Longarm Giant #30: Longarm and the Ambush at Holy Defiance

by Tabor Evans

  She looked at him, the fire dancing in her hazel eyes. “I know it probably doesn’t make sense. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to understand. Someday, when I’m ready, I’ll return home and take up life where I left it there…educating myself and entertaining and appreciating art and ancient relics from the Greeks and Romans. I’ll travel to Greece and Turkey, and my beau and I will marry in Paris.”

  “You stay in communication with him?”

  She studied the fire thoughtfully, shook her head. “No.”

  “How do you know he’s waitin’?”

  “Oh, I know.” Her mouth corners lifted a confident smile.

  Longarm studied her for a time, puzzled by her, fascinated. “Where’d you pick up the habit of invitin’ strange men to your rooms?”

  Her cheeks darkened slightly, and her eyes regarding the wavering flames were slightly abashed. But only slightly. “A girl gets lonely.”

  “Only strangers?”

  She looked at him, vaguely puzzled.

  “You only sleep with strangers.” He was playing a hunch, but only a slight one. “Anonymously. Never sleep with men you know. Why is that, Agent Delacroix?”

  Her voice hardened a little, defensively. “It’s simpler.”

  “Kind of risk-free, too—ain’t it? No risk of you tumblin’ for the fella. No risk of him tumblin’ for you. This way you can sort of stay undercover all the time, even in your real life.” Longarm smiled his perplexity. “What’re you afraid of, Haven? What’re you runnin’ from?”

  Her brows stitched. “What’re you talking about? I don’t run from anything! I run toward things!”

  Longarm nodded thoughtfully as he watched her. “That was you outside my door last night, wasn’t it? Before your admirers showed up with their shotguns.”

  She held his gaze. Her lips opened slightly.

  Then she sat back a little, crossed her arms on her belly, and leaned toward the fire as if she’d suddenly become chilled, though the day’s heat lingered. Her cheeks had flushed again, and he thought her chest rose and fell more heavily.

  “Ain’t no doors out here, Haven.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked crisply.

  “No doors, no walls.”

  “You believe in mixing business and pleasure?” Now her voice was haughty with reprimand.

  “When the sun goes down, I figure I’m off duty.”

  She sighed and raised her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her chin on her knees, and stared into the fire. Since the conversation appeared to be over, Longarm pulled his hat brim down over his eyes and drew a deep breath to try to rid his mind of the image of her naked and writhing beneath him.

  But then she said just as softly as before, “I’d like to suck your cock again, damn you.”

  Chapter 18

  Just then one of the horses whinnied.

  If at anytime in his life Longarm would have done something as melodramatic as to shake his fist and scream at the cosmos, it would have been then. Haven gasped and turned toward where they’d hobbled the beasts in the near wash, to her right and behind her.

  Longarm bit out a curse and gained his feet, his Colt already in his right fist, the hammer cocked. His heart thudded not from fear but from the soft echo in his head of her last words to him, just before she’d started to crawl toward him.

  And then the fucking horse had whinnied.

  “Stay here,” he said softly, stepping wide around the fire, careful not to kick their gear.

  Quietly, he stepped through some scraggly mesquite and willows lining the wash and saw the dark shadows of the horses standing before him, head to toe, both switching their tails. Longarm’s own horse faced him, but it was craning its neck to look behind, in the direction in which Haven’s steeldust was staring, twitching its ears.

  “Easy,” Longarm whispered, running a hand down along roan’s back as he moved up past it and into the mouth of a smaller feeder wash angling off to the south.

  He pricked his ears, listening closely to what the night had to tell him. There was nothing but the yammering of distant coyotes, the hooting of an owl, and the occasional murmur of a vagrant breeze scratching branches together, buffeting slim desert leaves.

  He walked several yards into the narrow wash and stopped when he was halfway around a bend. A mewling sounded before him, startling him and causing him to tighten his trigger finger, but he stopped short of firing.

