“You’re a very beautiful man.” It just slipped out of me. I was seeing his pious, sacrosanct self. The biker who shot people and dealt in guns was gone inside these walls. I loved all sides of Gideon, but in here, he’d reverted to being a child. In here, he was allowed to be uncorrupted, undefiled.

  Out of nerves from what I’d just blurted, I picked up the bath pouf that I’d sponge him with. But he quickly said, “You’re a very beautiful woman, Mahalia. I’m not just saying this because my life lies in your hands. I’ve thought that since the first minute I was you in Chiles’ office.”

  Although it was distasteful, him using the name “Chiles” in the same sentence that he praised me, I was flattered, and nervously squeezed soap onto the pouf. Gideon’s hand shot out, gripped my wrist, and his other hand tossed the sponge into the water. His look was intent as he wound his fingers around my neck and pulled me to him. Suddenly we were kissing, brazenly, openly. It was brazen even though I’d locked the door to protect Gideon’s privacy.

  The forbidden quality of the kiss sent a chill down my spine, stiffening my nipples. I had to grip Gideon’s shoulder to prevent myself from plunging into the steaming water along with him, although that wasn’t a bad idea. I felt like his lover as he gently kissed me, slipping his tongue between my lips, tickling them with his tongue-tip. Sighing into his mouth, I smacked on his delicious, bow-shaped lips. I pressed the cleft of his chin with my thumb. I’d never kissed a man so beautiful before, and it was like kissing an angel.

  But the water was going to get cold, so I had to pull away, touching my nose to his with great love and affection. I wondered how he felt about me. He must love me in some way, to want to take me away from this place.

  I whispered, “She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he sees what God is doing.”

  He wouldn’t let me sit back up. He cradled my face in his palm, smiling that sort of idiotic smile that lovers do. “Another one of your poets?”

  “No. Kurt Vonnegut.”

  “Well. I don’t agree. Not after what I experienced while dead.”

  I pulled back fully now, mock slapping him on the shoulder. “You weren’t dead! You were merely visiting the other side for a short while.”

  “Yeah. And talking to Albert Einstein.”

  “I’m sure your guardian angel is equally as intelligent as Einstein. They all are. That’s how they get to be guardian angels. And you can’t remember what was said because the veil is dropped when you wake up on this side. It’s dropped for a very good reason. We’d be overwhelmed with afterlife knowledge and unable to function here.” I picked up the purple pouf from where it floated between Gideon’s thighs. His pole, although unused for a week that I knew of and afflicted with the same pains and agonies as his torso, was now hardening, poking its length out of the water. It must be so difficult for men, unable to contain or control how their emotions affect their penises. I snuck a few glances at the shiny mushroom head.

  I started by socking the sponge in and out of his underarms, using a dipper to rinse him off. He allowed me to bathe him wordlessly, never taking his eyes off my face. I lingered bathing the back of his neck, corded with masculine strength. Washing his chest was sheer bliss, although I wanted to throw the sponge away and feel his pectorals with my hands.

  When I plunged the violet sponge underwater to boldly wash his thighs, again he grabbed my wrist. He held the sponge closely to his upper thigh so I couldn’t move it back and forth to scrub him.

  In a new low, almost dangerous voice, he asked me, “What are your intentions with me? Am I only a savior for you? Would you run away with anyone else who offered?”

  “No!” I cried immediately. How could he think that? I stumbled over my own words in my attempt to make myself clear. “Not at all, Gideon! It’s you, you who I want, not anyone else. I wouldn’t do this with just anyone! Hell, I wouldn’t even sit by just anyone’s bedside, even if they saved my worthless life. It’s you, Gideon, you and you alone who I want.”

  A smile flitted over his gorgeous mouth then. His hand that gripped my wrist moved, sliding the sponge closer to his testicles. “All right, then. I’ll allow you to service me, to show your devotion.” He released my wrist, but I got the picture. I couldn’t blot out the smile that appeared on my face as I sponged his balls under the water, then boldly moved up to wash the cock, the mons pubis. I became more brave and confident as I went, it having been five plus years since I’d touched another man’s pole. It twitched underneath my sponge, hardening, lengthening. I enjoyed rolling it between the plastic mesh of the sponge and his upthrust mons.

