Southern Spirits (18 page)

Cat braced herself, as she realised that Nathan had barely penetrated her at all, and was ready for more.

His hands, smeared with lubricant, grasped her hips sharply, as he pushed further forwards, the breadth of him stretching her, the sensation furthered by the inclusion of a spectator, who looked barely able to contain his own excitement. Nathan's cock slid deeper and then, with another push, it was as deep as it could be.

Cat gasped, the blood racing to her head and making it spin, riding the waves of extraordinary delight. Tentatively, she pushed back against him, feeling his balls against her mound. His cock twitched inside her, translating into pulses of pleasure. She was able to feel every millimetre of him, and any initial pain of discomfort had been eclipsed by floods of passion. It was
muy bueno
, a wonderfully sexy sensation, and she wriggled her ass shamelessly from side to side to accentuate her thrills . . .

Until Nathan slapped her again. ‘No, no. You got us into trouble by wanting your own way. But not this time.'

Yeah, right.

As he drew in and out of her, he slapped her bum again, making her squirm and fight with the bonds around her wrists and curse and bless him in equal measures. Cat was plummeting into a deep pool of intense bliss, and her sex pulsed wildly, as if fed from the sensations radiating from her adjacent passage.

Then Nathan leant forwards, almost lying on top of her, his cock still driving in and out of her, but now he was reaching around her waist, between her skin and the bench, to find her pussy. Suspecting his intentions, she adjusted her position slightly, raising her hips and parting her thighs further, giving him access to her clit, though she doubted if he could actually reach. ‘
Puta!
'

Just as she thought she could feel no more, more came. Nathan couldn't do very much, not being a contortionist, but the presence of his fingertips, rigid little tips pressing against her clit, was enough to complete a circuit within her. And as quickly as a circuit delivering a signal, Cat felt herself coming, a huge snake of sensation slipping over her.

Nathan's cock began to twitch again, and it seemed to swell within the tight, unfamiliar confines surrounding it. Each tiny twitch was like a sweet kick inside, tempting her with the promise of another imminent orgasm.

That expectation hit her as her next orgasm did. Pleasure turned into a moment of pain as he surrendered to his own burgeoning release, and quickened his pace, his body hot and sweaty as he shot into her. But her pain passed, as if coated by his ejaculation. She felt every spurt inside her, her fingers digging uselessly into the bench, her final cry a short, sharp plea, which made her eyes roll into the back of her head and sapped her remaining strength.

Dimly she felt Nathan gently withdraw.

She lay there, clenching her buttocks to keep her received prize inside, and her throat felt raw. She was facing in Wheeler's direction, and she opened her eyes, silently challenging him to respond.

But he just sat there, keeping his obvious erection from view, his expression unreadable.

Wheeler returned to his suite, an opulent berth of drapes and huge plush pillows in the style of some clichéd nomadic tent, though the double bed dominating the room was more conventional. Light filtered through shutters onto the sleeping form of Faye, her nude body half-covered by wrinkled white Egyptian cotton sheets.

Wheeler stood there, staring at her while he undressed quickly, his hard-on seeming to sap any excess energy from him. She'd come to bed only a few hours before, when the last of the passengers had finally exhausted themselves and retired to their own or other people's berths. He hadn't expected, or particularly desired her return to his side – at least, not until now. Watching Ames take the luscious Catalina like that had been like injecting nitro into his libido.

Without waking Faye first, he pulled back the sheets, exposing her long hot frame. She lay on her left side, almost on her belly, and her right knee was curled up, hiding her pussy but leaving her rear deliciously exposed.

He carefully climbed onto the bed from behind, kissing and nipping her buttocks. Beneath him, Faye stirred, mumbling something, and finally yelping as he parted her cheeks with his hands and ran his tongue along the strip of skin between her pussy and her anus. From the corner of his eye, he saw her look over her shoulder from beneath her tangled hair. ‘Oh. You. What's wrong, your little Cuban quim not satisfy –
oh fuck!
'

Wheeler smiled to himself with satisfaction as his tongue
entered her rear, probing gently and generating the desired reaction. She pushed back against his face, grinding her ass against him, even as she shifted her body into a familiar position, Wheeler following as Faye rose onto all fours, her hands moving to grasp the brass framework of the headboard.

