“No,” she said. “Hold still and let me do this.”
Longarm nodded. And did as the girl asked.
Her movements were subtle. Soft. Marvelously calculated to please.
Much of the feeling came from the unseen but maddeningly powerful contractions inside her. She had a degree of muscle control that went beyond reason. But then logic and reason were not what this was about. “You like it?” she asked again.
“It’s wonderful.”
The compliment seemed to be what she wanted most. She smiled and sighed. And moved beneath him.
“Hold still,” she warned. “I can feel you moving.”
“I can’t hold still no more, dammit.”
Dawn tried to frown at that, but he could see the pride and the power in her eyes. She was proud of her ability to take him past his ability to control himself. It seemed to be what she wanted. “Hold still,” she ordered. But he could see that she knew he could not and that she was glad that he could not.
“Now!” he cried out, lunging forward. Impaling her on the hard spear of his pleasure. Driving bone-deep inside her body.
He bucked and shuddered and was sure he could feel a quick, convulsive response in Dawn’s flesh as his own climax spilled beyond containment and his seed spurted hot and milky into her womb.
The girl cried out at the same time he came, and her nails dug hard into Longarm’s shoulders. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rode him like a bronc-buster breaking a strong colt to saddle.
Longarm stiffened, his wild plunging halted along with the flow of his juices, and after several tremulous moments collapsed on top of her.
He felt drained, utterly spent and exhausted. “That,” he said slowly, “was damn fine.”
Dawn sighed, her expression languid and dreamy, and pressed her face against his neck. Her breath was warm and soft there.
“Thank you,” she said.
He thought about asking her. First the other day. And now this time. She was a whore. She screwed God knows how many men every day of her life. And yet she was the one who wanted, insisted, that he take her.
And not for money. She had not been paid either time he was with her.
There had to be a reason why, of course. He could not begin to understand what that reason might be. A resemblance to a loved one in her past? A fantasy figure that took her into a better world of make-believe? He did not know except to know there had to be a reason, whatever that reason might prove to be.
But to ask her outright? He decided not to. Talking about it would only confuse him. And possibly cause pain to Dawn. She might not even consciously know herself what it was that impelled her to seek pleasure in this stranger’s arms.
Whatever it was, she was a joy to be with. And that, after all, was all he really had to know about it. He had pleased her quite as much as she pleased him. That was enough.
He kissed the girl’s forehead, her eyes, finally the softness of her mouth. “Thank you,” he whispered, and for whatever reason he could see small tears well up jewel-like in her eyes.
He hated to leave her now, but he would have to go soon. He had work to do downstairs. Serious work. A few minutes more and then he would go. But not quite yet. For this quiet, gentle moment he would continue to hold and to stroke and to reassure her that she was not alone, that he was with her and appreciated her and was pleased with the great gift she had given to him.
“Thank you,” he whispered again, and received in return a hug and the spill of her tears.
Chapter 35
“And the dealer takes three,” Longarm said, tossing his discards aside and sliding three cards off the top of the deck that rested on the table in front of him. “What’s your bet, opener?” he asked without looking at his draw. “Check,” Ronnie Gordon responded. “I bet a dime,” Carl Benson put in. “See your ten and up five cents.”
“Call,” Longarm said.
“I’m out,” Billy Madlock decided after a pause for deliberation. “Call,” Ronnie said. “Call.”
“Is everyone in?” Benson laid down a full house, eliciting a round of groans.
“This is your night, Carl,” Longarm told him.
“About time too. Speaking of time, I suppose you’ll have to hurry to catch your man now.”
“Why is that?” Longarm asked.
“You know. The tracks will be open again soon. Whoever murdered that whore can get away.”
“No, he can’t,” Longarm said as he pitched a nickel into the center of the table to ante.
“No? But I thought … I mean, you haven’t arrested anyone. Have you?” Madlock’s young face twisted with consternation. “Surely someone would have said something about big news like that even if you wanted it kept quiet for some reason.”
“Nope,” Longarm agreed. “No arrest yet.” He cut the deck for Billy’s deal, and leaned back in his chair while he took a cheroot from his pocket and began to trim the twist with exquisite care. “Tomorrow morning,” he said as he struck a match and applied the flame to the blunt end of the cheroot.
“What about tomorrow morning?”
