Longarm Giant #30: Longarm and the Ambush at Holy Defiance (6 page)

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her breasts rising and falling heavily. Her voice seemed thick, even raspier than before. “You’re hung like a fucking Russian plow horse.”

Keeping her eyes on his thundering hard-on, she dropped both feet to the floor, rose, turned toward the couch, leaned forward, and swept the shift up around her waist, revealing her perfect ass and the auburn mound up under her butt cheeks. “Take me,” she said, her voice quivering desperately, looking over her shoulder at his throbbing cock. “Bring it over here and fuck me with it.”

Longarm didn’t need to be told twice.

He followed his dick right over to her, reached around her waist with one arm, drew her toward him firmly, and then took his cock in his free hand and guided it up under her ass and through the moist, hot waiting doors of her pussy.

She jerked forward like a startled mare, throwing her head back. “Gawd!”

Longarm stopped halfway in, letting her womb expand gradually around him, and then pushed forward on the balls of his feet, shoving his manhood deeper…deeper…
deeper, until it would go no farther and she was leaning forward against the fainting couch, groaning from deep in her chest.

“Fuck me, damnit,” she said through gritted teeth, spreading her legs a little wider for him, grinding her feet into the thick, black-and-red carpet. “Fuck me hard, you randy dog! I saw how you were looking at me. You were imagining doing this back out on the street, weren’t you?”

Longarm was driving against her, pulling out, driving in, the otherworldly sensations ensconcing him like the world’s more powerful opiate.

“Weren’t you?” she demanded, glaring over her shoulder at him as he fucked her, causing her hair to slide back and forth across her shoulders.

“Yep.”

“Do you like fucking strange girls you meet on the street?”

“Stranger the better.”

“Oh, you’re such a randy dog!”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes closed as he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her, and grabbed her breasts in his hands. He kneaded them, rolled the nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.

They were as hard as small stones, jutting like sewing thimbles. The softness of the silk shift caressed the backs of his hands as he fondled her. Occasionally it would drop down in back to brush his belly, a pleasing sensation that complimented the more dramatic one going on inside the head of his cock, his belly, in his loins.

“Oh, God,” the girl said raspily, sucking sharp breaths, releasing them sharply, sucking another one just as sharp. The back of the fainting couch tapped against the papered wall behind it as they moved together, in perfect rhythm now, Longarm squeezing her perfect, jouncing breasts while he rammed his hips against her ass, raising slapping sounds.

Occasionally, he’d straighten, hold her hips in his hands,
and really put the wood to her. The problem with this maneuver, however, was that it caused the back of the couch to bang more loudly against the wall.

“Keep going,” she said. “Fuck me, damn you, you nasty dog. I saw…I saw…how you looked at me. I knew—oh,
fuck
!—I knew what you wanted to do to me!”

Longarm only grunted through clenched jaws.

“You uncouth brigand!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, fuck—your plow handle is going to bust me in two!”

“I’ll stop if you want,” he reluctantly offered while he continued to hammer away at her.

“Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard!”

He’d known women who’d go on like she was. Talking mean and dirty seemed to be part of their pleasure, sort of cutting loose from the bonds that otherwise constrained them and kept them “proper.” Personally, he liked to be quiet when he was hauling a girl’s ashes, but to each his own. This girl had a body that could light a fire in God’s own soul, and she sure as hell knew how to wield it. That’s all he cared about.

In and out, in and out. Her hot juices engulfed him. He felt as though hot water were rising around his straining legs.

Suddenly, the warm folds of her pussy engulfed him, squeezing him gently, and she gave a guttural groan, tipping her head back, as though a bowie knife had been plunged into her belly button. She quivered almost violently, shoulders jerking, as she gained the crest of her passion. He rammed hard against her once more, held himself firmly against her ass, and cut loose, feeling his seed rocket into her.

He groaned loudly, throwing his head far back and tightening his jaws.

When she began to pant and waggle her ass against his hips, he continued to ram against her, bucking back and forth, no longer caring how much racket the sofa made as it
banged against the wall. She screamed and cried and grunted, called him a dirty bastard and a few other things, and then screamed and cried and grunted again, until she seemed to sort of faint from exhaustion and passion, and dropped to the floor on her knees.

