The road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but the road to Redemption had nothing to recommend it that night. Like a long black snake it slithered through the dark countryside, shrouded by clouds that veiled the face of the moon. Eerie it was, and as I urged poor Dory along I shivered from something other than the cold.
Although it was past eleven, when the sinless citizens of Redemption would be sleeping, squares of light broke the darkness where the jailhouse sat like a wallflower at a ball: present, but seldom spared a second glance. Odd, that our overpaid deputy, Virgil Furmeister, would be burning the midnight oil. He rarely did much by day, except waddle between his office and the cafe, to swill coffee and fill up on pastries at Etta's Pie Shoppe. A bad omen, indeed, that I heard raised voices at the back of the building, where the two jail cells were.
Attorney that I was, and curious by nature, I tied Dory's reins to the hitching post and stepped inside. Oppressive heat hit me in a wave, which told me the Franklin stove had been fired up for hours. But it was the raised voices in the back that filled in the pertinent details.
"Quitcher yammerin', Tripplehorn!" Furmeister said with a wheeze. "If Judge Legg says you killed his little girl, that's all I need to know! You're goin' nowhere!"
My eyes widened. The paperwork strewn on the deputy's desk suddenly seemed beneath my snooping.
"You know damn well I never touched a hair on Lucy's head!" retorted a familiar voice.
The bottom of my stomach dropped. Silently I stepped toward the cells, sensing the deputy would bait his prisoner all night unless I intervened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! How could Lucy Legg be dead, when- "Well, I know what you did touch, you cocky dog-'cause I watched you in that alley yesterday! Shoulda hauled your ass to jail right then and there, but-"
"But you were whacking off, wishing you could pump her!" Billy shot back. "Since you saw the whole thing, you know Lucy started it. And you know I've been sweet on her for a long-"
"Yeah, yeah-it's long, all right, but this time that cock of yours got caught in the wrong-"
"Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem?" I interrupted in my most intimidating Alex Moore voice. "I heard your argument all the way from the street! What's going on here?"
Virgil turned as fast as his bulk allowed him, giving me a profile shot of a middle-aged, blue-uniformed man who might've swallowed a bowling ball. "Workin' late, Counselor?" he asked slyly.
"Seems we both are," I replied, keeping my face blandly composed. This dimwitted lawman knew who paid his wages, just as I was the only lawyer the locals could hire when they got hauled into Judge Legg's courtroom. Not that Virgil and I would've been friends under different circumstances. "And since I wasn't called to consult with Mr. Tripplehorn, I can also assume that his rights have been abridged-or ignored altogether. Correct?"
Furmeister sneered at my fancy vocabulary-and because he was privy to information he wanted to rub my nose in. "Billy's bein' held on the magistrate's orders, and that's all there is to know. I hear tell Judge Legg's lookin' for you, too, Counselor. Somethin' about bein' an accessory, helpin' Billy here escape. Somethin' about two funerals-Miss Lucy's tomorrow, and the end of your practicin' law in this town."
I raised an eyebrow. If Virgil had seen the rutting couple in the alley, and watched me driving Billy out of town, he also knew that Lucy Legg was very much alive-making a noisy plea to her daddy-when we left. So why was the magistrate holding Billy for murder? And why was Furmeister going along with it?
The answers fell somewhere between dusk, when Billy had escaped with me, and daylight, when he'd run from the Sisters of Samaria…or perhaps from a desperate Andrea who wanted to keep him for herself.
Either way, discussing the details in front of this lame-brained deputy was a mistake. I straightened to my full height and gave Billy a purposeful look-but my insides nearly melted at the sight of him. With his powerful hands wrapped around those iron bars and his defiant eyes shining as hard as dark marbles beneath those mussed umber waves, he was the picture of a rebel…the sort of reckless, devil-be-damned lover every woman wished would bed her. He'd been wearing Virgil down with his demands, figuring the old toad couldn't last much longer without sleep-or fortifying himself at the cafe. No doubt Tripplehorn had plans to disappear after a daring escape that would leave the natives talking for months to come. Every man his age considered himself invincible, after all.
