“Not so bad.”
“If I hurt you, you let me know.”
“I’ll scream.”
She dug her nails unto his thighs, smiled wickedly, and said, “That won’t necessarily mean you’re hurting.”
She took his cock in both hands, stroked it lovingly until it was long and hard and throbbing, and then took it into her mouth.
She began to suck on him, wetting him thoroughly, moaning as she rode him up and down with her mouth.
He groaned, and she released him from the velvet grip of her mouth.
“I hurt you?”
“It hurts so good,” he said.
She smiled, stood up, and started to undress. He’d wondered how she would took naked. Now he knew. She was tall, long-legged, and heavy-breasted. Her skin was pale and smooth, and her flesh seemed to glow in the light from the window.
She got in bed with him, both of them naked.
“I’m not going to be able to move much,” he warned her.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll do all the moving for both of us.”
She kissed him, on the mouth, the neck, the stomach. She worked her way back down to his still hard penis and went to work on it again, with her hands and her mouth. She got him to the point where he had to grit his teeth to keep from shouting, but it still wasn’t from pain—not in his hip anyway.
“Jesus,” he said, “come up here.”
She released him, looked up at him from between his legs.
“Up where?”
“Up here where I can get to you.”
“Ooh,” she said, “this sounds like fun.”
She moved up so he could get to her with his hands—but then she said, “Wait, I have an idea.”
She put a leg on either side of his head and squatted over his face. He could see the muscles on the inside of her thigh, knew she’d be able to stay like that for a long time.
She lowered her fragrant pussy to his mouth, pressed it to him. He stuck out his tongue, licked her until she was so wet his face was sopping, as well. And still he went on, using his tongue and his lips, taking her smooth buttocks in his hands, relieving some of the pressure on her thighs and calves. She rubbed herself over his face, harder and harder until she gasped, tensed, and gushed…
Later still she squatted over him again, only this time it was right over his rigid cock. She reached down to hold him in place, and then slid the length of him inside her. She did this with her back to him, thinking she could keep most of her weight off him this way. He also found it fascinating to watch as her ass bounced up and down on him, and his cock went in and out. He’d never before had such a clear view of the action, and he found it quite stimulating. Enough so that he lasted quite a long time…
“Look at you,” she said later, laughing. “What?”
She touched his chin.
“Your chin is rubbed raw from my hair.”
She leaned over and kissed his chin, then his mouth. He was the man she had been waiting for, for a long time. Even though he couldn’t move because of his hip, he was better than any man she’d ever been with.
“Can I sleep here?” she asked. “I’m tired.”
“Sure.”
“And then we can go again.”
“After we both get some sleep,” he said.
FORTY-THREE
When there was a knock on the door, it was Cynthia who answered it. She pulled on her shirt, and he watched her long legs as she walked to the door.
“It’s Detective Fellows,” she said.
“Let him in—if you don’t mind.”
She laughed and opened the door wide so Fellows could enter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bodeen. How’re you doin’, Clint?”
“Doctor says nothing’s broken,” Clint said. “I’ll heal. How about you?”
Fellows held up his hands, which were bandaged.
“Not too bad.”
“Still got a job?”
“Oh, yeah,” the detective said. “The chief’s happy we got the killer. He thinks that’s the end of it.”
“Only time will tell,” Clint said. “Whoever he was working for might keep trying, send somebody else. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Unless we find him,” Fellows said.
“That’s right, unless we find him.”
“I can be out of this bed by morning,” Clint told him.
“Well, I may be able to find him before that,” Fellows said.
“How?”
“By proving again that I’m good at this detective stuff.”
“Go ahead, prove it.”
“It might put you at risk.”
Clint laughed and shook his head.
“What else is new?”
Both men turned away while Cynthia got herself dressed. Clint did it only as a courtesy to Fellows, so the man wouldn’t feel awkward.
“Okay, you can turn around,” she told them.
When they did, she looked impeccable, unlike a woman who had spent the afternoon having sex.
“Cynthia, you’re sure about Patrick?”
“My husband would like the university project to go away,” she said. “He’ll bluster and threaten, but he hasn’t the nerve to do anything about it.”