  Two coyote-shaped shadows were milling around before him.

  One turned its head toward him. Longarm could see the pointed ears and the starlight glistening in one of its eyes. The coyote gave a deep, feral growl and then yipped sharply, frustrated, and wheeled and thrashed some mesquite branches.

  Both night hunters were both gone just as suddenly as Longarm had come upon them.

  He moved forward and found what had lured them here. A dead fawn. Or what was left of it. They might have dragged it here or found it here, likely carried here by the spring floodwaters.

  Longarm walked back the two, still-edgy horses, patting them both to silence, and then returned to the camp. Haven stood at the edge of the firelight, looking toward him, her arms crossed on her chest, her LeMats in her hands, their barrels resting against her shoulders.

  “Anything?”

  “Coyote.” Longarm had holstered his own Colt. He stopped in front of her, looked down at her. “Now, where were we?”

  She stared up at him. As far as he could tell in the darkness, with the fire behind her, her face wore no expression whatever.

  Slowly, she uncrossed her arms, shoved her LeMats down into their holsters slung low on her curving, slender hips. She unbuckled her cartridge belt and set it down with her gear near the fire, and then turned to him and kicked out of her boots before beginning to unbutton her blouse.

  Longarm stood staring at her, his muscles having turned to stone. His heart thudded. And then as she removed her blouse to show a thin, pink chemise beneath, her nipples poking hard against the sheer fabric, he quickly unbuckled his own cartridge belt, swiped his hat off his head, and kicked out of his boots.

  He was naked in under a minute. She was a little slower, more methodical, but she soon stood naked before him, beside the fire, which burnished the near side of her body with copper, casting shadow over the other half. Her breasts were dark cones jutting toward him.

  Longarm walked toward her, his cock hard and angling nearly straight up.

  He stopped before her, until the head of his cock was touching her warm, flat belly. The feel of her flesh against his shaft caused excitement to ripple up the backs of his legs. She wrapped both hands around it lightly.

  “Wait,” she said in a soft, raspy voice.

  She walked over and retrieved his brown frock coat, brought it back, and spread it on the ground in front of him. She knelt on the coat, so that her head was a foot away from his cock, and then she wrapped her arms around his legs, and placed her hands on his buttocks.

  He heard a very faint wet crackling when she parted her lips and moved her head forward. It was dark between them so he couldn’t see well down past his belly, and he sucked a sharp breath when he felt her tongue touch the head of his cock. He held his breath when she slid her tongue up over the orifice and across the top of the swollen, throbbing head.

  Swirling her tongue slowly, she licked every inch of the head of his cock, bathing it in her hot saliva.

  After several minutes of this harrowing torture, which he endured with his fists clenched at his sides, heels grinding into the sandy ground under his bare feet, she closed her mouth over the head. Soft warmth engulfed him. He tightened his jaws. Moving her head toward his crotch, she slid her mouth with excruciating slowness down the length of him toward his balls.

  When he could feel his cock in the tightness of her throat, she stopped, gagged, jerking her head and shoulders slightly, but held him there taut against her tonsils. He could feel her saliva trickling down from her mouth and w
arming nearly ever inch of him lodged in her throat.

  She squirmed and groaned and then slid her mouth back and off him, drawing a deep, liquid breath, gasping and pumping him with one hand while she gazed up at him.

  “So big. You’re so fucking big.”

  Longarm groaned.

  She continued to pump him slowly with her soft, gentle hands while she gazed up at him from her knees, her eyes showing blue-green in the starlight. “I’ve thought about that night in Leadville many times. I’m going to think about it many times more before I die. You’re the most man I’ve ever had.”

  She kissed his cock, caressed it with her cheek and then cupped his heavy balls in both her hands, staring up at him once more. “It was the most satisfying experience I’ve ever had with any man. The awful thing about it, though, is that it’s all I can think about now. I keep wanting to be so completely filled again. That’s why I’ve been so…moody. I haven’t meant to be, Custis. Can I call you Custis?”