"Don't say anything, and don't do anything foolish," I warned him in my best advisor's voice. "I'm going to question Judge Legg about this matter, and then I'll be back for you."
"You'll be back to fill that other cell, Mr. Moore," Virgil taunted, his belly vibrating with laughter. "The magistrate won't take kindly to bein' woke in the middle of the night, after the day he's had losin' Lucy. You'll be sorry you ever met Mr. Tripplehorn here!"
I'd had that thought before-about the time those three lady vamps started circling Billy in the parlor, and again when Pandora's tarot cards foretold doom and gloom for this relationship. I swallowed hard. Here was that Tower card predicting a bolt from the blue for that blonde Empress, who resembled Lucy. "Things that have passed away," the witchy woman had intoned as she placed the cards on the table.
And now Lucy was dead. And Billy-and I, by association-were being held responsible, despite the absurdity of Harold Legg's accusation. I was the only one who could get to the bottom of this; the only one who could clear Billy's name. But as I strode from the overheated jailhouse into the night, I knew better than to ignore Virgil's bluster completely: if I, as Alex Moore, got thrown into jail on such trumped-up charges, justice would never be served. I would have to outfox Judge Legg at his own game…take advantage of the grief and emotions that overrode his legal expertise, to gather some irrefutable facts about how and when his daughter had died.
I drove to my office and parked the buggy behind the false-fronted building, so I could slip in through my back door. I had a lot to think about in a very short time, for if Lucy's funeral was tomorrow-allowing no time for the customary condolence calls and prayer vigils-any evidence I might find on her body would soon be buried. And while a woman in love might do some mighty outlandish things to prove her young stud innocent, grave digging went beyond my limits.
Something smacked of concealment here. What father would rush his beloved daughter into her coffin, denying himself those final, precious hours of her presence…unless he didn't want folks looking her over too closely?
Had Harold Legg learned his beloved little girl was pregnant? Had he killed her in his wrath-or to uphold his reputation in this repressive little town?
My stomach rumbled uneasily at the thought, for this seemed a much more logical motive than Billy Tripplehorn had. And the magistrate's authoritarian temper was legend, while the young man he'd jailed might have gone along with Lucy's scheme-at least until he tired of living with a peevish young mother and her squalling infant. Even then, I couldn't believe he'd strike out in anger. Not after the way he'd handled me in bed.
Whatever the case, I couldn't simply knock on the Judge's door and demand an explanation, straight up. My chances at the truth were better if I didn't run across Harold Legg at all-at least until I'd seen Lucy's body and mulled over all the possible scenarios for her demise. While I'd always thought her shallow and conniving and rotten beyond redemption, she was merely a girl who'd tried an age-old solution for an untimely pregnancy. She didn't deserve to die for it! Nor did Billy need to be her scapegoat.
As I mulled these things over, I was slipping out of Alex's suit and sideburns, to put on a simple dress I kept hidden in my little back room-it saved Andrea countless trips to the mansion when she needed to shop for orphanage supplies or food. I had to concoct a careful story, however, because the overseer of so many young children had no valid reason for being in town at this hour. The clock on my office mantel was striking twelve as I brushed my long hair over my shoulders. A few quick swipes of a wet cloth removed the masculine shadow along my jaw, and the small mirror pronounced me female again. Female, and plain enough not to attract attention as the shepherdess of Redemption's little lost sheep.
Could I pull the wool over Legg's eyes? Or, more importantly, could I convince the undertaker, Nathaniel Dammet, I had a legitimate reason to see Lucy? These days, the mortician's art had taken on a secretive side akin to black magic; things that went on in his embalming room rendered the dead viewable for years-not to mention more pleasant to be around on hot summer days. Much more complicated and formalized than dusting the skin with cornstarch and putting heavy coins on the eyelids, for visitation in the family's own parlor. I was hoping the hurried nature of Lucy's funeral would mean Nat was still working on her- And the light glowing through the downstairs curtains of the huge old home, which sat like a sentinel at the gates of Redemption Cemetery, told me it was my lucky night. If one could consider a midnight visit to a mortician lucky.
