Southern Spirits (7 page)

He leant back. ‘Jack Wheeler could probably sell porn to the Pope. Oozes charisma. His associate seemed interesting. What was her name again?'

‘Don't pretend you don't remember,
pajiero.
What about the others?'

He shrugged. ‘The Olivers seem genuine enough. Newholme looks so out of place here, he has to be a courier or agent from an outside party.'

‘Donnie Kolchak gave me a bullshit story about being a watch salesman. He definitely smells of small-time Mob. The fact that Wheeler allowed Newholme and him alone, against the rules, supports that. What about Tara?'

Nathan folded his hands behind his head. ‘She talked a lot about spirits and visions. She seems a bit of a flake.'

Cat found herself momentarily distracted by seeing how attractive he looked. Damn, this bed was going to be small with the both of them in it, being professional about everything. ‘Bet you wouldn't kick her out of bed, though.'

‘Bet
you
wouldn't either.'

Cat smiled. ‘Maybe.'

He grinned back. ‘And with that lovely Sapphic image in my
head, how about you call Gordy and get some checks on our fellow passengers?'

‘Later. Do you mind if I have some time, lie down for a bit? Didn't sleep well last night.'

‘Sure. I'll have a look around.' He rose, stretched, seeing and taking a key from a hook on the door. ‘I'll be back in an hour, OK? I'll knock before I come in.'

‘
Gracias.
'

She appeared sleepy as she watched him leave, heard him lock the door from the outside, before she quickly rose to her feet and moved to her case. She opened it up on the chair and fished through the contents for her small black toilet kit. She took it back with her and set it on the bed, this time lying down fully rather than sitting up. She watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment, before closing her eyes and settling back. The gentle rhythm of
the train was steady, hypnotic, enticing, like resting her head on the chest of a lover. She imagined feeling the heat from his skin, catching his scent, maybe shifting her mouth to dart her tongue out and taste his bare flesh again. She loved tasting a man after they'd had sex, especially after a good, hard fuck.

Dios
, this was going to be hard. She'd been feeling hot since the night before, had almost masturbated in the shower that morning, but foolishly changed her mind. She'd hardly find many opportunities this weekend for self-gratification.

She ached inside her panties, but resisted the urge to respond immediately. Her hands moved over her T-shirt, fingertips trailing over the outline of the bra beneath, past the firmer underwire to the softer, frillier borders of the cups. She felt the slow peaking of her nipples within the lace material, the goosebumps rising on the surrounding soft skin as if caressed by a cool breeze rather than her own touch.

Cat closed her eyes and wet her lips; the gentle rhythm of the train seemed to seep into her body even more now. She also felt the pull of drowsiness, like the steadily encroaching waves of a rising tide as it engulfed more and more of her. Her mention of lack of sleep was no lie. But she had more immediate concerns.

She pulled her T-shirt out of her jeans, bared some of her bronzed belly as her fingertips stroked her flesh. A moment's decision, and she rose up on one elbow, reaching under herself to unclasp her bra. Then with a practised manoeuvre admired by more than one past lover who'd witnessed it, she quickly extricated herself from the offending garment and cast it aside without removing her shirt.

Cat settled down again, her hands moving under her T-shirt to trail her fingertips in wide lazy figure of eights, moving up along her stomach. Her breasts lay flat on her chest, and her fingertips reached the undercurves, then drew outwards to the sides, her mind's eye noting every detail, good or bad, real or imagined. She pictured they were Nathan's hands, his strong fingers exploring her, his eyes lighting up with delight and desire, his lips whispering words of appreciation and determination.

When her touch lingered around one of her nipples, making it pucker further, her sex cried out once more for attention. ‘Sorry,' she murmured breathlessly to herself – and to Nathan. Apologising for not being able to chance having what they both wanted. Their one and only fuck together had been far from ideal. Wonderful, yes, but not ideal. Another one . . . would be far too risky. But she could fantasise. And did. Her fingers quickened, as her other hand moved to her other breast from outside her T-shirt, caressing more forcefully.

