Free Way with a Gun by J. R. Roberts Page A

inside her slick as you please, she was so wet and ready. And if her skin felt hot, and the outside of her sweet pussy hotter, the hottest place still was inside her.
    Clint gathered her up by her buttocks and began to fuck her in long hard strokes. She gasped, wrapped her long legs around him, and bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. The pain from her bite drove him on, and he increased his tempo until he was slamming into her, banging the bedpost off the wall with each thrust.

TWENTY-FOUR
    Andy Taylor stopped in front of Clint Adams’s room and pressed his ear to the door. He heard a thumping sound, and then two voices, both grunting and groaning with effort. He lifted his fist to knock, then hesitated. Finally, he turned and walked away. From the sound of it, Clint Adams was perfectly healthy, and probably happy. If anything, he wanted to keep Clint Adams happy.
    He left the hotel and went home.
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“He’s what?” Miriam asked.
    â€œIn his room with one of the girls from the saloon,” Taylor said. “Rio, the Mexican.”
    â€œA whore?”
    â€œNot a whore,” Taylor said. “A saloon girl. And she’ll keep him busy all night, believe me. Uh, considering what I’ve heard about her.”
    But Miriam Taylor wasn’t interested in how her husband knew about Rio’s stamina. She was more concerned with the fact that Clint Adams had rejected her, and then gone out and gotten a whore. She hoped he ended up with a disease of some kind.
    Taylor didn’t notice his wife’s distress, but therein lay the problem with their marriage—one of the problems anyway.
    â€œI’m going to bed,” she told him.
    â€œI’ll be up in a while.”
    Miriam went to their bedroom, undressed, and got into bed. She thought about Clint Adams in bed with the saloon whore and felt herself becoming excited. If her husband had come into the room at that moment, and into their bed, she might have let him have her. As it was, she slid her hands down between her thighs to take care of the situation herself.
    Damn Clint Adams, damn him, damn him, damn him . . .
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In the parlor, Andy Taylor wondered what was in his future. He knew his marriage was in trouble, but that was not the problem that was tantamount in his mind. No, he could not deal with that until he knew if he was going to be alive beyond the next few days.
    He poured himself a whiskey and carried it to the sofa. Hs sat and sipped it, pondering the problem. Sure, he had Clint Adams, the Gunsmith, on his side, but was that going to be enough?
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Clint reached out and grabbed a handful of Rio’s hair. He pulled back on it as he fucked her from behind, his penis sliding up between her thighs and into her steaming pussy. With every thrust, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room as he bounced off the cushion of her buttocks. She supported herself on her hands, her head back, neck stretched as he kept hold of her hair.
    She growled more than groaned each time he slammed into her, and as he pulled her hair she implored him, “Harder, harder,” and he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to fuck her harder, or pull harder on her hair . . . so he did both.
    The line of her back was beautiful as it made its way down to the cleft between her ass cheeks. She looked back at him over her shoulder and her eyes were ablaze. She smiled at him and began to drive back into him, meeting his every thrust so that he drove into her as deeply as possible.
    Abruptly, he withdrew from her, flipped her over onto her back. She protested at first, but then he dove down between her thighs headfirst. She was incredibly wet, her juices having soaked the sheets beneath them, and he wanted to taste her.
    â€œGod, you are a sweet-tasting woman,” he told her as he licked her.
    She was unable to answer. The touch of his tongue was like lightning striking her. She was struck speechless. She reached down to