I approached the back door, my heart thumping hard. What did one say to a man who prepared the dead for a living? Bad enough that Nathaniel Dammet had been cursed with such a name, by a mother prone to flights of fanatical fantasy. The poor man was also deformed…a victim of his mother's Old Testament philosophy of "if your eye offends you, pluck it out."
Seems that when Nat was about twelve, she caught him on a snowy day practicing his penmanship before an audience of admiring girls, and the sight of that yellow ink in the snow drove Miranda Dammet over the edge. After that, nobody questioned why her husband had disappeared, years before. She'd whacked her son's offending member! Had a neighbor not rushed him to the doctor, Nathaniel might've died!
No doubt, over the years, he was wishing he had, since his name couldn't be mentioned without a reminder of his mother's affront to his manhood. Everyone in Redemption believed he took up taxidermy as a hobby just to irritate her-and then, as the final blow to her fragile sanity, he'd attended embalming school. Dammet was the wealthiest man in town, but what did that matter when everyone whispered about his…deformity, and the unspeakable acts he probably performed on a corpse? Rumor had it that when Miranda passed on, Nat preserved her in some gawdawful pose and relegated her to the bowels of this house-although no one had actually seen this monument to his final revenge.
Such thoughts gave me pause as I stood at the back door. Maybe Billy should come up with his own defense, considering how he'd sneaked away from my bed without even a weak excuse! Maybe Alex Moore should be rescuing his legal career, rather than prying into the questionable affairs of a magistrate whose promiscuous daughter had started all this. Amazing, how my world had been upended these past thirty-six hours-and all because I couldn't keep my eyes off the cock of a randy young man who was nothing but trouble.
My resolve faltering, I stepped away-but then a movement caught my eye, through the curtain of the nearest cellar window. I blinked. A gap between the fabric and the rod gave me a bird's-eye view of Mr. Dammet's work table, where Lucy Legg lay naked, bathed in the low light of perhaps two dozen candles. They flickered around her as though paying tribute to her ethereal beauty… the soft blonde hair brushed over shoulders and ripe young breasts…the face enhanced with careful cosmetics, to emphasize lips closed in a serene smile like she'd never worn- But wait-her breasts were jiggling! I stuck a fist in my mouth, to keep from crying out at the thought of her body convulsing with the youthful lust that had led Billy astray. But no-curiosity drove me to step closer. And that's when I saw Nathaniel Dammet on his knees, straddling her. He was naked, too-a firm, virile figure for a man somewhat older than I, except for that pathetic nub between his legs. He was fondling himself, aiming it toward Lucy's- Before I could think clearly, I rushed through the door and toward the table. "How dare you defile Miss Lucy's-? When Judge Legg hears about this-"
I suddenly realized I'd made a grave mistake! I wheeled around to leave, fighting the urge to vomit and scream at the same time. The fragrance of those candles didn't quite mask the furtive odor of formaldehyde, and in the back of my mind I realized this whole scene had been witnessed by a silent, nude woman enthroned on a chair. Had she really been smoking a stogy and wearing buckle-front galoshes?
"Wait! Don't you dare tell Harry-"
Viselike fingers closed around my upper arm just as I reached the door, which Nat Dammet closed by throwing himself against it. He gasped for breath, clutching me in a death grip while trying to figure out who the hell I was. Plainness, and the social invisibility that went with it, had its advantages at such moments. Thank goodness being intellectually cornered in the courtroom had taught me how to think in a tight spot, because as the mortician regained his composure-except for his dink, which shriveled into a little knot above his balls-his rational thought returned, too.
"You'd better have a damn good reason for breaking into my house, Miss-"
"I was Lucy's nanny, after her mama died!" I protested in a pathetic voice-a plausible story, since the demanding little girl and her overbearing father had gone through at least a dozen such women, back then. "I was coming to pay my-"
"-or by God, Judge Legg'll be hearing your case for-"
"-respects, because I can't come to the funeral tomorrow."
