Then, saying nothing, he withdrew, leaving her soul and her cunt gaping. He prodded Harry's asshole with his large toe. Harry was in a drug-like state, lying where Phillip had left him previously.
"Harry, Harry," Phillip prodded, "go to our young woman and fill her for me. Go now," he directed. Harry rose like a somnambulist and fell on top of Carol. Phillip stood above them. Harry fucked her with Anonymous The Pleasure Thieves Page 77
passion, the kind of passion he would lay anyone with. Carol's eyes were fixed on Phillip's face, while Harry serviced her with professional assurance.
She looks at me, Phillip thought, but if she wears that artifice, it's because she wants him. I am not at all jealous, but she will never know. As though this last thought gave him an extra surge of adrenaline, he crouched over her head and rammed his maleness into her mouth. She sucked on it like a baby taking its meal.
Carol loved the feel of Harry's prick in her. The exotic bird had found its nest. She had always known it would be that way; they fitted without effort. The passion was there before the technique. She wondered if he knew that.
His body was erupting against hers, each movement an explosion.
Phillip pushed Carol's mouth away from his cock, back into the secret darkness of his anus. She ran her tongue around the supple flesh walls and made delicate circles with her tongue in his asshole.
Harry's head bobbed ferociously in front of Phillip's extended, wavering cock. At the point of his orgasm, he caught it in his mouth.
The three of them came as the last candle flickered out. They were in utter darkness, like mighty mountains shooting volcanic fires.
CHAPTER X
Harry wasn't used to surprises. Didn't like surprises. He liked to know just what was happening all the time. Plan a job carefully, cover every detail, and then pray to the god of thieves that there wouldn't be any surprises.
But the night with Phillip and Carol had narcoticized him, had taken him into a strange rarefied atmosphere — not the dense inner life he knew well, but something outside and extremely powerful. They were weird, the two of them, and he'd travel with them. Probably end up in a dark hole and find it was hell. Maybe they were taking him to hell, because they'd both been there. There and back, and there and back.
Probably where Carol got the highest prices for jewels. Went down, down, and sold them to the highest bidder in hell. You could hold onto your money in hell, Harry felt. You could hold onto your beauty and money and youth and never care about anything else. Hell would be to never to lose your hold on what someone else would admire. Harry had never been in that hell, but he had an idea that Phillip was king, and the handmaid Carol would show him the way. Go to hell clinging to a big, flawless, blue-white diamond. It would be worth it. It would make life worth living to have a death worth dying.
Harry felt that surge of strength and meaning that he always got when he was moving into a new job. Usually he knew exactly where he was going, how many nails were in the front door. But it was exhilarating to be able to put faith in Phillip. To be able to say, "I'll go where you're going, Phillip." To feel like a protected boy.
That was what Phillip gave to Carol. Harry didn't really know what was between Phillip and Carol. More than the fucking, though. He'd watched them fuck on the floor. Phillip mounting Carol, and Carol sinking against the hard wood as if the missing piece had just been put back. They were the same, somehow, Phillip and Carol. Two parts of the same puzzle.
And Harry wanted her, but he wanted the diamonds just as much.
They were picking up tickets at La Guardia airport, Phillip and Harry. Carol, ever the female, was late. Phillip had told Harry in the taxi that they were going to Detroit. Plenty of loot in Detroit. Lots of money from putting America on wheels. And he'd roll away with all of it. They stood before the section marked, 'Central West.'
"Detroit, huh," said Harry as they turned away from the counter.
"What's happening there?"
"Anything can happen in Detroit," Phillip smiled. "Do you know the city?"
Harry distractedly stared at a woman, large and shapely and covered with gems. The brooch and earrings of a quality that could interest even him. "Not … intimately," he finally answered.
Phillip glanced at him guardedly. What did not intimately mean?
What did anything about Harry mean? Where was the conscience of the undefined man? What did Harry care about? Did he have a huge bleeding ruby where his heart should be?
Phillip had felt the directness of Harry's taking Carol. Just get in there and pump. Don't complicate things, just unload. That's what it's for. It was more remote, in a way, for Harry to just get in there and fuck than for Phillip to inflict the delicate and gross perversions with which he controlled Carol. It was more controlling to fuck the way Harry did. In the ass, in the cunt, in Phillip's ass, in the mouth, in the ear, in any dark, tight, wet hole. Just let go and have a ball. A kind of insane determination Harry had. Couldn't stop until he was finished.
Phillip certainly discovered that in Boston. Now Harry had started something with Carol, but Phillip had started that a long time ago. He had his hooks in. Carol might fall in love with Harry, probably was in love now, going through some romantic idiocy. But Phillip had his hooks in. And the fish could play.
The jewel-bedecked woman half-turned her back to Harry. She was coquettishly, titillatingly aware of the man's stare, and couldn't find the strength to turn completely away. She bent over her luggage, and her breasts pressed together in the long V neck of her dress. Harry stared at her, detached and intense. Phillip's eyes followed Harry's. He looked long at the glittering woman and then smiled.
"Think she's going to Detroit?" Harry asked plaintively. Then they heard her ask for a California flight. "Maybe we should go to California?" The woman turned around and flirted playfully, like a delicate young elephant.
"Maybe we should," Phillip laughed. Nothing to fear. She wasn't Harry's type. They just had the same tastes in decoration. "But remember Harry, Detroit is the backbone of America."
"Oh?" Harry's eyes left the woman. "Then we must go. Mustn't neglect the country's backbone. Especially when it's held together with platinum."
Phillip didn't answer. He hadn't said one word about the job.
Instead, he looked at his watch, then scanned the waiting room. "Oh, here she is," he said, brightening, as Carol approached, girlish and breathless.
"Last minute things at the office," she said in a rush. "Sorry Phillip darling. Hello Harry." She looked at him briefly. A breathless, girlish, adorable, cool witch. "Good, here come my bags." She wore a back suit and held a big red purse. Harry touched the bag playfully and said,
"Going shopping?"
She looked quickly away, and he realized that it wasn't control that produced her smoothness. It was fear.
Her luggage was the last to be weighed. As it was wheeled toward the scale, the three of them walked out to the field. Harry was upbeat, a new dimension of his usually somber way. He felt good. Proud of Carol for looking so chic and untouched — and probably hot between her thighs right now. Proud of Phillip, too, distinguished in his perfectly fitted suit and homburg. Proud of himself, as a matter of fact
— free and clean and a fit companion for the elegant couple.
"My mother should see me now," he said to them. Phillip cut him short. "Was that the woman you were staring at?" He couldn't tell if Carol had heard or felt the words. They boarded the plane.
Harry walked down the aisle ahead of them and took a seat next to a plump, jeweled dowager. My God, thought Phillip, he's got the magic touch. Carol and Phillip sat behind him. They watched as Harry offered the delighted woman a cigarette and then turned and winked at them. Phillip smiled broadly. Carol hesitated, then said, "Just like Tom Sawyer. How adorable." As the plane took off, she studied Manhattan below them.