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I’ll come by at 7 and pick up you and your men who are going out with you. We can use my truck and stock trailer if we need them.
Thanks,
John
Mac opened the cooler, took out half of one of the sandwiches, and started to eat it as he headed into the bathroom. He removed his clothes as he finished the half sandwich and turned on the shower. He envied John his Mandy. Spirited and sexy, she was a devoted wife and great life partner. For the most part, she minded John, but she had just enough sass, their marriage never seemed dull. Fact was, they were incredibly happy. Mac longed for the same. He’d once envisioned it with Willa but had let it slip away. He meant to remedy that.
Willa, he sighed. She’d truly been his better half, and they had brought out the best in each other. He’d had a lot of time to think and realized both he and Willa had been too caught up in what they wanted as opposed to putting the other first. That stopped now. He wasn’t sure what it was going to take to get Willa on board with his plan, but he suspected she’d end up with a blistered backside and a well-plowed pussy before it was over… at least he hoped so. God, he’d missed her. He’d worked so hard to convince himself he didn’t, but it had been a lie.
Mac thought about the beautiful ring he had sitting in his safe deposit box in Louisiana. He’d had it made when they were living together, waiting for the right moment to ask her to marry him. He’d wanted his proposal to be perfect. He’d often wondered if he’d done as John suggested and just put the damn ring on her finger if she would have so easily walked away from him when he was offered the opportunity to head up the SOG?
Mac stood under the hot shower and let it beat down on his tight, tired muscles. Thinking about Willa always made his cock stiffen. The fact it had been a while since he’d last been intimate with anything other than his hand made it throb. Looking down, he grinned. He felt like a giddy schoolboy whose girl had finally said yes.Take it easy, old son, we’re got a job to do here, and the pussy you want isn’t going to come easily.Well, that wasn’t true, Willa had always been easy to make come—that would be the easy part—getting her in a position he could exploit to get her into bed might take some doing.
He’d always found, the more dominant he was, sexually or otherwise, the more submissive she became. Too many years. Even now, he could picture her in vivid detail and remember how she felt, smelled, and responded. He’d forgotten nothing—the way she moved, the way she sounded as he thrust inside her, how she felt when she climaxed and her pussy had tightened around him. He thought about switching over to cold water toquell those feelings but decided it was probably best to give himself the relief he needed.
Mac closed his eyes, closing his fist around his cock, and imagined what it would be like when he got her back in his life and his bed. This time, he meant to rope and hog-tie his blonde cowgirl. He let his mind drift back. She’d often joined him in the shower and taken care of that for him or rather with him. He’d always preferred sexual encounters where both parties got what they needed and enjoyed watching and feeling a woman experience multiple orgasms.
His dick became fully erect, almost painfully so. Mac leaned heavily against the shower wall, bracing himself with one hand while he slowly stroked himself as he imagined Willa in his life again. He thought about how her hand would feel when she fondled him, kissing and rubbing herself against him. Mac fisted his cock faster. He’d never been one to rush being with a woman. Willa had been no different. He could recall numerous times they had stayed in bed on a Sunday, with finger food and water on the nightstands, and spent the day doing nothing more than reveling in each other. When he had to pleasure himself, he tended to take less time and was a lot rougher. He grinned. But then, Willa had been known to enjoy a less than gentle quickie.
Mac squeezed and stroked his cock as he imagined Willa kneeling in the shower and taking him in her mouth. He could almost feel her lips gliding along his length as he thrust slowly in and out with the head of his cock, reaching that soft spot at the back of her throat. Mac groaned with the imagery his thoughts and hand were creating. His hips moved in the same rhythm as his hand. Like most men, he enjoyed a woman going down on him, but Mac had rarely given control to Willa. He would often let her initiate things but most often, ended up holding her head in place while he fucked her mouth.
In the past, when Willa had gone down on him, and he could feel his release close, he’d often withdrawn and positioned her on her hands and knees in front of him, so he could plunge his cock deep in her pussy and finish there. Part of his enjoyment came from knowing she enjoyed taking him deep and him shooting his load down her throat into her belly. He closed his eyes and summoned the image of Willa’s ass in the air as he parted her feminine folds and drove himself to her depths, usually claiming the first of her orgasms. He pulled hard on his cock and felt his cum rushing up from his balls and down his length before spilling onto the shower floor.