Dammet's brow furrowed. "Who told you about that?"
Aha! So it was a secret. "Virgil Furmeister," I replied, my voice ringing with truth. I pushed a bit farther. "I wouldn't dream of telling the magistrate what I saw here-for we know how we'd both suffer for that! Seems a small favor, to grant me a few moments alone with this poor girl who's met such an untimely end."
As Alex Moore, I would've had better leverage-could've threatened this pervert with exposure of his evil deeds. As a woman, however, I was in no position to bargain-nor did I want to call enough attention to myself that Dammet would learn I'd my faked my employment with Judge Legg. I held the mortician's gaze for several moments, struck by how handsome he'd become in the years since I'd seen him peeing his name into a snow bank.
He relaxed at last, perhaps regretting his unacceptable behavior. "Five minutes-no more!" he snapped. "Bad enough that I've had to hurry my work on her."
"And how did she die, then?" I mused aloud, approaching the nude beauty on the table. In the ambiance of those candles, Lucy looked lush and…almost alive.
"Foul play, that's for sure!" the mortician replied. "I'm guessing she and that Tripplehorn had a squabble, and he obviously won. Good thing the judge caught them in the act, so there's no doubt about who needs to swing from a rope. Sooner than later, if you ask me!"
Well, I hadn't asked him-and I still didn't believe Billy killed her. But I kept my mouth shut, wishing Nat would leave. "I suppose that explains the bruises around her neck? And the swelling?"
"Yep. Which is why Legg wants a quiet, private service. No need to air dirty laundry-or have people's last thoughts of Miss Lucy be of violence. She could be an ornery little twat, but she'd never hurt anyone." Dammet challenged me with a direct gaze. "I'll return in a few minutes. You'd better be gone by then."
I nodded, praying he didn't recognize me as a woman associated with the orphanage. We didn't need him coming around asking questions-or calling in a marker for the favor of forgetting this confrontation. I followed his progress toward the stairs, and then wished I hadn't looked up: there, seated so she watched over this work table, sat Miranda Dammet-or at least her perfectly preserved remains. And yes, her legs were crossed in an open, masculine manner that placed her snatch at eye level on the edge of her thronelike chair. Her arms were bent behind her head, which thrust her breasts into lewd prominence, and those black, buckle-front galoshes mocked her as much as the cigar sticking out of her mouth.
Nathaniel Dammet was more warped than I thought.
I couldn't let this disturbing onlooker deter me, however. As quickly as my queasiness allowed, I lifted the soft, golden strands of Lucy Legg's hair away from her neck and studied the skin carefully. Poor girl had been manhandled, for sure…got her neck broken, judging by its odd angle. Revulsion arose in me again, and I steadied myself by studying the rest of her body. Nothing else-except that telltale roundness of her belly-gave a hint of the whys and wherefores leading to her death. Every hair on my head was quivering with the conviction that the judge had done this-that Billy Tripplehorn wasn't capable of such savagery.
But then I saw markings that stopped my heart. Two little puncture wounds, nearly invisible in the swirling purple bruises around her neck.
"Jesus, no! How could-?" I stepped away, then gazed around the morbid laboratory as though expecting a trio of bats to be fluttering in the shadows of that lime-encrusted cellar. The cloying odors of Dammet's preservatives was now more than my stomach could stand, and without bothering to smooth Lucy's hair into place, I fled the undertaker's lair.
Fresh air had never felt so good. Instinct pointed me back toward the deputy's office, for as my mind cleared I realized I had no case against anyone unless I could prove the approximate time Lucy Legg had died. My best bet was to coax Virgil Furmeister into a chatty mood-see what he'd relate about Judge Legg's story of catching Tripplehorn with his daughter, as opposed to what Billy himself would say.
All sorts of questions danced madly with all manner of answers in my mind as I approached the jailhouse, but two things were certain: those fang marks were made before Lucy gave up the ghost, and after the sun had set. And masculine hands had left those broad bruises on a neck that had snapped in a death grip.
