Karen Mercury Read Online Free PDF Page B

couldn’t get the image of that strapping buck out of his mind. How debauched it had been, gripping those sinewy hips between his thighs, Worth’s bulging prick massaging his own.
    Foster was glad he had been ordered to leave the camp. It never worked out well when he reacted that violently to another person. The last time that had happened, the gal had ripped out his heart and stomped on it. It was far better to just consort with prairie flowers or random, faceless men he would never lay eyes on again.
    Quickly he was on the verge of spending again, and he knew he could not stop it this time. It was unfortunate that just as he shot a vigorous healthy load that glittered like a necklace of diamonds into the pool below, a little shower of rocks cascaded into the water to his right, from where the spring emerged. Beautiful, just beautiful . Here he was with his cock in his hand, and an Indian was about to raise his topknot.
    Seed still spurted from his cock as he was forced to release it and scrabble for his revolver. As a scout, he kept it close at hand. Within a flash he was on his feet and ready to put a ball into the silhouette standing atop the prominence. Although the sun was directly behind the fellow, giving the image a kind of holy aura, Foster was instantly aware this was no Indian, but a white man. The body shape and the outline of boots gave it away. So he refrained from letting a ball fly while he circled around to the right, advancing upon whoever had been moronic enough to confront him.
    “It’s me!” cried Worth Ludlow, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot, Mr. Richmond!”
    Awash with relief, Foster lowered his piece but kept his finger on the trigger as the two men approached each other. His first reaction was to feel like a chowderhead for letting this jackass get the drop on him. What kind of scout was he that he would let a greenhorn sneak up on him, especially while frigging himself to completion?
    So the next emotion to sweep over him was anger, and he waved his revolver around. “What’s the meaning of this, you damned greenhorn? You followed me up here from French Creek?”
    Worth’s hands were still in the air. “I know, I know. It was sneaky of me. But I knew if I asked you if I could come you would’ve said no.”
    Foster frowned. “Why did you want to come? You’re not leaving the expedition, are you?”
    Worth finally lowered his hands. His boyish look softened Foster’s heart. “I am. I know you don’t agree, but I’m not kidding when I say that taking all that gold from French Creek was bad taku-wakan . It put a voodoo hex on all of us.”
    “Yeah, well,” scoffed Foster. “You won the pouch of gold dust from our boxing bout. I don’t suppose you put it back into the creek.”
    “No, sir,” Worth said sincerely. “I need that gold to make my way to Laramie, where I intend to set up a photography studio. And to pay the teamster to drive my dark wagon there, too. I may seem like a stupid jackleg at times, but I’m not stupid enough to put all that gold back into the creek.”
    Foster snorted. “So you stand there watching me frig myself instead of making yourself known right away?”
    Worth gave a smile that further melted Foster’s heart. He was plainly just a harmless oaf—a giant boy, really. “Why not? It’s an enjoyable sight. One you just enjoyed yourself yesterday at French Creek.” Those dimples in his cheeks were really unbeatable. How old was this devilishly boyish fellow? It was impossible that he’d reached the age of thirty without a hundred belles sinking their tentacles into him.
    As much as he wanted to pause and suck on Worth’s long, thick horse’s cock, Foster knew they had to make good time to Fort Sanders. So he allowed himself a slight grin, too, and tossed his head. “No time for fun. Once we’re over this ridge there’s an open prairie, if I recall correctly.”
    “I’m sure you do. What’s in that telegram Custer wants you