Yet the truth was that he kinda liked her. For her honesty if nothing else. And she was the only human person in Addington—the only one other than Amos Vent, that is, and Amos didn’t count because he didn’t know a thing more than Longarm did about the true situation here—who was willing to talk to him. So what the hell were his choices about this? Climb onboard and see what—or who—came next? Or reject the offer and probably make an enemy of the only damn friend he’d found here? There were times, Longarm reflected, when duty asked an awful lot of a man.
“Sweetheart?” Janie prompted, reaching down to finger herself and pull her snatch wide open, resulting in the display of something that looked remarkably similar to a leather valise laid ready to receive ten or twelve pounds of important documents.
Longarm managed a weak smile. He swallowed. Hard. And wondered if passing out in a dead faint would help.
Chapter 14
Janie Sproul was, well, to be honest about it, Longarm concluded, the woman just wasn’t a very good piece of ass. She was flabby. Which wasn’t so bad really except that she was flabby all over. Inside as well as out. She’d been used so long and so often—he had no opinion as to how well—that her pussy was loose, sloppy, and stretched so far that he could scarcely feel any contact with her. Which was distracting as all hell.
He grunted and wallowed, wriggled this way and then that, poked and prodded … nothing he did seemed to result in much in the way of feeling. And the truth is that it takes more than a good idea for a man to get his rocks off. He has to feel … well… something, anyway. A little heat, a modicum of feeling… some damn thing has to be there if it is going to be any good for him.
As for Janie, shit, she seemed to be having the screw of a lifetime, at least judging by the way she moaned and quivered and carried on.
True to her word, the damn woman yelped and hollered and got herself off half a dozen times. If not by actual count, then not far from it. Seemed like every thirty seconds or so she would shudder and tremble and growl, “I’m coming, oh, oh, I’m coming, cowboy.”
And he would poke around some more in that great, damp emptiness that was her, and sure enough, a couple seconds later she’d grab on with arms, legs, teeth, and eyeballs while she went through another set of spasms.
After a while Longarm commenced to get somewhat jealous. Why the hell should she have all the fun?
“Pull your legs together.”
“What, honey?”
“Your legs,” he repeated. “Put them together.” He lifted himself off the mattress a bit so she could bring her legs under his thighs, and when she did that he was lying atop her somewhat more than ample body, his legs outside hers so he was the one doing the straddling except that his cock, fortunately more than long enough to permit the method, was still inside her. That squeezed her lips together and made it if not actually tight then at least close enough that he could tell he was inside something. Before it had felt kind of like dipping his wick into a pot of lukewarm machine oil. Not exactly thrilling.
“Oh, I do like this,” she said once she felt what he’d done. “Tight.”
“Uh-huh,” he lied. It was still a helluva long way from tight. But it was damn sure better.
“Oh. Honey. I’m coming.”
Shit, he hadn’t hardly moved again. But it was enough for Janie. She bellowed and gave him a bear hug and like to shook herself to pieces with the power of this latest in her long line of climaxes.
“Honey, you’re so good I can’t hardly stand it.” Which he assumed was not a complaint. “Harder, honey, harder. Yes, yes, I’m coming, oh jeez I’m coming again.”
And damned if she didn’t.
It occurred to him that generally speaking when a woman has more than one orgasm it makes a fellow feel kind of pleased with himself. In this particular case, though, Longarm didn’t feel entitled to much in the way of credit. With ol’ Janie he figured it likely that a decent-looking feather duster would be enough to get her off. Still and all …
“Harder, honey, faster, yes, yes, yes …”
Janie was humping and bucking, and now there was a mite of feeling to go with all the sweat and strain and pretty soon he could feel the sweet, fine gathering of pressure deep inside his cods. He held back, increasing the sensation, and in another moment or two it was too much to keep back and the flood commenced to flow.
He clenched his teeth and arched his back and hung in the saddle like a bronc buster getting his teeth loosened after a hard day’s night. Janie screamed and he would have to admit that maybe he grunted and groaned some his own self. All in all it proved not half so bad an ordeal as he’d feared, by damn.
Afterward, when he reached onto the night stand for a smoke, Janie poked him in the ribs—hard—and said, “Light me one of those things too, cowboy. Then we’ll talk while you rest that thing ready for the next tussle.” Longarm was fairly sure he knew just what “thing” it was Janie meant when she said that.
Chapter 15
Janie reached over, he thought in search of a caress. Instead she plucked the freshly lighted cheroot out of his hand and put it between her own somewhat bruised and swollen lips (and how nice it had been getting them that way). He waited a few moments, but she seemed disinclined to relinquish the slim cigar and so he lighted a second one for himself.
She was every bit as sweaty as he was but did not seem to mind in the least. Well, Longarm didn’t either now that all the thrashing and banging was ended. In the long run it had all proved pretty much worthwhile, and once he’d solved that initial problem of a nastily slack fit the experience had been a cut or two above the average. Now he was tired. And Janie damn sure had to be. He’d long since lost track of how many times she’d shrieked and gotten her jollies, and likely she hadn’t counted either. Both of them, in any event, were entitled to some rest and relaxation at this point.
Janie found the remains of an ancient sardine can that served guests as an ashtray. She set it on the flat of her chest, squarely between her sagging jugs, and invited Longarm to use it.
“Just one thing, honey. If you burn me with that cigar tip, sweetie, I’ll think you’re starting a whole new sort of playfulness, and you’ll have to finish what you start.” She winked and added, “There are times, honey, when pain is pleasure too. You hear?”
He could almost believe she meant it. And had no intention of finding out. Better, he thought, to be plenty careful of what happened with the hot ashes off his smoke.
“Do you want to talk now, cowboy?” she offered.
“Hell, woman, I’m not sure I got energy left t’ do any talking.” He grinned and patted her hip. “But I reckon I can listen if you wanta do the talking.”
Janie smiled, obviously feeling that she’d received a compliment, which of course she had, and said, “It’s about that ass Norm Colton.”
“Yes?”
“It’s him you’re here to see about, right? I mean, my husband having been a judge I know a little something about jurisdiction. And Norm, he was a federal appointee. Miserable little piece of shit, but federal nonetheless. Which if I remember correctly makes him your responsibility.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, honey, I can tell you right now who killed Norm. For that matter he’s the same one who killed Wil Meyers. And while I was downstairs waiting for you, cowboy, I thought I heard someone say somebody else has been killed too. I don’t know which of them it was this time. But I know the list his name will be on.”