  But I maintained his gaze the entire time, as if this was something I did every day. Soon I was socking the pouf fearlessly between his thighs, underneath his ball sac, while his hard penis poked out of the water.

  He spread this thighs brazenly, taking his eyes off mine only to admire his own masculinity. The length and breadth of his pole far exceeded that of my first husband’s. I’d seen and felt a few others while fumbling around in darkened cars as a teen, and Gideon’s size was far superior to any of them. Maybe that’s why he wanted to admire himself, and I can’t blame him, really. He ran both of his arms outside the tub so he could hoist his hips in the air, completely out of the water.

  I was afraid for his stitches, holding himself up like this, but his meaning was clear. I wasn’t coy at all as I let the sponge plop in the water and I grabbed his pole assertively in one fist. Instantly his hips shuddered, and I knew a long, cold, nipple-hardening chill was rolling up his spine, too.

  His head lolled back loosely as he groaned. “Ah, good. That’s so fucking good, Mahalia. You know how to touch me.”

  Do I? I’ve barely touched any men in my life at all! But I didn’t want to admit such embarrassing facts, so I proceeded to masturbate the thick bull’s penis, relying on his reactions to gauge how well I was doing.

  His hips twitched and swiveled as I pistoned my fist. His lower jaw hung slack, his groans punctuated by the occasional cry of encouragement, such as “That’s it! Don’t stop. Oh Goddd, don’t stop, Mahalia. Keep doing it.”

  As if I was about to stop.

  My labia swelled and bloomed with a dewy thrill. My outer lips clenched and clutched as if at an invisible penis as I masturbated his enormous tool. I added just a drop or two of the natural liquid soap for lubrication, and his deepening groans told me I was on the right track. I liked swiping my thumb over the shiny, taut glans on the upswing, and sweeping my fingertips over his hard balls on the downswing. I didn’t care if he liked it, I liked it, but now he was huffing and puffing, set to burst, from what I could remember of the procedure.

  “Don’t…stop…” His words became less intelligible, just guttural groans as his scrotum pulled tighter against his body and his hips shimmied almost uncontrollably.

  Right when he seemed about to choke—or pop his stitches—I was rewarded with a sudden forceful spurt of jism.

  It was so sudden, it almost scared me. It spurted so high, it hit Gideon smack in the shoulder, but I kept on pumping. If I recalled correctly from beating off Field, the jets of semen would keep coming for another ten seconds or more.

  Boy, was I wrong. Gideon must’ve been backed up horribly, because the gushers pooled up in the pit of his chest and started running down between his abdominal muscles. Whenever I swished my thumb up and down that channel under his cock, he’d gasp and jump, make a sexy little thrust with his hips.

  But I knew when to slow down, too. Once his muscles relaxed and he eased his haunches back into the water, I gave his penis a few last regretful squeezes and let him go. Only to find out I was panting as much as he was.

  Our shared gaze was so fiery it could’ve made the water boil. My heartbeat was so rapid it shuddered the pendant in the pit of my throat.

  “Come here,” he said, low and full of meaning.

  I didn’t know how to “come here” when he was submersed in a tub of warm water. He soon showed me, though. He launched his torso out of the water, grabbed me around the ribs, and hauled me half into the tub with him!

  My bottom was setting on his lap, so about two, three inches of water seeped instantly into my cotton dress. I could feel his half-mast pole against my very labia.

  He said, “I’ve known you haven’t been wearing the long johns they require. I can tell when the sun shines behind you. You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?”

  I giggled, because I thought he was playing Santa with me on his lap. “If I say yes, will I get any presents?”

  He seemed perplexed. Aggression took over, it seems, when he was confused. “I’ll give you some presents,” he growled, and bam, his hand slid up my skirts.

  “Oh!” I gasped and cried out. Certainly Allred had never bothered touching my inner thigh, and I doubt he ever touched my labia either. Why would he? That sort of man never cares if a woman is prepared for his entrance. They just slam it in and go to town.

