work out to be a real good time now to try and interview the widow Deel. Those sure as hell had been good beans, though.
Chapter 31
“Must talk. Be in your room 7:30.” Longarm looked at the sloppy scrawl on the note the desk clerk had handed him. He did not recognize the handwriting but figured it pretty much had to be Amos who wanted to meet.
That being the case he first checked his Ingersoll to make sure of the time, then went down the block to find a saloon where he could lay in a bottle of corn whiskey. He had a little rye left in his bag, but why waste the good stuff on a man who preferred spiked dishwater to the nectar of Maryland’s finest distillers?
Well before the appointed hour—he didn’t need any supper thanks to the late and huge lunch he’d had at the Deel house—Longarm was in his hotel room.
Promptly at 7:30 there was a soft tap-tap-tap on the hotel room door.
“Amos?”
The tapping sounded again.
Longarm swung the door open. And without much in the way of either warning or preamble found his tongue being sucked out of his mouth. The widow Jane Webster Sproul had arrived.
“I’m so glad you got my message,” she said when she paused for breath. Then she grabbed him again and put a lip lock on so hard, he was afraid she would bruise her tonsils on his front teeth. The woman was nothing if not energetic.
“Whoa, Janie, what’s this all about?”
She grinned at him. And began flinging clothes toward the four corners of the room. “This, sweetie. I just couldn’t stand being without you. Not for another minute.”
Longarm didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was already too worn out from his morning of playing with Clarice to possibly be able to get it up again. Maybe not for days to come, judging from the way he felt right now.
And in truth he couldn’t much claim to being interested in Jane’s floppy, flabby figure. Not after being with a slim and vibrant little slip of a thing like Clarice. The differences between the two were just too startling to ignore.
Besides, dammit, he was tired. He didn’t want to be the object, no matter how affectionately, of some crazy woman’s fantasies. And besides that
…
Too late. Janie was naked by then—and if he ever wanted an enemy for life he was sure he knew how to get one: just let a woman, any woman, get naked and offer herself to him, then reject the offer; that would do the job all right—and she was on her knees, busily unfastening the buttons at his fly.
Longarm smothered a sigh and let the fool woman go ahead with what she was doing, She would find out for herself soon enough that she was pursuing a lost cause. He just plain didn’t have anything left down there to give her.
“Oh. Beautiful. This is just so pretty, sweetie. So nice.”
She had his shorts down around his ankles now, leaving only a middling growth of pubic hair in place to defend his modesty.
“If I could paint, honey, I’d do a drawing of this thing,” she cooed. “Better yet I wish I could sculpt.” She laughed. “That way I’d have a little something to fall back on whenever you weren’t around.”
He could feel her breath on his skin. Very sensitive down there at the moment. Worn-out but sensitive nonetheless, oh yes it was.
He could feel her breath and then he could feel her lips and next her tongue. Damn, but the woman’s mouth was warm. It felt almost hot around him. And nicely wet. it was … soothing. Pleasant. He was too tired to say it excited him exactly. But it felt mighty nice regardless.
She played with his balls while she sucked and gobbled at him for a spell, then with a wink turned herself around and kind of slithered underneath his crotch, forcing her head between his legs so that she could reach his asshole with her tongue. Janie Sproul was no shrinking violet, uh-uh. She gave him a rimming and a bit of a reaming and came up grinning at herself because by the time she was done doing that, he had a hard-on that a cat couldn’t have scratched. Damn thing was like polished marble. Hell, the head was engorged so full of blood that the skin was shiny. Longarm was impressed. Also amazed.
“Are you gonna put that pretty thing in me, honey? Or what?”
“Reckon I can handle that if you insist, ma’am,” he said in an exaggerated drawl.
Janie laughed. And grabbed him by the pecker to lead him the few steps across the room to the bed. The woman, he thought, was not exactly shy, was she?
Chapter 32
He was drowsing, half-asleep, when a light tapping on the room door wakened him. He sat upright with the thought that he’d already done this, He remembered it for certain sure. Except it wasn’t an exact repeat of a previous experience, couldn’t be, because this time Janie Sproul was occupying the right-hand two thirds of the rumpled and sweaty bed and was snoring just a little. A delicate and ladylike creature. Uh-huh.
Longarm shook his head, bit a yawn back behind chattering teeth and stood upright. Groggy and disoriented though he was, he plucked the Colt from its holster draped over the bedpost, and carried the revolver with him as he stumbled his way to the door.
“Who is it and do you have an awful good reason t’ be there?”
“It’s me. Amos.”
“Oh, Lester. Right.”
“Let me in.”
