The Hunt for Clint Adams by J. Roberts Page B

Clint?” she asked. “Enjoy me?”
    â€œOh no, Miss Dealer,” he said, “I’m going to relish you!”

THIRTY-TWO
    â€œMy breasts are sore,” Jane said, lying on her back next to Clint.
    â€œThat’s what you get for being so delicious,” he said, “and having such chewable nipples.”
    She laughed.
    â€œNo man’s ever said that to me before,” she said. She held her breasts in her hands and looked down at them. “Chewable.”
    She slid her hand down his belly and took hold of his penis.
    â€œYou’re kinda chewable yourself, you know.”
    â€œNo woman’s ever told me that before.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “maybe I’ll show you, too.”
    She slithered down his body, rubbing her skin over his until she was nestled between his spread legs. She stroked him with one hand while with fondling his testicles with the other. She licked him, starting at the base of his penis and working her way to the top. She wet the head, then took him in her mouth and sucked him—wetly, and noisily—until it was long and hard, then drew back and stared at it, glistening with her spit.
    â€œOh my,” she said, sliding the tip of her index finger and down the length of him. His penis twitched beneath her touch. “Look at him . . . so pretty . . . and just straining to explode . . .”
    She took him in her mouth again, began to suck him avidly until he was on the verge of coming. She released him at the last moment, just when he thought his head was going to blow clean off. His penis prodded at the air, jerked and pulsed, and just when he thought he had control she touched him again, just once, with the tip of her finger right beneath the spongy head—and he blew.
    â€œJesus!” he bellowed, lifting his hips up off the bed. She rocked back on her knees and clapped her hands until the geyser stopped and he stopped bouncing around on the bed.
    â€œWhat the hell—” he said.
    â€œPretty good for a non-professional, huh?” she asked.
    â€œPretty damn good for the best goddamned whore in the business,” he said.
    â€œLet’s just call me a talented amateur.”
    She lay back down beside him and held his limp penis in her hand lovingly.
    They fell asleep that way.
    Later, true to her word, Jane arranged for food to be brought up to the room for them. She whispered to the bellman who brought it and ushered him out of the suite.
    â€œWhat did you tell him?” he asked, as they sat down to make turkey and roast beef sandwiches with big, doughy fresh rolls.
    â€œI told him not to tell anyone where I was,” she answered.
    â€œAnd will he?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œWho are you hiding from?” he asked. “Your boss?”
    â€œMy boss, my brother,” she said. “Who knows.”
    â€œTell me something,” he said.
    â€œAnything.”
    â€œYou blowing the whistle on your boss’s scheme,” he said. “It was no accident, was it?”
    She laughed and said, “No, it wasn’t. I’m not that dumb. I wanted you to know.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I knew we’d end up here,” she said. “And I wanted to see him squirm.”
    â€œAre you and Orchid . . .?”
    â€œHe thinks we are.”
    â€œSo there was no chance he would fire you?” Clint asked.
    â€œOh, he might’ve,” she admitted, “if you hadn’t spoken up. I did really want to thank you for that. You and Mr. Masterson.”
    â€œBut you didn’t thank Bat the way you just thanked me, right?”
    â€œI thought we said this wasn’t a thank you,” she said, “but a hello.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI didn’t say hello to Bat the way I just said hello to you, no.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œI thought he was your friend?”
    â€œHe is,” Clint said, “but I don’t like to share, even with