  She seemed to be waiting for an answer to the question.

  He said, “Don’t see why not,” in a pinched voice, grinding his heels back into the sand while she hefted his balls in her hands and sucked the head of his cock with passion, groaning.

  She pulled her mouth off him with a slight popping sound and smacked her lips together, drawing a breath between her wet, shiny lips. “It’s just that I’ve never had such complete pleasure, and this need for it again…and again…and again…” She shook her head as though deeply confounded. “I just don’t understand it. It frightens me!”

  “No need to be afraid.”

  “I think I want to finish blowing you. I want to feel your hot seed in my throat. And then will you fuck me from behind…like last time? Like a couple of back-alley curs?”

  “Sure.”

  “And then, let’s please not speak of this, okay?”

  He frowned down at her. Every nerve was leaping inside of him, his heart beating slowly, heavily, his pulse throbbing in his temples.

  Christ almighty, he’d never known a woman to talk this much!

  “I’d just rather not speak of it, no matter what happens again between us in the future.” Haven ran her tongue up from the base of his cock to the tip, and then slid her mouth off of him, causing his cock to bob against her cheek. “Will that be all right, Custis?”

  “Fine, fine,” he said through a moan, fearing he would pass out before she could finish him.

  She smiled, slitting her eyes devilishly, and then swallowed him again, gagging on him, and then sliding her mouth back to the head of his cock.

  Back down again. Back. Down.

  Back.

  Down.

  Faster.

  Longarm’s knees turned to putty. He groaned, placed his hand on the girl’s head as she rammed it back and forth against his belly. His cock seemed to grow though it couldn’t possibly get any larger without exploding.

  And then he ground his molars till he thought they’d turn to dust, arched his back, threw his hips forward, and fired off his load until he thought he could hear the Gatling gun–like reports echoing around the canyon.

  She drank every drop.

  She gagged on it, but she very dutifully held her mouth down as far as she could, and took every bit of his seed that he let geyser down past her tonsils. When her face turned red and she began convulsing from lack of air, she swallowed one more time. He groaned at the pleasurable feeling of her throat contracting against his nearly spent organ. Falling back on her butt, propped on her arms outstretched behind her, she drew a ragged breath, panting as she smiled up at him.

  “Now, that was fun.”

  Longarm’s knees buckled. He dropped in the dirt before her. He, too, panted, feeling his cock droop though there was still some desire there. That’s how special this gal was. She could drink him dry and still he was ready to take her again.

  Her breasts spilled back against her chest, bulging out across her ribs, her nipples jutting. He leaned down and kissed each in turn and then he rose, picked her up in his arms, and lay her down on his bedroll, resting her head back against his saddle.

  “Already?” she said, looking up at his face and then down at his cock.

  “No.” Longarm shook his head. “Not yet. First…” He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out his travel flask. “First, a drink.”

  He offered her the flask. To his surprise, she took it, took a pull, then another pull. She tipped her head back like a bird, swallowing, and smacked her lips. “Tastes good mixed with your come.”

  Longarm’s ears fairly burned at the change in this girl from earlier in their journey. She’d become the lusty nymphomaniac he’d met back in Leadville. He liked the change in her, couldn’t imagine her being any other way now.

  Chuckling, he took a long pull from the flask, offered it to her once more. When she shook her head, he hammered the cork back into the mouth with the heel of his hand, set it down against his saddle, and lay down beside her.

  She crawled over him to lie between his legs, resting her back against his chest, placing his hands on her breasts.

  They lay there together, snuggling against each other, exploring each other’s intimate parts gently, slowly, not saying anything. She was more intoxicating than any forty-rod that Longarm had ever drunk—more intoxicating than the explosive tiswin the Apaches imbibed in to work themselves up for war.

  The fire had gone out.

  She reached over and tossed a mesquite branch on the glowing, crackling coals, saying, “I want to see our shadows when you fuck me from behind like a dirty dog, Custis.”