“Ohhh!” she said through a long, loud sigh, bowing her head and clawing at the couch the way a cat kneads a rug with it paws. “Oh, Jesus H. Christalmighty.”

She rested her face against her hands and then slowly rolled over to face him, sitting on the floor with her back to the sofa, the corners of her fine mouth quirking a satisfied smile. “You do that rather well.”

Longarm leaned toward her, feasting his eyes on her beauty, closed his mouth over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss hungrily. Pulling away, he said, “You’re no slouch yourself, Miss…”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “No names. You don’t know me; I don’t know you. You’re a stud, and I’m a craven harlot. Understand?”

Married, Longarm thought. Mr. Mucky-Muck can’t satisfy her. Understandable, given the obviously high grade of her demands. Why, she’d kill a man with any physical weakness whatever.

“Understand?” she demanded, splaying her hands across her ears and staring up at him, one of her eyes crossing beautifully. Her nipples were pebbling again.

“Lady, you’re every man’s dream.”

He smiled and then lowered his head and kissed each nipple in turn, sucking as he kissed her until she rolled her head back against the couch and was groaning, arching her back, lifting her breasts toward his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

He lowered his head and ran his tongue down her fine, flat belly, swirled it around inside her belly button. Now she started convulsing, giving little spasming jerks and shivers.

“Oh, Christ, you’re a devil!”

He continued to nibble and lick while gently kneading her proud breasts with his hands.

When his cock was fully engorged once more, he stood and reached for her.

“Oh, God, wait!” she said, and flung herself toward him on her knees. She grabbed his member in both her hands. “Oh, my God. You’re a monster. A big, brawny monster with a cock like a plow handle.”

Gazing at the organ of topic, she whispered, “You can really torment a woman with this thing, can’t you? Make her think about you and want you even when you’re no longer here.”

She seemed to be talking to herself, so he kept his own mouth shut and let her run her tongue and fingers down the length of him. She sucked the head of his cock until he’d rocked back on his heels and groaned. Then she pulled her mouth off him and lowered her head to suck his balls while she continued to hold him in both hands, gently squeezing.

“Christ!” he said, when she’d brought him to the boiling point.

Almost savagely, he reached down and picked her up in his arms. She gave a half-startled, half-thrilled little gasp. He strode over to the bed, tossed her on top of it, and swung her legs around brusquely, positioning her for accepting him.

“Oh, you cur!” she cried, eyes flashing in delight.

He spread her legs with his arms and mounted her.

He stared down into those incredible hazel eyes that returned his lusty, smoky, erotic gaze. “Fuck me, you dirty dog!” she said, smiling devilishly, causing her eyes to cross, wrapping her arms and legs around him and giving a throaty laugh. “Fuck me like the rabid cur you are!”

He drew a breath, shoved his cock into her, listened to
her groan and yip softly, gently chewing on his shoulder and grinding her heels into his ass, and fucked her long and hard.

When he pulled out of her finally, a half hour later, he thought she was dead. She lay splayed out beneath him like a corpse.

Only, her lovely mouth was spread with a satisfied, half-delirious grin.

She drew a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise, the gold cross wedged sideways between them, and clung to him when he started to draw away from her. She lifted her head and kissed him passionately. She kissed his nose, nibbled it.

Keeping her fingers locked together behind his neck, she said, “Of any of them, I’d like to know who you are.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but she pressed a finger to his mustache-mantled lips.

“No. There’s no point. No names. Sexier, this way. More mysterious. We’re just a couple of animals who met one night to fuck like dogs in the Grand Hotel in Leadville. Nothing more, nothing less. If we ever meet again, we’ll each walk on past, just two dirty dogs passing in the street. Understand?”

He smiled down at her. Yep, married.

“You’re the boss, lady.”

He kissed her again, swept his eyes over her again from her beautiful head to her long, delicate feet, marveling at her sumptuous, impeccable beauty.

And then he rose from the bed, took a whore’s bath at her washstand while she watched him quietly, lying sideways and naked on the bed, head propped on the heel of her hand. Watching him, she slid a hand around on one of her breasts and slowly caressed one foot with the other.

