Read Online Southern Spirits by Edie Bingham - Free Book Online Page B

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 . . .

4
    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?’
    â€˜Fuck you. I’m entitled.’
    â€˜You should be welcoming the new guests.’
    â€˜Like who, Old Man Newholme? That black chick? The Olivers? Motley bunch this time.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Please, let’s not add racism to your many, many faults.’
    â€˜Then he left her, and she was at it on her own.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜You’re a crabby bastard today.’
    â€˜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 –’
    â€˜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!’
    â€˜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