As she felt the familiar, welcome responses between her legs, she stopped, undid the belt and brass tabs on her jeans, one after the other, approving of how quickly and easily they
responded to her touch. With both hands now, she slid her jeans and black satin panties down, down over her hips and buttocks, lifting the latter up off the bed to accommodate the movement.

With her feet flat on the mattress and her knees pointed up, Cat drew her jeans and panties down to just below her knees, leaving them there. She knew she could pull them back up again in a hurry if she had to – but she also knew that it looked and felt twice as rude to leave them there like that than if she just removed them entirely. She regarded the trimmed wedge of her bush, her steepled bronzed thighs and the outline of her pussy barely concealed beneath.

She felt hot, wet and pliant, and her nerve endings seemed charged. And when her hands moved over the tops of her thighs, fingertips sliding together as if trying to force her thighs apart, she twisted in place. She imagined Nathan doing this, unable to contain himself, forcing her jeans and panties down like this to get at her. She touched her pussy, pressed against it, feeling the bristly hairs against her palm, and pushed back with her hips.

Her body was slipping into this rhythm, and when she was ready her other hand reached out to her toilet kit, withdrew the short silver cylinder that at first glance looked like an electric toothbrush in a case – at least until she slipped the cover off, revealing the thin silver rod with the angled, coinshaped tip. Even out of its cover, it wasn't immediately recognisable to people who believed that sex toys for women all had to resemble monstrous phalluses.

Never taking her hand from between her legs, she deftly twisted the control at the base of her favourite travel vibrator to life, feeling it buzz awake, grinning to herself with satisfaction; even on its lowest setting, it had all the delicious potential that a set of fresh batteries could provide.

The hand at her pussy grew insistent, and she parted her thighs to let her fingertips brush over her silky lips. As they lingered, stroked and teased her to open, she smiled again as she felt her wetness, abundant and slick, and she spread that wetness, up towards her clit, then down again.

The hand that held her vibrator approached as well, the instrument of pleasure still vibrating, almost sounding impatient to do its work, but she kept it back as the finger of her other hand continued to stroke her sex. Moving a fingertip upwards again, she circled her hardening clit slowly. A broad smile spread across her face as she imagined Nathan's tongue toying there. Then her hand left, replaced by the tip of her vibrator, sending bullets of pleasure through her. She worked the tip with practised, circular motions, raising her desire to a fever pitch.

‘Puta!' she cursed between ragged breaths.

Brushing the tip of the vibrator against her clit caused more shock waves of pleasure to skyrocket through her body as she reintroduced her other hand into her playtime. Slipping a finger into her velvet folds, she curled the slender digit upwards, found and stroked her G-spot softly, then increased the pressure. Sounds of pleasure filled the room as she humped her hips towards the ceiling in an effort to milk more bliss from her touch.

Cat grew hotter, wetter, and the thumb on the hand that held her vibrator swivelled up and increased its speed, without it having to leave her clit. It sounded hungrier now and, as she also increased the pressure on her nub, she gasped as a miniorgasm rocked her body. The finger at her pussy lowered, the slick finger brushing over her sensitive rear entrance, sending another shock of delight straight up her spine.

Shocked and pleased at the response, Cat let it linger down there, pivoting her thumb up to her pussy and stroking, then
entering. The flat tip of the vibrator was sending more jolts through her, even as she had it orbit around her clit, ease off now and then. As it happened, she realised that she had fully adopted the steady, satisfying rhythm of the train, not racing towards her climax as she usually did, but forcing herself to pace her actions, relish the journey, relish the feelings building within her.

Cat cursed and blessed the tempo she had adopted, her supple body writhing and twisting on the bed as her vibrator and fingers drove her higher and higher. She teased the entrance to her ass again, then pressed down hard with her vibrator and held it there.

That was all it took. Fireworks exploded behind her closed eyelids and she yelped out as a new sensation raced through her body. She rode the wave of passion for as long as she could until, finally, she was spent, and her body demanded relief of a different sort. Easing her hands away from her sex, she dropped and straightened out her legs, aware of how wet she felt between her thighs and hoping, albeit with little power, that she didn't leave any patches on the sheets. Her vibrator still buzzed in her weakened grip and she feebly switched it off, promising herself a moment of rest before straightening and cleaning herself up. Just a moment . . .

