Jack waved his hand. "Ah shit, nothing. Nothing I can't handle, believe me. Just get me a drink quick, huh?"
Nothing he couldn't handle, no sir. He was ripping off a casino for a hundred thousand, his life hanging in the balance if he got caught, his wife was threatening to double-cross him if he tried to double-cross her, his girlfriend was threatening to turn him in if he tried to double-cross her, he had to fuck his guts out every night and every morning to keep them both happy, and through all this, Lane's eyes constantly watched him – cold, grim, probing like radar beams.
Nothing he couldn't handle. He gulped at his drink urgently, and heard a high piercing sound and looked toward the door. It sounded like a distant siren.
Then he realized it was his own nerves screaming at him relentlessly, and he headed back toward the casino, everything unreal in the fading sunlight. Someone thrust something into his hand as he walked and he stared at it, numb. It was a religious tract.
THERE IS STILL TIME TO BE SAVED! It shouted I at him.
He tossed it into the gutter, trying desperately to believe it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jack lay on the bed in the darkness of the motel room while he listened to the shower. He chain-smoked and drank scotch straight from the bottle, no chaser. Again he was tempted to go to the closet and get out the black valise and count the cash, the beautiful stacks of hundreds and fifties and twenties, the green mountains of heaven. There was forty-two thousand, six hundred and eighty bucks there.
And three more nerve-screaming days to go.
He could split now with what he had, screw Sally and Carol both. It served them right, the treacherous bitches. Then they'd both turned on him and the mob would be on his tail in hours. The thought squeezed cold drops of sweat from his skin. All he had to do was hang in a few more days, that's all.
But what clawed at his frayed nerves more than anything, more in fact than Lane's frightening eyes, was Sally. He wasn't worried about the blonde, he had her heart locked up in a mortal bind. He knew it from cunning and long experience both. No matter what she said she'd do, she loved him. It glowed in her eyes, radiated from her touch, surrounded her like an aura. He'd taken her cherry and saved her from a life of dull loneliness and misery and she was madly, insanely in love with him. He was positive about that.
But that crazy bitch Sally could only measure it by fucking. He had to come through every morning, no matter how strenuously he'd swung with Carol at night, had to get his raw chafed prick up for heavy action and plunge it deeply and tirelessly into her greedy, silken cunt until she came. And sometimes it took her jaded pussy a half-hour to come. Christ, he could fuck himself to death before he ever got a chance to spend a penny of the hundred thou.
The shower went off. He gulped more scotch and lit another cigarette. Maybe he could stall Carol on the fucking issue. Yeah! Tell her he was too tired, his nerves shot from tension. That way he could save it for Sally.
Ho, h, ho, a voice in his mind mocked him. The voice knew bullshit from conviction and although the sleek hustler did not recognize the voice as such, any psychiatrist would have called it the voice of truth, or harsh reality. You could con scores of women, a hundred broads, but in the long run you couldn't con yourself and that was what mocked him.
The bathroom door opened and he looked at Carol's silhouette. And in spite of his jarred nerves and his physical fatigue, his prick began a sharp throbbing rise. Holy shit, she looked sexy! The fifteen pounds she'd taken off left her naked body gorgeously curved. Her creamy tits thrust out proudly above a narrow waist, her ripe ass and softly glowing thighs pulled at his thick rod like a powerful magnet.
She came over to the bed and lay beside him, her warm fingers going to his semi-erection. She lay on top of him and kissed him with such fierce passion he could barely breathe, and she rubbed her moist cunt to his hot meat, getting it fully hard and surging in seconds.
What followed was eerie, totally silent sex.
Panting, her silky swollen tits digging into his chest, Carol slid his prick into her tight juicy slit and began fucking him with slow, dreamy swings of her hips, her luscious cunt oozing honey onto his crotch, her fiery tongue searching his mouth, her fingers gripping his face passionately.
Jack felt funny being on the bottom but he was tremendously excited too, because she was doing all the work, controlling her own orgasms. Deep animal moans came from her throat as she pumped her slippery pussy with furious lunges on his throbbing cock, hugging it frantically in her blazing flesh, her ripe tits sweating now as they crushed his chest, the moans becoming muffled screams as a violent climax exploded in her gorged cunt, as his knob battered her wet depths. She fucked him with wanton passion for almost thirty minutes, orgasm after hot orgasm sweeping through her trembling flesh, always seeming to sense when he might come and deliberately slowing down so he wouldn't.
And it was eerie because neither of them said a word – just her profound moans of lust and his groans and grunts and the slapping of wet flesh. Like being in a whorehouse, Jack thought with a shock as she gyrated her soaked cunt on his bush and raked his shoulders with sharp nails, only not him in a whorehouse, but her, the quiet frenzied blonde. She felt like a whore! At last she let him come, whipping her dripping slit up and down on his boiling meat savagely, low screams of obscene release gurgling in her throat.
She climbed off him with a long, shaking sigh. Weird, Jack thought, tilting the bottle to his lips and then lighting a cigarette. Because she wasn't touching him now, just quietly breathing beside him.
He put a hand on her warm flesh. "Hey, baby, you okay? You pissed at me about something?"
She laughed, a musical sound, and turned to him and tenderly stroked his face.
"Of course not, darling," she murmured, her eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. "It's just that I love you so much, Jack. I was thinking about what it's going to be like to be married, that's all."
"You'll dig it," he assured her, stroking her ripe silky ass. "Mrs. Jack Watson. How does that sound, huh?"
She smiled. "Mrs. Jack Watson," he repeated. Her fingers went to his limp rod and formed a hot fist and began jerking.
"Hey, now, wait a minute, honey," he said. "I'm really tired, you know? Rough day at the tables, believe me. We can swing all day and all night once we're married."
"All day and all night," she whispered. She banished her wet mouth across his chest then over his flat hard belly and began kissing his bush, then his inner thighs, then seized his soft prick in her mouth and feverishly started to suck the tingling meat.
"Hey, now, cool it, aaaaaah, okay, that's good – that's good, Carol! MMMMM, shit, I want your mouth, your juicy hot mouth, baby!"
Her soul was in her fiery mouth, her lips and tongue blazing with raw sex as she sucked and nibbled and tongued his fleshy rod, commanding the knot of jism in his loins, drawing it out of him like a brutally irresistible magnet.
Beneath the assault, Jack gasped and fucked her mouth lustfully, not wanting to, cursing himself, but oh shit, her hot lips and whirling tongue, her jerking fingers, her magnetic sex-heat was drawing his cream out of him with intense power, and he clutched her head and fucked deeply into her juicy sucking mouth, groaning and gasping.
"Oh Jesus, Carol! Unnnnf! Luscious mouth – ooooooh! Coming, ah shit commminggg! Whewww!"
She drained him with fierce lips, drained his every lingering drop until he was gasping with fatigue. Then she climbed up next to him, once again strangely silent.
Well, whatever the fuck happened to his legendary stamina? She was getting him off in minutes now, sucking him bone-dry. He tilted the bottle to his lips – liquid energy. She kept playing with his cock, which was beginning to feel like ground sirloin.