It didn't add up. The Sisters-and Billy-had been in my room most of the night. Yet Harold Legg would've had no need to strangle Lucy if she'd already been drained. And none of this evidence even approached the issue of why.
My train of thought was again derailed, however, because when I opened the door to Furmeister's office, giddy laughter and tambourine music wrapped themselves around me. My God, the little room reverberated with the energy of three raucous Gypsy dancers, scantily clad in transparent silks of crimson and candy pink and teal-all of them circling the overstuffed deputy as he gawked at them from his chair!
I could not recall the last time Pandora, Pink, and Perfidia had come into town: years they'd remained ensconced in the mansion, happy to let me do their legwork. But then, so much had happened in these past several hours that I now realized how woefully uninformed I was about a lot of things. I could only hope that by pretending not to know them, they would in turn protect my true identity until Furmeister wasn't within earshot.
But then, why would he leave? He was seated in his swivel-backed desk chair, ogling the three Gypsy beauties as they wiggled their hips to the beat of Pink's tambourine, while lightly dragging their veils over his face. The deputy, in turn, was feeling them freely-cupping their unfettered breasts and letting his fingers drift over their lush curves as they circled him, the centerpiece of their erotic dance. Any one of them could've seduced the obese, sexually-desperate lawman with the merest come-hither wag of her finger, but with all three of them gazing playfully his way, Virgil Furmeister didn't stand a chance. What man would?
I hoped they weren't thinking to spring Billy by sinking their teeth into the deputy. Even Nat Dammet wouldn't remain quiet about a second victim to land on his table with puncture wounds in his neck. And then all hell would truly break loose in Redemption!
"Which of us would you like to fuck first? I especially like taking it up the ass," Perfidia whispered, turning to wiggle her silken-clad backside at him, "while the raven-haired lady behind you has a cunt so tight it'll suck your dick dry and leave you helpless, panting for more. Our girlie with the tambourine gives organ concerts, too. Your organ, her mouth, that is."
Virgil's eyes widened with the enormity of such a decision. While young Billy would've simply taken all three of them on, this old bucksnort had neither the stamina nor the agility to manage that-especially since the ladies seemed intent on keeping him in his throne on wheels. While they knew damn well I was watching from the doorway-just as they'd known where I was when they sashayed in to waylay the lawman-they kept Furmeister's attention riveted on their own assets. They were also remaining nameless. A good sign, that.
Perfidia's proposition gave me the perfect opportunity to slip back to Billy's cell for a quiet conference, yet I lingered…to see who Virgil chose, and to see how many seconds it took him to come. The bulge in his crotch would've been visible to a blind man, and it had to be hurting him.
"How 'bout if you turn this big old doggie loose and sit back on my lap, purty lady?" Virgil rasped.
He grinned like a kid at Christmas when the tall blonde freed his cock quicker than the wink of an eye. Most women didn't give this old clod the time of day, so Virgil had every reason to be giggling as the sleek Perfidia yanked his pants past his knees-without a hint of revulsion when his fleshy thighs and belly all but overwhelmed that purple-headed cock poking up between them.
"And I wanna watch you girls goin' after it, too!" he added in an inspired wheeze. "Nothin' quite as fine as purty girls eatin' each other out! Hop up there on my desk where I can seeya, now!"
I thought he'd fall out of his chair when Pandora and Pink not only leapt to his desktop but then dropped their sheer skirts into puddles of crimson and pink beneath their luscious bodies. As one, they ripped open their blouses, teasing Virgil with their bobbing breasts as Perfidia straddled his lap, facing them. She reached between her thighs to stroke his cock, inching toward it with her sly pussy…winking at her two cohorts as her wet nether lips kissed his tip.
Virgil howled like a wild dog and lunged upward, grabbing Perfidia's slender hips. With each thrust he grunted, sounding ready to explode at the next moment…making me very aware of how much luckier I'd been to have Billy for a lover. I was ready to slip back and talk to him, when Pink and Pandora placed their fists in their hips, scowling at Furmeister.