As soon as he was done masturbating, he finished his shower and turned off the water, then exited the steamy bathroom of the hotel.
Pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, he smiled. He’d never been one for wearing the tops. Initially, Willa had wanted to wear them, but he’d wanted her naked in their bed. More often than not, he was naked as well—so much easier to fuck her if there wasn’t clothing in the way. Lifting the cooler off the bed, he grabbed the other half of the sandwich and a beer, and plopped down in the middle of the mattress. He turned on the television, watching something mindless, and it was interrupted by breaking news. The media had discovered Simon Eastwick was a fugitive.
“Shit,” he muttered. “There goes easy.”
Mac knew from this point forward, it would be useless tips and racing with the press to find the guy. He texted John and the men who would be heading out to change the meeting time from seven to six. Maybe they could get a jump on the feeding frenzy.
Simon Eastwick was angry. He’d planned his wife’s murder perfectly. She hadn’t grown old gracefully, and as she began the change of life, she’d lost any and all desire for sex and expected him to do without. There should have been no hitch at all in his scheme to end his marriage without a huge financial impact. By now, he should be snuggled up to some international beauty in Dubai. But some mangy coyote had found his wife’s rotting corpse and unraveled Eastwick’s plans. He had yet to go to trial, but Eastwick was no fool. He knew his chances were slim to none, he wouldn’t be convicted. He had no interest in the lethal injection that could be imposed if he was found guilty.
He laughed to himself. They’d thought they had him trapped. All his bank accounts and other assets had been frozen. His passport had been seized, and his house was under surveillance. The authorities hadn’t known he had a safe hidden in the kitchen floor that contained several million dollars in cash and bearer bonds. He’d also planned ahead years ago and had a phony passport created. It, too, resided in the safe.
His stupid wife had played with well-bred, high-dollar warmbloods. He’d ensured one of them was trained to ride under a western saddle and one trained to carry a pack. He’d told her that way they could ride in the beautiful countryside together. He’d simply saddled the horse that could be ridden western and packed gear—and funds—for a ride across the border into Mexico. From there, an uncharted private flight to Dubai would take him to his new life with some young beauty who’d ride his cock the way his wife hadn’t in years.
He felt his cock stiffen and reined in his libido. If he had enough time between when he arrived in the small Mexican border town and when his plane would be ready to whisk him off to a new life, he’d find a high-end whore to vent his frustrated lust on.
Part of his plan had worked. The horses had been well trained and were doing their job. The part he hadn’t counted on was, while they looked to be in beautiful shape—glistening coats and firm, muscular bodies—they weren’t in aerobic shape. They tired easily, were afraid of their own shadows, and in general, were a pain in the ass, but he had no choice. These two were his only way out. He followed the small river that lazed along the foothills, heading south, and tried to keep close to the mountains, especially during the day. At night, he did without the comfort of a fire, eating protein bars and drinking tepid water. He dressed in layers and was warm enough, but not comfortable. It wouldn’t be for long, he told himself. Soon, he’d be in Dubai. Soon, his new life would start.
Chapter
Six
John was waiting with his SUV when Mac and his men exited their motel rooms and hopped in. As he opened the door, Mac could smell bacon, coffee, and other heavenly breakfast aromas.
“Mandy thought you boys would be hungry, and if we want to try to stay in front of this story and ahead of the press, we’ll need to eat on the go. There’s coffee in the thermos and creamer and sugar in one of the Tupperware bowls. The other one has homemade salsa. The cooler there actually has a hot pad in the bottom, and Mandy made breakfast burritos with extra bacon.”
The men tucked in, and for the next few minutes, all that could be heard was happy munching and words of thanks for Mandy’s thoughtfulness and excellent cooking skills.
“So, where are the horses?” Mac asked.
“Mandy texted Gus last night. He’ll meet us at Tortilla Flats with the horses saddled and ready to go. There are scabbards and rifles in the back of the SUV, and the horses will already have water and provisions. If you’re going to stay out overnight, I can arrange to have a camp set up for you. I asked Mandy about Willa’s availability, but she’s gone off on her own little adventure.”
“Still stealing mustangs?” Mac asked, his voice laced with amusement.
“You know Mandy and Willa—they have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy, seeing as I’m a US Marshal.”