  But his hot hand feathered my inner thigh, and my inner vagina near about exploded from shock and lust. He pinched some of the mortifying fat there between his fingers, growling with pleasure as though he liked it.

  “How long have you not worn the long underwear? Don’t they require it?”

  I mussed his silken hair beneath my palm, thumbing the unruly locks away from his forehead. I heaved and twisted on his watery lap, unsure if I was trying to escape his hand or shove my vulva down more firmly toward it. “They require it,” I gasped. I was panting so heavily tiny bubbles swam before my eyes, and I became afraid I’d hyperventilate.

  His fingers brushed my mons now, sneaking under the elastic of my panties. Lately I’d even forsaken the granny panties we all wore without thinking twice about it. I don’t know—maybe I was planning on, or hoping for, an event just like this. But I’d snuck to Target and purchased smaller bikini panties, and now it was a snap for Gideon to graze a couple of his fingertips about an inch from my very clitoris. Even underwater, I was sure he could tell how syrupy I was.

  His grin told me that, too. “It turned you on, didn’t it?”

  I played dumb, eyes wide. “What?” But I gasped when his fingertips tickled the prepuce of my jutting clitoris. I angled my hips so I bore down on his hand. “What turned me on?”

  “Jacking my dick.” His dirty language turned me on, too. “Stroking me off made you wet.” With that, he diddled my clitoris so directly I jumped, and had to hold onto his poor injured shoulders to avoid taking a spill completely into the tub.

  “Maybe it did,” I admitted breathlessly. “Why shouldn’t it? Who wouldn’t be aroused with your giant phallus in her hand? She’d have to be brain-dead not to be.”

  I loved the way he quirked his grin. Like, he knew how sexy he was, but he just liked hearing me say it. His fingers sped up their ministrations to my clitoris, and it was difficult to maintain eye contact with him. My eyes kept sliding shut. It was that completely quiet, inner concentration that always overcame me while building up to an explosive, earth-shattering orgasm. But he wanted to talk, to stroke his ego. “You liked watching me come. Come on, admit it. You liked watching me spew all over myself.”

  “Well,” I said, noncommittedly. I was too busy concentrating on the rising floodwaters of lust that filled my pelvis. This was a different sort of arousal than the stimulation of my vibrator. It was hotter, more immediate, and way more explosive, I could already tell. Already my fingernails were digging into his poor shoulders, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “Yes, it was a provocative sight.” Trying to laugh, I managed to detach one of my claws long enough to cup a handful of water and half-assedly wash the jizz off his shoulder. I lingered on the viscous feeling of it beneath my thumb.

  “Provocative? A movie is provocative. Think of a better word. You can’t think, can you? Is your mind on something else?”

  Oo, I wanted to slap him then! He was so suave, so accustomed to toying with women like that! I cast him a smoldering look. “You know what I mean, mister. You can feel how I became very stirred up.” But even I had to smile then. “You know what a sensual, handsome, rugged bastard you are. I’m not about to add to the list of women who’ve told you that. I want to be different. Oh!”

  He hit a sweet spot then, and the smile vanished from his face. He was all about the business now, and his fingers seemed to blur against my clitoris.

  I came then, like a heifer in heat, all squatted on top of him with my skirts flowing outward on the surface of the water. My shoe would never be the same, although I’d managed to keep the other shoe out of the water for balance. It was a long, drawn-out orgasm, like a flower blooming in slow motion, waves of ecstasy rolling up and down my inner channel, erotic hands clutching at my uterus.

  Field had never bothered making me come, and I’d never felt closer to a man. Our gaze seemed to say “I care about you. I want to make you feel ecstasy more blissful than the joy of heaven.” As the waves finally ebbed, I released my hold on his shoulders, and sort of sat in his watery lap. He had a grin that just could not quit, and his fingers moved to unbutton the first few buttons of my bodice. I kissed him, and it was soft and gentle. If we were a regular, normal couple, this was when we’d spoon and take a nap together.

  But all would never be normal in Cornucopia, and insistent knocking came, coupled with someone frantically trying the doorknob. “Mom! What’s going on in there?”

