The girl sat on a fainting couch against the wall behind the door, a candle on a side table quivering over her dramatically, revealing that she wore nothing but a sheer black shift.
Her hair was down, spread messily across her bare shoulders, framing her face and smoky eyes. She still wore the gold cross; it dangled down to the top of her breasts, which the shift only partly covered.
Actually, it didn’t really cover them, just laid a filmy shadow across them, showing them in all their heavy, opulent splendor. They were as perfectly shaped as he’d imagined—firm and pointing slightly outward, with large, dark brown areolas, nipples jutting against the cloth. Longarm idly speculated that she was covered in no more silk than he could tuck under his tongue and still be able to down a meal without choking.
She had one knee up and was leaning her left arm across it. Her other leg was curled beneath it. The position lifted the shift high up on her waist, revealing the auburn tuft of hair between her thighs as well as an alluring glimpse of fleshy pink.
She tilted her head to one side, smiled with one half of her mouth, and let her eyes flick down to his crotch. “You’d better get out of those trousers before you tear right through them.”
Longarm looked down at the bulge in his pants. She was right. He could feel the pain now.
He quickly closed the door, cuffed his hat from his head, kicked out of his boots, and removed his gun and shell belt. He was out of the rest of his attire in less than a minute, letting it all fall where it may. As he tossed his longhandles away behind him, he saw her smoky gaze rake his rangy, broad-shouldered, battle-scarred body slowly.
Her eyes widened when they got to his crotch, his dong jutting high above his belly button—full and thick, the mushroom head looking as though it were about to explode.
“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.