“What about the foreman?” Fellows asked.
“He’ll generally do what he’s told, but he doesn’t have much imagination. He has no cause to sabotage a major building project.”
“And you?” Fellows asked quietly.
She laughed. “I’m flattered that you ask, Detective, but as long as I have enough money to spend—and an occasional lover or two—I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got.” She gave Clint a very pointed look.
“What about your horse?” Clint asked. “We tracked it from the construction site right into your barn.”
Cynthia smiled. “What about it? I never denied that I rode out there. But I had nothing to do with setting fires—at least not the kind that damages property.”
“Who was driving the buckboard?” Fellows persisted. “We found two sets of tracks—one belonging to your horse and the other made by a buckboard and horse.”
“His name is my secret,” she told him emphatically. “But I assure you he had nothing to do with the trouble out at the university.”
There was strength in her words, but then Clint noticed a brief sadness come into her eyes. It disappeared in an instant, but suddenly he knew—it was Fitz. He and Cynthia could have met out at the building site, then parted ways on the road afterward. He’d mentioned that he had a room in town.
“I believe you,” Clint said quietly. “And I believed you when you said your husband had nothing to do with the vandalism.”
“Thank you.” Cynthia nodded, and a moment of understanding passed between them. So not only had Clint lost his friend, but Cynthia had lost a lover. And the killer was still at large.
“Right now, though,” Clint went on, “you better leave before we talk about what we have in mind.”
“That will give me deniability, huh?”
“Exactly,” Fellows said.
“I’ll see you again, Clint,” she said. “I’ll continue to…nurse you back to health.”
“Fred, why don’t you walk the lady downstairs?” Clint suggested.
“Why?” Fellows asked. “I mean, not that I’m not a gentleman—”
“In case you haven’t notice,” Clint said, “I’m naked under this sheet. I need to put something on. And you need to make some…arrangements?”
“Oh, all right,” Fellows said. “Mrs. Bodeen?”
“Cynthia, Detective,” she said, “just call me Cynthia.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
FORTY-FOUR
The word certainly had gone around that Clint and Detective Fellows had caught and killed the man responsible for sabotaging the university construction and killing Ted Fitzgerald. This caused George Eiland much anxiety. He’d hired the killer and had put all his confidence in the man. Once t
he project was held up indefinitely, he’d find a way to make off with what remained of the money—a still significant amount that would absolve him of all his gambling debts. And up until today, that confidence had been warranted—the money he had paid the man was worth it. But nothing was worth it if the law found out that he had hired him.
The word had circulated that Clint Adams had been injured and was in bed in his room. The word also spread that the killer had talked to Adams, who would testify when he was able to get out of bed.
Eiland sat in his room until well after dark, fretting. He did not have the time to go out and find himself another killer. If Clint Adams was to be silenced, he was going to have to do it himself. Not one accustomed to gunplay, he had to work up the nerve. He had a .32 caliber pistol in his possession, because that was what men were supposed to do in the West, carry a pistol, but he had never had occasion to use it.
There didn’t seem to be any other choice.
Clint lay in his bed in the dark. Fellows was in another room, waiting. Clint’s gun was not hanging on the bedpost. The empty holster was, but he had his gun in his hand, and his door was unlocked. Whoever had hired the killer had no choice. He either had to get out of town, or try to kill Clint.
Fellows had grabbed another policeman to help. He was stationed in the lobby with instructions to stop anyone—anyone, man or woman—who tried to leave the building.
Clint had his trousers back on, was sitting with his back to the bedpost. Hopefully, if and when his door opened, he’d be able to react quickly enough. Taking cover would be a problem—he was even sure he could roll himself out of bed—so it would all depend on how quickly and accurately he could shoot.
As he heard the floorboards outside his room creaking, and the doorknob squeaking a little as someone tried turning it slowly, he thought about how many times his life had depended on this in the past, and he was still here.
And he certainly didn’t want to die before Cynthia Bodeen finished nursing him back to health…
Watch for
FORTY MILE RIVER
369th novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove
Coming in September!
The University Showdown Page 11