In another part of the train, Faye Scott was lying down on a bed, watching the scene unfold via hidden cameras and microphones onto a PC screen, before it haemorrhaged into static and white sound once more. She cursed again, but never took her hand out of her briefs, her dress rucked up to her waist, feeling the garters holding up her stockings tighten as she closed her eyes and writhed. Damn, the Spanish woman was hot . . .

The office was a clutter of boxes and equipment, with the computer workstation and swivel chair sitting beside an old-fashioned roll-top desk and matching chair, beneath a well-marked railway route map of the Southern States. It was cramped, especially as there was also a low single bed, a Spartan frame with a thin pillow. But it served its purpose, and from here, she could watch and listen to nearly every point on the train.

She started as she heard someone work the office door lock. Seconds later, Jack Wheeler entered. ‘A little early to be indulging, isn't it, my dear?'

‘Fuck you. I'm entitled.'

‘You should be welcoming the new guests.'

‘Like who, Old Man Newholme? That black chick? The Olivers? Motley bunch this time.'

‘They're not our only passengers.' He slipped out of his jacket, hung it up and loosened his tie. ‘And what about Mr Ames? You obviously had your eye on him.'

Faye made a purring sound of agreement, her fingers stroking her outer lips. ‘I came back here when he and his little spic piece went to their room.'

‘Please, let's not add racism to your many, many faults.'

‘Then he left her, and she was at it on her own.'

‘Oh?' He sat down, checked the settings. ‘Damn it, Belle.'

Faye rolled her eyes. ‘Play it back, Jack.'

He tapped away at the keyboard, calling up the digital replay of the recording, and sat back, watching with obvious interest. ‘You're right. She wrote she was an accountant. Love those types, all strait-laced during the day, wild fuckers at night.' He reached into the desk drawer and withdrew his Jack Daniels, then drank from the bottle. ‘I'm sick of champagne. All bubbly shit.'

‘You're a crabby bastard today.'

‘To employ your own eloquent phrase, “Fuck you, I'm entitled.”' He took another swig still watching Cat. At a sound from Faye, he added, ‘Aren't you capable of controlling your own urges for even a little while?'

She smiled, but never took her eyes off Cat's image either, finding herself adopting the same position on the bed. ‘If you were a real man, you wouldn't let me get to the point where I needed to satisfy my own urges.'

He grunted, recognised the taunt for what it really was, and rose. He stood over her at her right side, watching the gentle motion of the hand beneath the briefs. ‘You annoy the hell out of me. I should –'

‘You won't do shit,' she grunted, her face flushed as her hand changed rhythm slightly. ‘You're a weak fish, a limp noodle –'

Wheeler was upon her, taking her hands from her briefs and forcing them into the leather cuffs fitted to the wall behind her, straddling her right thigh as she struggled and snarled. ‘Get off me, you fucking pig! Scumbag! Faggot!'

‘Shut up,' he replied calmly, his free hand reaching down between her legs. He touched her through her briefs and sharply slapped the inner thigh of her other leg when she continued to move, before returning to her sex, ripping at her silk briefs to touch her pussy, even as he began undoing his trousers – while still watching Cat's recording.

Unoffended, Faye's eyes followed his, as they fucked and watched.

Ben Oliver could barely hold onto the clothes he carried from the open suitcase to the drawers. ‘Did you see the lines on her? Beautiful example of the Imperial III. Remember riding one as a boy.'

‘I know,' Hannah Oliver agreed. ‘So powerful and sleek. That GM D-78 engine runs through you like a . . .' She trailed off, stretched out as she was on the plush bed, but then sat up on her elbows, her face sobering as she looked at her husband. ‘Ben . . . we're going to be OK, aren't we?'

He swallowed, knowing what she meant. It had been a rough year, the company laying him off, being unable to find successive employment, both of them forced to survive on what she earned behind the bar, and keeping the wolves and their final notices at the door. His grandmother's favourite phrase may have been ‘The truly rich are those enjoy what they have', but for Hannah and Ben what they had nowadays was precious little. It was perhaps a terrible mistake to spend what savings they had on a weekend on the Silver Belle, but it was so welcome to get away from their house and their problems.