Finally, he rose onto his knees behind her, then looked to the side table. ‘Lube.'

Faye cursed and reached out for the tube, practically flinging it at him. ‘Should have thought of that before, stupid.'

‘Shut up.' He coated his shaft in the clear substance, and then her entrance. He wanted to fuck, not talk.

But Faye displayed the same obstreperous nature as just about every other woman he'd ever known. ‘Your little accountant leave you with blue balls?'

He sighed; at least Faye seemed much more amenable now than last night. ‘She's not one. Neither is Ames. They're industrial spies, working for potential investors.'

‘What?'

He positioned his cockhead at her entrance. ‘Yes. This is a business trip for them.' Now he looked up. ‘You're tensing. If you're not ready . . .'

‘No.' The woman began relaxing. ‘You sure know how to wake up a girl, Jack.'

Wheeler barely heard her, picturing another woman ready and eager to be taken by him.

Unsurprisingly, Cat slept for a few hours longer upon returning with Nathan to their berth. When she awoke, she saw him sitting by the table, still only his boxers, working on the phone. She cleared her throat. ‘I hope you're not just playing games on that.'

‘Well, those frogs don't get themselves across the highway.'
He glanced up. ‘I'm just examining the downloaded records from Wheeler's PC. How are you feeling?'

Well and truly fucked, you gorgeous bastard, she thought, settling for, ‘Hungry. So, you take total advantage of me, ravish me in front of witnesses, and then leave me to starve? Some partner.'

‘We're parked by a lake for the afternoon, and the staff are setting up a Cajun buffet. How about we go out to eat, and get off this train for a while?'

‘Good idea.' Not that she believed it. A part of her wanted to invite him back to bed. But, as tempting as that was, this time she could find no excuse for it – no maintaining their cover, no drink-fuelled need for release. To do anything like that otherwise would complicate their working relationship, more than it already was. ‘Are you OK, Hound?'

He looked like he was almost going to supply a token answer, before he responded with, ‘Were
you
OK with what happened in the Dungeon?'

She smiled; her pussy still throbbed delightfully, and she wriggled beneath the sheets. ‘Well, you
were
put on the spot. And we had to maintain our cover. I suppose I could forgive you.'

‘You're too kind.'

‘This afternoon I want you to get closer to Faye, while I –'

‘Get even closer to Wheeler. Why don't we switch targets? You do a little girl-on-girl with our hostess, and I'll take him?'

‘Because Jack doesn't have a hard-on for you.' She eyed him suspiciously, sitting up again. ‘Do you have a problem with this? I know the alpha male role you played for us this morning wasn't totally made up –'

‘Catalina, this is your first field assignment. And, given the sexually charged atmosphere, and the obvious charms of our host –'

‘And because I'm just a naive little girl swayed by the attentions of a dashing Southern rogue –'

‘I'm not saying that. But if you compromise yourself with him, it could have repercussions later, for you and the Service.' Cat scowled. ‘Don't go there, Hound. Firstly, we both know this is a fact-finding mission, and that any subsequent investigation will base a prosecution on the evidence that they gather. Secondly, the criminal activities being investigated are not connected with sex, nor is sex being used to lure the subject into illegality, and therefore charges of facilitation would be groundless. Thirdly, given the “sexually charged atmosphere” of the environment, sexual behaviour can be legitimately employed to help the investigator fit into the setting, adding credibility and helping to avoid raising suspicion –'

Nathan raised a hand. ‘OK, OK, so you know the undercover manual references verbatim. I withdraw my suggestion.' He leant back in his chair. ‘Cat, if I offer my advice, or concerns or whatever, it's not because I don't think you can handle yourself. It's just to remind you that you don't
have
to. OK?'

His explanation deflated some of her anger, if not her own doubts about how she was managing Wheeler, and that was without even taking into account the weird dreams she was having, or the weirder explanation for them from Wheeler. ‘
Gracias.
But I'm still assigning you to Faye. Our secondary covers have given us greater freedom with them. Find out more about the deal they have with the Kolchaks.'

‘Sure.'

She rose to her feet, pulled her camisole over her head and slipped out of her panties, offering him a view of her naked back and rear as she padded into the bathroom for a shower, delighting in his hungry expression. ‘Eyes back in your head, Hound.'

