Wild to the Bone Read Online Free PDF

to fun and run. Lying with a girl before and afterward was almost as fun as the tumble itself.
    He pressed his lips to her sweaty temple. “Six-five, give or take an inch.”
    â€œYou were appropriately named.” Cybill ran a hand through the hair on his head. She raked it through his sweat-damp beard and then down through the tangle of thick, dark brown hair matting his broad chest. “A real bear of a man, aren’t you?”
    Bear chuckled. “That ain’t my real name. I got that name when I was still in grammar school, before the war broke out.”
    â€œWhat’s your real name, Bear?”
    â€œWilliam.”
    â€œNo!” She lightly bit his side.
    â€œSure as hell. William Barrett Travis Haskell.”
    â€œOh, after the Texas commander of the Alamo, of course,” she said, looking up at him, the white line of her teeth showing between her slightly parted lips. The last light touched her cheeks and forehead with pink rouge, and it made her jade eyes sparkle like diamonds. “You’re a Texan. By your size, I should have known. Hey, I think it’s coming alive again,” she added, squeezing the organ resting on his thigh.
    â€œJust ignore it. Damn thing has a mind of its own. It’s always ready to go when the rest of me is tired.”
    â€œOh, I like it.” Cybill squeezed the organ of topic again, and he felt the nerves tingle in his big left toe. “A Texan with a Texas-sized dong. What more could a girl ask for?” She tittered as she lowered her other hand to his crotch and hefted his heavy scrotum.
    While Cybill’s soft fingers continued to ply him very gently under the covers, she wriggled her warm body against him. Haskell reached over to the bedside table for one of his favored Cleopatra Federales cigars. He loved the dynamite-sized stogies so much that he’d arranged for the Pinkerton Agency to pay him partly in the heavenly smokes from Cuba, a full box of cigars at the satisfactory completion of every assignment.
    â€œYou don’t mind if I smoke in here, do you, Miss Cybill?” he asked the girl, sliding the aromatic cigar—it smelled like chocolate, coffee, and the cognac it had been infused with—back and forth beneath his nose.
    â€œNot if I can play with your cock.”
    Haskell chuckled as he reached up and struck a match against the headboard. “There’s a deal I can live with.”
    When he’d gotten the cigar fired to his liking, expelling the aromatic smoke out through his mouth and nostrils to catch the last pink of the fading sunset, Cybill continued to play with his cock and scrotum, keeping her face snugged taut against his ribs, occasionally pressing her sweet lips against him.
    They didn’t say anything for a time, both of them just lying there, Haskell smoking, the girl manipulating his private parts, listening to the early-evening sounds of a dog barking and the quiet clomp s of a horseman passing in the street outside the hotel.
    Downstairs, someone was tuning the saloon’s piano, sending an occasional quiet, discordant note through the floor. Somewhere in the hills surrounding the town, a couple of coyotes were also tuning themselves up.
    Forlorn sounds at a forlorn time of the day.
    This time of the day or early evening was never much fun. Haskell was glad to have Cybill in bed with him.
    While his job as a Pinkerton detective was a public one, he often found himself spending way too much time alone between assignments. A bachelor’s mind got to working on him during those long stretches of alone. Especially a bachelor who had no home and who’d been through what he’d been through back during the War Between the States, when Bear, a young Union officer and guerrilla fighter, swept up in the frenzy of the conflict, had fought so fiercely and single-mindedly behind enemy lines, assassinating Confederates and blowing up munitions dumps and rail lines.
    After the