"Stop staring at me like that," Gabe growled. "I said I was sorry."
You certainly are, she thought. You're one of the sorriest sons of bitches I've ever met!
She ignored the sperm that continued to stain her inner thighs as she plucked a cigarette from a box on the coffee table and tucked it between her lips. She talked around it. "My fault, lover. I made you come unglued."
His lips twisted in a humorless smile as he snatched up a table lighter and touched the flame to the tip of her cigarette. "Sometimes it doesn't take much to make me come unhinged, puss. Never could stand bossy broads. Don't do it again, huh?"
"I won't."
"Promise?"
She nodded. Anything to keep this bastard happy. Anything to keep him from dumping her again. Until…
Gabe grinned at her. "Did I hurt you very much?" His tone told her that he really didn't give a damn.
Trish bristled inwardly. Not as much as I'm going to hurt you after we find that bag of money, you sadistic prick… by swinging with the whole bundle!
And aloud she said, "What's a little pain among friends?"
Gabe laughed and stung her left hip with a slap. "Now you sound like the girl I always want to smother with tenderness, puss. A real champagne lady." He paused to smack his lips. "Speaking of the bubbly, how about breaking out a jug of it so we can both unwind?"
She took a deep drag on her cigarette and sent a pale scarf of smoke toward the high ceiling. Glances locked. She managed a thin smile. "I have a better idea, Gabe. Call it a suggestion. Mrs.
Singing Rabbit is gone, and Bruce won't be back until late tonight, so why don't we pack some booze out to the cabin in Lonesome Valley and drink while we do some prospecting?"
He thought it over, nodded. "Sounds like a winner. I'll get the champagne."
She ditched her cigarette. "And I'll get dressed."
"You'd better," Gabe said as he crossed over to the liquor cabinet. "Going out there dressed in nothing except a garter belt and spikes could result in your getting raped by an oversexed bear."
A dark look crawled across her face. Her eyes frosted. Her voice tightened. "Or by Joe Dooley."
Gabe shook his head and smiled malevolently. "You can forget about that prick with ears roaming the hills and making us nervous, at least for a week or so."
"Oh?"
"I took his wheels out from under him."
Trish looked at him in amazement. "You did?"
"Damn right! The way he babied and fretted over that stinking Jeep of his, you didn't really expect it to break down by itself, did you?"
Trish threw back her head and laughed.
Chapter 9
Elke Lockridge felt her own vagina turn wet as she lay in the smothering darkness and listened to the sounds of lust coming from an adjoining room. She took a deep breath that shook her breasts and asked the ceiling, "How many more times do you think Bruce will be able to take Trish before he collapses from exhaustion?"
The ceiling made no answer. She envisioned Bruce panting his way toward a coronary and grinned. Talk about a vagina hound. Earlier she had listened to Trish lick and slurp him into a moaning orgasm, but now they were bucking and fucking… again. Shivers shot through her system. She clenched her thighs together and silently wished she could do some heel-clicking of her own… with Joe Dooley.
Only Joe Dooley wasn't here. The lanky man who had beat Felix Wellman to her cherry by one night and the man in the next room by even less than that, wasn't due to meet her at the cabin in Lonesome Valley until… when? She glanced at the travel clock on her dresser, grimaced. It would be another two hours before he showed. Could she stand the agony in her vagina that long? She doubted it. Listening to Trish and Bruce going at it in the next room, she would probably lose control and end up taking a ride on her finger. She giggled and kept listening. "I'm almost there!" Elke heard Trish shrill passionately above the protesting bed springs. "Close. So damn close! Take me all the way to the top! Ram that big dong of yours deep in my pussy and make me cream all over it! A cum! Give me a wild cum! One more stab should do the job! Ah, no, it didn't! Try again. Batter me! Yes, yes, like that! Ah, I'm bombing, I'm bombing!"
Trish's voice died, the bed springs stopped creaking like rusted hinges on the front door of a haunted house and a few seconds later there was nothing but the silence for Elke's ears to feed on.
Peace. But not for long. There was an almost instant renewal of activity; then she. heard Bruce croak, "You made it; I didn't. Don't leave me dangling, little wanton. Shift those hips and that pretty ass of yours into overdrive so I can get my rocks off. Fuck, baby, fuck!"
"Like this."
"Faster!"
Trish responded…
Damn! Elke thought as she slipped a hand under the blushing-pink nightie she was wearing and touched her tingling tush. I knew I'd end up doing this to myself! She shuddered. Then she removed the hand from her wet snatch and slipped out of the warm bed. No, by God, I won't play stink finger with myself! I can hold out until I see Joe. I know I can. Then she heard Trish and Bruce come to life again, and added, But it won't be easy.
"Enough," Elke heard Bruce rasp. "I've had it."
"I know. I even remember when you took penicillin to cure it."
Bruce laughed. "I ought to pluck every hair out of your pussy for saying a cruel thing like that to me."
"Why don't you screw me instead?"
"Not interested."
"You will be. I know how to turn you on again. A bit of conversation always does the trick. It's doing it now. Take a good look at yourself. See? You're getting another hard-on. A few more spicy words, a few more strokes with my hand, and you'll be ready to go again."
"What's with the hand bit?" Elke heard Bruce ask as she crossed over to the window and stared out at the moon-bathed night. "Hand is singular, and far from being correct in this particular instance, because you've got both hands on my whang."
"Stop complaining."
"Who's complaining? I'm enjoying the way you're jerking my pud. Hell, little wanton, I could even cream from the tension in your fingers."
"Maybe you could, but you won't. That cock juice of yours is too good to waste on the ceiling. I want it any way I can get it. In the mouth, in the cunt, even up the ass."
Surprise edged Bruce's voice, and Elke could almost see his eyes bulging in their sockets as she heard him say, "You'd let me poke you in your asshole?"
"Why not? You've poked me there before."
"Yeah, but only once, and then you bitched about the pain while I worked to get my gun off."
"You shouldn't have shoved it in all at once, you bastard. Damn, even drunk I thought I was being attacked by Manny Black that night."
Bruce chuckled like a prairie dog, then said, "So much for ancient history. Now stop chattering like one of Felix Wellman's bribed witnesses and keep stroking my prick. I'm starting to lose my erection."
"Lying bastard. You're harder than a pimp's heart, and you know it. A few more pumps and the juice will start flowing from the nozzle of your hose. Mmmmm, I can't wait to get at it."
"Be my guest."
"Pass me a napkin. I loathe sloppy eaters."
Another shiver rippled through Elke as she envisioned Trish's yawning mouth dropping to devour Bruce's massive organ, and a moment later she muttered, "I wish I had Joe here so I could do the same to his."
Wish in one hand…
She turned away from the window and crossed over to the rumpled bed. Breasts heaved, nipples tingled, and her pussy ached for the sweetness of release from torment. She glanced at the travel clock again and sighed. Between eavesdropping and watching those damn hands crawl around the face of the clock, she was getting wound up tighter than a cheap pocket watch.