‘Spoilsport.'

* * *

It was in the latter half of the day. The train was parked by a dark oval lake, bordered by thick foliage and a wall of tall ancient cypresses tasselled with moss. They could have been hundreds of miles from civilisation or just a short walk. Most of the passengers were out skinny-dipping in the water or partaking of the sumptuous Cajun buffet set up, and the air buzzed with excited insects.

Cat had changed into a frilly black blouse and slacks, and sat on a rock at the edge of the water, finishing off the latest plate that Nathan had brought over, telling herself not to be so surprised at how famished she was. She nodded to a naked Tara, who was waving to Cat while chasing and being chased by an equally naked Ben and Hannah Oliver, kicking up water in the shallow end of the lake. It was an idyllic, sensual setting.

But it was not a time for relaxation. She watched as Nathan accompanied Faye across the tracks, to an abandoned church, where their hostess would regale them with bullshit ghost stories. And now Cat rose, looking for Wheeler.

She found him in the graveyard surrounding the church. Here, the air buzzed and chirped and chattered with life, defying the overgrown, forgotten rows of grave markers, from simple headstones to elaborate crypts. She trod carefully along the winding rows, noting the gathering clouds overhead, expecting a storm soon, which would certainly add to the atmosphere of Faye's ghost stories but would ruin the skinny-dippers' fun on the other side of the train.

She caught movement by one golden-brown marker, paused and watched secretly. Yes, it was Wheeler, kneeling down and trying to read an inscription, consulting a black notebook, occasionally scribbling into it. There was an intensity to his features and, without knowing what it was all about, Cat was reluctant to disturb him.

But as it turned out, she didn't have to worry. ‘You thirsty?' He never looked up; he might have been addressing the dead.

Cat took a chance that he wasn't and stepped into view, approached him. ‘How'd you know I was there?'

He smiled. ‘The bayou is awash with many agreeable scents, but your perfume is not typically one of them.' When she stood beside him, he looked up, squinting with the light behind her. ‘Why aren't you with the others?'

‘I'm here on business, not pleasure.'

‘Ironic, since for me, pleasure is my business.' He turned back to his notebook. ‘If you're out to persuade me about your employer's offer, save your breath. I'm turning over a new leaf.'

‘In an old graveyard?' Cat squatted beside him, feeling her skin prickle at his closeness, though he seemed to be ignoring her now. ‘What is this really about, Jack?'

‘Do you really want to know? Then you'd better start being honest with me.'

‘I've already told you, Nathan and I are onboard on behalf of –'

‘I mean about what you've experienced. I know you've been repeatedly channelling the spirit of a woman.'

Cat stiffened. ‘You don't know –'

‘Valentina Uscione, wife of mobster Mickey Uscione, lover of local boy Enrique Cazenove. Over fifty years ago, they rode this train, and Valentina and Enrique were killed on it. But their spirits remain and still ride with us. And you've seen them. As I have.'

‘Bullshit. It's just . . . just memories from some gangster movie that this train ride has revived.'

He smiled, fishing through his notebook. ‘This must be movie publicity then.' He handed her photocopies of fifty-year-old
newspaper and magazine articles, not on movies mobsters but real ones, real crimes, and one on a Chicago wedding, complete with a photograph: Val and Mickey, just as she remembered them.

It was insane. Cat considered herself a rational person, able to focus her logic to reach plausible conclusions, and yet those same skills pointed her now towards an inherently implausible deduction.

Finally, she felt compelled to ask, ‘How do you know about all this?'

Now it seemed his turn to react, and he settled back on a shattered stone grave marker beside him. ‘Prior to forming Southern Spirits, I was . . .' He paused, and his whole body seemed to deflate, the ebullient, florid persona he presented to others set aside. ‘I was a crook. A thief, a liar . . . How did Donnie describe me last night? “A cheap lowlife redneck hustler”? A painfully accurate assessment. Always moving, one step ahead of arrest warrants and civil suits. I was convinced I was a free spirit, living by my own rules, smarter than those nine-to-five idiots chained to mortgages and kids.' He pursed his lips at something only he saw. ‘I was fooling myself.'