Like a cat in a window.

He reached for a towel with which to dry himself and paused. Something on her dresser had caught his eye. Beneath a newspaper and an overturned book lay a small,
gold-washed, ivory-gripped derringer. A popper very much like the one he carried in his own vest pocket.

He dried himself with the towel, pretending he hadn’t seen the gun. A woman with her beauty and sexual precociousness likely couldn’t be too careful. She probably never really knew whom she was inviting into her room.

Longarm dressed, donned his hat, tipped it at its usual rakish, cavalry-style angle over his left eye, and turned to her. She continued to lay there, naked and beautiful and catlike, her smoky eyes seeming to take in every inch of him.

“Been fun,” he said.

She smiled, flung her hair back from her face, then rested her head on her hand again and rubbed her feet together luxuriously. “I’ll be walking bull-legged for a week,” she said in her sexy, raspy voice.

He walked over to her, bent down, placed one hand on her ass, and kissed her. She returned the kiss, and when he pulled away, she leaned toward him, wrinkling the skin above the bridge of her nose, wanting more.

He grinned down at her, winked. Her pretty face acquired a look of frustration, and then he pinched his hat brim to her, strode across the carpeted floor to the door, glanced back once more at her still lying there gazing at him with her lips slightly parted, and went out.

In the hall, he pulled the door closed behind him, sighed, and shook his head.

He felt the peace that comes after having his manly desires so thoroughly sated. After tonight, he likely wouldn’t need a woman again for a week at the most. Wincing, he adjusted his crotch. Another like her inside of a month would likely cripple him for life.

Chuckling quietly, he dug a cheroot out of his shirt pocket and headed for the stairs. He needed some air and a fresh smoke. Then he’d head to bed and no doubt enjoy the best sleep of his life.

Two days later and right on schedule, Longarm climbed the stone steps of Denver’s Federal Building at eight
A.M.
, nodding at his male acquaintances and pinching his hat brim to the office girls.

He climbed the stairs to the cavernous second floor and said howdy-do to a couple of attorneys he’d come to know over the years and who were going over some papers together on a wooden bench outside a federal courtroom. He followed his well-practiced route to the end of the hall that smelled of varnish and cigar smoke as well as the coal used to heat the sprawling building, and pulled open the stout wooden door whose frosted glass panel bore the name of his boss, Chief Marshal William H. Vail, First District Court of Colorado, and went in.

“How’s it hangin’, Henry?” he asked the prissy gent playing typewriter on the desk to his left, while he tossed his freshly steamed and brushed hat on the tree to his right.

Without looking up but continuing to pound the odd-looking contraption’s keys with his long, slim, white fingers, Billy Vail’s secretary said, “The chief marshal is expecting you, Marshal Long. Am I imagining things or are you on time for a change?”

Longarm stared down at Henry’s dancing fingers, amazed as always that each finger seemed to know where each of the two dozen or so keys on the contraption was, and they never seemed to get entangled or miss a beat. And how did each key know where it was supposed to go on the travel voucher Henry was typing on? The world was changing mighty fast, Longarm thought, and he’d better figure out such things or get lost in the dust!

When the secretary’s words finally made their way through his silent musings on the nature of progress and the fast fading of the old frontier, the big lawman glanced at the clock on the wall behind Henry, saw that the hour hand was on the eight and that the minute hand was pointing straight up at twelve.

“Well, look at that,” Longarm said, as amazed as Henry was, planting one fist on a hip. “Henry, you’d better write this down in your work log. Custis Long was on time for a change. Put it on the page where you write down such things as why certain lawmen deserve a raise.” He muttered grumpily and raked a thumb along the line of his freshly shaven jaw. “’Cause such tedious little insignificant happenings as his savin’ a whole trainload of train passengers from being slaughtered by the Rio Hayes Gang or ending up at the bottom of Horse Thief Gorge don’t seem worthy!”

He said that last loudly enough to catch Henry’s attention. The young, dapper little gent’s long fingers rose all at once from the keys, hovering over them, as the pale, bespectacled face lifted toward Longarm. Henry furled his slender, light brown brows over his pale blue eyes. “What’s that, Marshal Long?”