  “Well, this dirty dog’s ready to get to it,” he said, drawing her back onto the blankets and gentling her belly down against them. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up onto her knees.

  “Custis?”

  “What?”

  “Have no mercy.”

  “Never, Haven.”

  Longarm shoved his cock into her gaping, waiting pussy. Soon their shadows were jouncing wildly on the ground beside the fire. Both were aware enough of where they were to not make a lot of noise beside the muffled grunts and groans of coupling coyotes, lest someone should hear.

  Then they slept entangled in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 19

  Longarm awoke the next morning feeling as though he’d tangled with seven bobcats in the back of a covered wagon.

  He slid out from beneath Haven, who slept naked beneath the two wool blankets of his hot roll, and dressed quietly in the predawn darkness. He rummaged around in the brush for more dry wood and laid a new fire.

  When he dropped a branch atop the building flames, Haven lifted her head from his saddle with a gasp, clutching her blankets to her breasts, her eyes sharp with fear between tangles of her lustrous brown hair.

  “Easy,” he said, holding up one hand, palm out. “Just me.”

  She did not blink but continued to stare at him as though he were a bear that had wandered into her camp. The fear was slow to fade. When it did, her pale cheeks were touched with the pink of embarrassment, and then she rose quickly, holding his blankets around her luscious body, and gathered her clothes.

  When she had them all, she tramped off into the mesquites to dress in private.

  Longarm got out his pot and made coffee, casting speculative glances at the mysterious creature in the mesquites beyond him. He’d never known a girl quite like her, and he had a feeling there was plenty more to her story than what she’d shared last night.

  “Looks like it’s going to be another hot day,” she said, throwing her hair out from her shirt collar when she returned from the brush, dressed and carrying his blanket roll neatly tied. She looked around and he saw that the earlier, mysterious fear was gone from her eyes, the old Haven Delacroix returned.

  At least, the day one.

  Very odd how she could be one person during the day, nearly the opposite one at night.

  As they ate jerky and biscuits for breakfast a
nd drank coffee, they said little, and what they did say in no way referenced the night before. They discussed the route to the dead lawmen’s graves, and they discussed the missing gold and who might have taken it, and where they might find water out here, and that was all. It was almost, Longarm thought, as though they had not coupled like wolves only a few hours ago.

  As though theirs were only a cool, impersonal, professional relationship.

  Which was fine with him. Odd. But fine.

  He did, however, feel compelled to say later, as they finished saddling their horses with the sun nearly up, “Since we’re partnered up an’ all, Haven…I mean, Agent Delacroix…you can tell me anything you want, you know. Anything you might want to get off your chest.” He draped his saddlebags over the roan’s back and looked at her over his saddle. “Just so’s you know.”

  He meant that she could tell him why she’d had such fear in her eyes when she’d first seen him this morning, after their rare, erotic intimacy of the night before.

  She took her steeldust’s reins and swung into the leather, the saddle squawking beneath her, looking at him with a faint, appreciative smile, the smile of a stranger passing on the street. “Why, thank you, Marshal Long. I do appreciate that, I guess…”

  She reined away and nudged her horse with her heels.

  Longarm chuffed softly, curiously, and swung up onto the roan’s back. He followed Agent Delacroix to the old Indian trail they’d been following, and then she held up to allow him to take the lead. He was the one with the map, and as they rode throughout the morning, he consulted the plat frequently, looking around at the changing terrain. It was hard to tell because of the sketchiness of the map and all the various formations sliding around him, but he believed that they were in, or nearly in, the Black Puma Mountains.

  They rode between two low, shelving mesas and then dropped into a broad canyon, and suddenly he reined the roan up beside a trail that curved out of the desert on his left and swept off into the desert to his right, disappearing into the humped shapes of what he took to be the Black Pumas. Off the far side of the trail about a hundred yards appeared to be a wash.