"Hey, mister, if it's a show you want you could at least open your eyes!" Pink chided in her schoolgirl voice. "Why should I lick her slit if nobody's watching?"
"Because you love the taste of me," Pandora replied in a heated whisper. She reached between her legs, dipping into her own nectar so she could lick it off her fingers while Virgil watched.
"Because I want to watch you myself," Perfidia joined in, leaning forward to finger Pink's snatch. "Now get on your knees and get licking, like the man wants. We can't have him complaining to the authorities about pesky Gypsy women corrupting the locals, can we?"
Pink's eyes widened playfully, and she knelt between Pandora's long, shapely legs. Her little tongue darted beneath the dark curls, coaxing her lover to spread farther and hold herself open with her quivering fingertips. Virgil groaned and lunged laboriously, his gaze riveted on the vision of a redhead lapping at a half-naked woman who was rocking on bent legs to receive her.
"Back up so I can reach you," Perfidia breathed, and the effect was nothing less than stunning: from where Virgil sat, with an agile blonde pumping his cock, he could also watch two fingers slipping inside Pink's sweet young pussy from behind, while she in turn lapped at Pandora's slit with the quick little lickings of a kitty's tongue.
Why was this sight so intoxicating? So…very, very compelling, despite all the times I'd watched these vixens at play? Perhaps it was the splattering of Pink's juices on the desktop while Pandora's cream ran in rivulets down her flawless cheeks. Or maybe it was the way that black-haired siren floated slightly above the cluttered desk to reach the best angle for the tonguing she loved. When her head lolled back and her lush breasts surged forward between the halves of her diaphanous blouse, Virgil was not the only one who sucked air.
Just as alluring was the sight of Pink's finely formed backside, flexing to moans that had replaced the beat of her tambourine. She was extremely aroused: her scent wafted around the hot little office as her juice flowed over Perfidia's hand, which slithered between those plump, rose-colored pussy lips peaking between her thighs. The three women had some devious reason for this performance, but they were every bit as involved in it as Furmeister.
And when the deputy clenched his eyes to surge upward into Perfidia, I had to turn away. So needy I was, my fist had slipped between my thighs and the friction of my drawers against my hungry cunt made it difficult to hobble down the hallway. A gawdawful groan filled the front office, but Virgil wasn't the only man seeking satisfaction! Billy, able to hear the seduction out front, and three voices he surely recognized, had lowered his pants and was pumping his prodigious cock!
"Andrea!" he rasped, his hand never missing a beat. "What the hell's happening out-"
"I'm not sure why, but the Sisters are pretending to be Gypsies! They're licking and stroking each other's cunts while Perfidia-"
"Who cares about them?" Tripplehorn challenged, his dark face alight with a mischievous heat. "Lift your skirt and back your ass up to the cell! Why should they be having all the fun?"
Was it any wonder I loved with this ornery pup? My God, his thighs flexed with each stroke of his hand, which bared the bulb of that cock-the one that had gotten me in trouble twice already-and I forgot all about the things that I, as his guardian angel, had intended to discuss with him.
No, Billy's big dick was far too inviting-his voice too full of promise-for me to remain focused on whether he'd killed Lucy Legg. Like a shameless hussy I raised my dress and dropped my damp drawers, wiggling backwards toward the bars until the cold iron met my warm cheeks.
"Yes, yes, like that," Billy whispered, inserting a finger-and then two-inside my twat. "We'll have our fun, like last night, and then, while they're still doing their cat-house act, you can slip Virgil's keys off his belt!"
The keys! Why hadn't I thought to grab them while the Three P's were keeping Furmeister too busy to notice?
But I knew the answer to that, just as I knew I wasn't going after the deputy's key ring until Tripplehorn turned me loose…which I hoped wouldn't be any time soon. My Lord, but that young buck was stroking all my right places-and meanwhile his cock was jabbing my backside through the bars, eager to take its turn at me.
