And then, of her own accord and in her own time, the beautiful Ute girl took him into the wet depths of her pretty mouth, the lips that were so soft and good to kiss even softer and hotter now.
She suckled him, fingertips toying with his balls and along the exquisitely sensitive shelf of flesh that separated the base of his cods from his asshole.
Spotted Fawn was good. God, she was good. She took him to dizzying heights of pleasure, and after scant minutes of that, the sensations were too much to hold back and with a groan, he burst into a long, pulsing flow that filled her mouth and nearly gagged her before she could swallow down the continuing ejaculation.
“Rest now,” Spotted Fawn whispered to him. “But for a minute only, neh? When you are hard again we will come together, and I will be happy once more.”
“Yes.” He found her hand in the darkness and squeezed.
This, he decided, was not entirely bad.
Chapter 18
It was mid-morning and getting on toward noontime. Helluva time to be having breakfast, but then except for the young boys, who whooped and ran in circles and hunted imaginary game with their toy-sized bows and arrows, the camp hadn’t shown much life to it at an ordinary get-up time. Most of the adults, certainly the male adults, appeared to be right seriously hung over. They moved around like it hurt to have to listen to all the noise of dry grass being trampled underfoot.
As for Longarm, he’d had a slightly different—and somewhat better—reason to stay abed late into the morning. Spotted Fawn, it seemed, was even more amorous and energetic in the dawn than at night. And she was one hell of a piece at night. Longarm wasn’t sure, but he suspected he’d come within six or eight strokes of having his pecker wear out and fall clean off. He was that tired. But happy. Oh, yes, he surely was happy.
He lay on his back and wriggled into his clothes, then rolled over to his hands and knees to crawl backward out of the low, narrow little arbor where he’d spent such an almighty pleasant night. He spat to clear his throat, then got the morning started by lighting his first cheroot of the day. Damn, but that first one always tasted fine.
“Bad Eye,” Longarm called out cheerfully, “what’s for breakfast?”
The chieftain of the band winced at the sound, then managed a rather sickly smile of greeting. Judging from the way Bad Eye looked this morning, Longarm didn’t know if he would still be considered a friend of the tribe, or if the Utes would look on him as the source of their head-pounding pain and banish him forever.
Fortunately, Bad Eye was in a forgiving humor. Or maybe he simply was hoping that Longarm might be able to produce some hair of the dog to help make the hurting go away. In any event, he waved for Longarm to join him at the fire.
Breakfast turned out to be a rich stew of elk chunks cooked in blood for gravy and seasoned with wild onion and some dark green stringy stuff that was either herbs put in on purpose or stray grass that got into the mixture by accident. Either way, the concoction tasted considerably better than it looked.
Longarm finished one bowl of the stew, and was hard at work on a repeat helping when some of the kids came running into camp, jabbering as fast as they could talk and gesturing off toward the north. The children reported the source of the excitement to Bad Eye, then ran off in search of their mamas or daddies or somebody else to show off to.
“What is it, Bad Eye?”
“White man and some damn Injun come.” Which meant, Longarm concluded, that the damn Injun was not of the Ute people.
Longarm stood, a tin cup of sweet, scalding hot coffee held gingerly in one hand, and peered off toward the source of the excitement. Someone was coming, all right. In a large freight wagon. The people on the wagon must have wanted to make the journey mighty bad, Longarm thought, to force a rig that big and that awkward so far off the road.
The wagon was still the better part of half a mile distant, and Longarm could see for himself that there were two people riding in it. As for them being a white man and some damn Injun, well, he would withhold judgment on that subject until they came nearer.
When they did approach the camp, however, the opinion of the sharp-eyed youngsters was confirmed. They were indeed a white man and an Indian, the white man dressed like something out of a catalog offering clothing for the Great Outdoors, complete with knee-high lace-up boots with rolls of wool stockings showing at the tops, and the Indian wearing a black suit, a tidily fashioned necktie, and a derby hat.
The white man, Longarm saw, was a gent he’d seen before. Dammit.
Here in the middle of absolutely no place, one of the damned Secret Service men had gone and found him.
Longarm suspected his ass was gonna wind up in a sling now since as far as anyone back in Denver knew, Deputy Marshal Custis Long was still on assignment serving papers over in Utah.
Chapter 19
With any kind of luck, Longarm told himself, this Secret Service agent wouldn’t remember him.
“Long, isn’t it? Deputy Long?”
So much for luck. At least the man was smiling a nice, cheery sort of welcome. And even though he remembered who Longarm was, he would have no way of knowing what … “I thought you were in Salt Lake City.” Uh, yeah. Really good luck he was having today. You bet.
“Yeah, well, um …” What the hell was this man’s name? Was this one supposed to be Smith? Or Jones? Jeez, you would think they could’ve come up with something more believable than that silly combination.
“Look,” the smiling—or was that smirking? Longarm couldn’t tell for sure—Secret Service man said, “you don’t have to tell me. I mean, I wouldn’t if I was you. You know? Not really. No need anyhow. If it was my boss that was blown up, I’d be doing the exact same thing as you, Long.” He shook his head and shrugged. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either, taking experienced investigators who know the country and the situation around here and sending them off on a bunch of shit jobs. They could have borrowed city cops or sworn some county deputies into temporary federal service if they need to keep the routine stuff rolling, right?”
