will wash you. Then you can sleep.”
He felt her leave the bed. Moments later she was back, this time with a wet, slightly warm cloth that she used to wipe his cock and his balls.
Longarm sighed. He never felt Yellow Flowers leave his bed the second time. He was deeply contented now, and was asleep before she had time to finish cleaning him.
Chapter 19
Longarm gnawed the prairie hen leg bone to a high polish, then tossed it out of the lodge—the skirting down along the ground had been rolled up to let some air circulate—to where a pack of brown and black dogs were waiting to quarrel over the scraps.
All the dogs that he could see, around this lodge and gathered close by all the others in sight, were browns and blacks and spotted combinations of those two main colors. There wasn’t a solid-white dog anywhere within his range of vision. Longarm couldn’t help but wonder if Angelica was out traipsing over the hills with her white “spirit wolf” somewhere. The truth was that he wanted to see her again. She’d said they would talk more. But there were things other than conversation that interested him about the girl. She’d had—still did have—an enormously powerful impact on him, Damn unusual, that. He couldn’t quit thinking about her. Not even after Tall Man’s generosity with Yellow Flowers during the night. It was still Angelica that he thought about and Angelica who stirred his loins whenever he did bring her back to mind.
“About last night …” Longarm said, offering his friend a smoke and bending forward to pluck a grass stem and set it aflame in the cooking fire that burned low in the center of the lodge.
“It was nothing,” Tall Man insisted, biting the twist off his cheroot and spitting it toward the fire. He missed, the bit of dark tobacco falling instead into the meat pot, where it was allowed to remain, presumably as additional flavoring. “Do not mention it again.”
Longarm nodded. And kept his mouth shut, that being how Tall Man wanted it done. After all, it was Tall Man’s wife that Longarm had been given to use, and Tall Man was entitled to set the rules when it came to thanks … or to repeat performances.
“What do you plan today, my friend?” Tall Man asked. “Will you stay with us longer? You know you are welcome in my lodge.”
“I know that and I thank you,” Longarm said, grateful to be back on neutral ground when it came to this conversation. “But I dunno if I’ll stay here a spell longer or go back to the army camp. I want to have another talk with Cloud Talker, of course.”
“Yes. You need to speak with him when no Crow are present. And when the white agent and his spies cannot overhear.”
“Spies?”
Tall Man shrugged and took up a wisp of dry grass to light his cheroot. “I’ll prob’ly come back here this afternoon anyhow,” Longarm said. “I kinda want to talk with Angelica again.”
“Angelica?” Tall Man asked. “Who is this person?”
“You know. Angelica. Pretty girl. Has a big white dog. Hell, Tall Man, she’s one of your people. I figured you’d know where I can find her.”
Tall Man frowned. “But Longarm, my friend. I do know all of my people. And there is no Crow woman named Angelica and none who has a large white dog, no.”
Longarm was frowning too now. And was becoming damned well confused.
Chapter 20
Longarm entered the Piegan camp from the south, mounted on the horse he’d borrowed from Colonel Wingate’s subordinate back at Camp Beloit. Tall Man had offered him the use of that slow-footed chestnut again. And then liked to burst a gut laughing at how he’d gulled his old friend into losing a race. But then Longarm could expect the teasing to be repeated over and over again for as long as he knew Tall Man. Which meant for as long as the two of them lived. Sneaky damned Indian!
He rode among the Piegan lodges now, and recognized several of the tribal police he’d seen the day before. The difference was that today none of them was shooting at him, although they all had their long, clumsy old .50-70 Springfields either in hand or mighty close by. Apparently, though the converted muskets kicked like so many mules and had accuracy on the order of a pebble being thrown with a slingshot—except maybe not quite that accurate—the old ball-busters were a badge of honor among the native police. Every one of them that Longarm saw had been burnished to a high gloss, wood and metal alike. With that kind of caring for, rare among Indians, the old guns looked as good as new. Which wasn’t all that good to begin with, of course, but what the hell. Even these old trapdoor conversions were better than a bow or a war club when it came to serious scrapping. And if a man ever did get close enough, or lucky enough, to put a ball into his target, that sonuvabitch was damn sure down and out. The guns threw a bullet roughly the same size and shape as a grown man’s thumb, and when they hit it was no delicate little wound. It was more on the order of having a hod full of bricks drop onto the poor soul on the receiving end of the deal. All in all, Longarm was just as glad that he hadn’t been hit yesterday.