The sultry laughter and fevered breathing from the other room spurred me to take Billy's dare-to let him screw me fast and furious, right here where we might be discovered at any moment. I knew better than to get caught in such a compromising position with a murder suspect, yet I was too far gone to think like the astute attorney I was.
When he hooked an arm beneath my breasts and slid that dick inside me, he held me hard against the bars-and the warm, pulsing flesh of his abdomen. "Andrea," he whispered before teasing my ear with his wet tongue, "Andrea, honey, I want you so bad I could just-"
"Then why'd you leave me? Without even a kiss goodbye or a kick in the ass?" I hissed. My slit was so full of him, the muscles squeezing his thick girth as my inner pulse pounded around its length, that I wondered how I was able to ask such a pertinent question.
Billy slid deeper, before slowly easing his cock in the opposite direction. "I had a bad feeling about Lucy. Had to be sure she was all right, after the way I ran off when her old man would catch her with her pants down."
"And?" I panted. I was sliding up and down his slick pole, my eyes closed in intense concentration.
"Dammet had just taken her away," he replied in a choked voice, and his whole body shook. "Before I could even express my condolences, Legg had my hands bound behind my back and was marching me here. Now hush and let me finish, or we'll both be in trouble."
I nodded, for those wild spasms were already starting, deep down within me. Again and again Billy slid his thick cock inside me, pulling slowly back until his knob was at my portal before plunging to my core again. Such glorious torture was driving me utterly insane with the need to cry out, but we had to be sure the revelers in the front room were still entertaining each other.
"Yeah, honey, I wanna watch you come all over that purty little redhead's face!" Virgil grunted. "Stroke that black kitty's fur till I can hear it a-purrin'!"
So I thrust back to meet my lover stroke for stroke, gripping the bars alongside my hips as I bent forward to receive him. He began to ram faster, sensing we played on borrowed time…sensing we both were on the verge of a noisy climax that would bring the others in here.
"God, Billy, give it to me!" I rasped, bracing myself against the metal bars to take his full length. "Please say you'll never leave me again!"
"If it's good loving' you want, I'm your man, Andrea," he assured me breathlessly. "I'm gonna shoot…hang on, I'm gonna-"
He was banging me like a crazy man, driving that thing inside me until I thought I might die from the pleasure of it. Like a wild animal he rutted, gripping my hips. When I tightened around him, the explosion was so swift and stunning I saw stars and started to pass out. Billy's incoherent love words floated around me, and then he gushed.
Sometime between my howl of release and Tripplehorn's final shudder, the back hallway came alive with a commotion of another kind: my eyes flew open to see Perfidia and Pink wheeling Virgil Furmeister, chair and all, into the adjoining jail cell-while Pandora yanked the keys from his belt loop! The deputy was hollering obscenities, but with his pants down around his legs and three wily women surrounding him, he was powerless. He had no idea how those half-naked Gypsies could move so fast-how they shoved his chair into the cell, slammed the door, and triumphantly turned the skeleton key in its lock before he could defend himself.
Trouble was, Pandora had already unlocked the door to Billy's cell, while the other two darted close enough to murmur appreciatively as my young lover pulled out of me.
"Better run for it, Billy!" Pink said with a giggle. "We'll catch up as soon as we can, big boy!"
No fool, he yanked his pants up around his butt and bolted, blowing me a kiss as he disappeared down the hall. My face was aflame and I could feel his seed oozing down my thighs. Damn him for leaving me yet again! Exposing my passions to the very women who didn't need to see it!
"I don't know what you Gypsies think you're doing, but-"
"You've had two turns with him, so now we'll take ours!" Miss Pink exclaimed.
And before I could lower my skirt, to keep Virgil from gawking at my wet, bare backside, I was hoisted by superhuman hands. They tossed me into Billy's cell with a heave-ho that sent me skittering backwards against the wall. Before the sickening clank of the cell door died away, those three bitches had disappeared into thin air.
Gripped by an invisible hand, the key twisted in the lock. Then it, too, flew from the room.