  I sat up bolt upright. Was Vonda truly so clueless that she couldn’t guess? “Vonda! I’m sorry, I must’ve locked the door by accident. Hang on.”

  Gideon whispered, “Like your sopping wet dress won’t give it away.”

  “Oh, my squash,” I whispered back. Clambering out of the tub, I streamed rivers of water down the cement slab toward the front door. No one had ever gotten around to carpeting the guest house, a lucky stroke. But there was no denying that more than half my entire dress was wet. I wrung out handfuls of my skirts into the kitchenette sink, but the dark discoloration of course remained. I had no choice but to open the front door.

  “What’s going on?” Vonda asked, exasperation coloring her voice.

  I played dumb. “Nothing. Why? What’s so urgent?”

  Bronson Carradine, that federal agent, stepped out from behind my daughter. He actually had his cowboy hat in his hand, as though already begging my forgiveness.

  “I know Gideon’s recuperating from a gunshot wound,” he said. By letting me know he knew this, he gave me no choice but to let him in. Right off the bat, it was an unspoken threat: he’d report the gunshot, and perhaps even details about Breakiron’s death, if I didn’t let him in. “But I’ve got an intriguing proposal he definitely wants to hear.”

  “Let him in,” Gideon bellowed from behind me, leaving me no choice at all.

  I didn’t feel good about closing the door behind me. That federal agent was bad news, and I wondered how he’d even gotten onto the compound property again.

  Vonda snickered as we walked back to the main house. “Your whole dress is wet. I heard sloshing around in there.”

  “I was giving him a bath. Listen, Vonda, I got an extension on your sealing to Orson Ream. But we’re going to have to face it eventually.”

  That made her face fall. I instantly felt bad for using that particular subject to distract her. “I know. Is there nothing that Gideon Fortunati can do about it?”

  How did she know? “Actually, there might be, Vonda. But you’re going to have to keep this completely close to your vest, you hear?”

  “I hear.”

  We stopped walking. I was going to have to trust my own daughter not to blab a matter of such vital importance. “We’re trying to find a way to get us out of here. Maybe even Kimball, Rayd and the rest of them.”

  Vonda’s eyes were round. “Seriously? Oh my God, that would be beyond great, Mom! Are you serious? Are you frickin’ serious?”

  I took her under my arm then, laughing. “Yes. We’d stay in Gideon’s house, but I haven’t figured out yet where the Manwills will stay. Now, this is just between us, hear? Don’t even mention it to Kimball, although she knows something’s up, too. Just don’t take the risk of anyone overhearing any talk.”

  My mood became elevated after the illicit tryst with Gideon. Oxytocin flooded my brain with feel-good hormones, and stayed that way for quite awhile to come.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GIDEON

  It was a fucking shock to my system, going from the arms of that goddess to the shady, devious face of Bronson Carradine.

  “How did you get in?” was my first question.

  “Well,” he barked in that slick-tongued, sandpapery voice. He liked to amble around my bath tub in a superior, swaggering way. Each time I met the guy, I liked him less and less. Bikers have an inborn loathing of officers who upheld traditional laws, because we had laws of our own to follow. “Since the name of Reed Smoot seems to have finally been deleted from your security software, the name of Immanuel Zabriskie came in handy getting through the gate.”

  “Zabriskie?” That was the old Altar of Sacrifice manager before me. He’d also gone to Texas. I instantly knew this meant he’d been murdered too. I’d suspected as much, of course, but anyone whose name became a password, well, they had fallen bravely fighting for the liberties of their country. They had finished a life of exemplary piety. They had changed a fleeting world for an immortal rest, among other epitaphs I’d seen on gravestones near my mine. Was I the next to go? Chiles had said he’d deed me half the mine. Why would he have me “fall victim to an untimely disease”?

  “Yes, your old mining mana—”

  “I know the name.” I rose gingerly from the tub, water sluicing off my body. Carradine could plainly see the creek of bathwater where Mahalia had walked after getting out of the tub. He handed me a towel anyway. It felt like heaven drying off, clean for the first time in a week. “What’s your business? I need more morphine.”

 

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