Read Online The Second Bat Guano War: a Hard-Boiled Spy Thriller by J. M. Porup - Free Book Online
Authors: J. M. Porup
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backward onto the bed, pulling me down on top of her.
“About what?” I asked. I drove the knee of my dirty jeans between her legs, bent to kiss her other breast, avoiding the nipple this time.
“Wish I knew.” The words escaped from her like air from a deflating balloon.
I caressed her cheek. Her face was wet. “What did he say?”
She stifled a sob. “He quoted Camus.”
I lifted my head. “Who?”
“Camus. The French philosopher.”
“Who said what?”
She was suddenly cross. “What is this, lecture time?”
“It could be important. What did he say?”
She unbuckled my belt but I stopped her.
“‘The only true philosophical question is suicide.’”
“Meaning what?”
“To live or to die. It’s a choice. You have to choose.”
“And what was Pitt’s choice?”
“He didn’t say.”
I nibbled her neck just under her ear. “Then how do you know he has guilt?”
“I know what guilt looks like. I look in the mirror every day.” She shoved me up onto my knees and grabbed for my pants. “Now shut up and fuck me.” She had my belt undone and my cock in her hand before I could stop her.
Her feather touch clouded my brain, thickened my tongue. “Where would he go?” I asked.
“God, it’s huge,” she said. “You live up to your nickname, I’ll say that.”
“We were talking about Pitt.”
She tickled me in the wrong place. I gasped.
“It matter to you, baby, where he is?”
“It does. Yes.”
She bent to take me in her mouth, but I covered myself with my hand.
“Hard to get.” She laughed, husky, deep in her throat. “I like that.”
I wasn’t, actually. Hard to get. Just not worth getting. But that wasn’t the point. Even though Pitt had screwed me over, and big time, I couldn’t bring myself to return the favor. I’d already fucked his mom plenty. I stuffed myself into my pants, zipped up.
She sat up on her knees and cocked her head to one side. “You’re serious.”
“I said I was, didn’t I?” It came out more tartly than I had planned.
She trailed a finger along my shoulder, came up behind me and pressed herself against my back. She took hold of my sweater and pulled. I put my arms in the air and let her yank it off me. She reached under my armpits, began unbuttoning my shirt. Her lips brushed my neck.
“Said something about volunteering,” she murmured.
“Volunteering?”
“Save the planet, all that crap.”
I took hold of her wrists. “You know where?”
She struggled. I didn’t let go. I leaned my head back, kissed her.
She said, “Pitt always comes home. Eventually.”
“Not this time,” I said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a feeling.”
“Is it your fault?”
I nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“But you have to know for sure.”
I have to know how he deals with his guilt.
But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
I nodded and let go of her wrists. She got up, went to the rolltop desk. She bent forward, her bottom aimed at me in silent invitation. I looked away, closed my eyes, peeked.
“He keeps the things he wants to hide in here.” She lifted the pigeonholes to reveal a secret compartment, and removed several business cards. I was out of the bed and snatched the cards from her hand before she could turn.
“Finally,” she said. “A man who knows what he wants.”
I stuffed the business cards into my jeans pocket, draped my sweater over my shoulder. I pinned her arms to her sides and inched around her to the door.
Her mouth opened wide. “Amazing. But how?”
“What’s that?” I said, one hand on the doorknob.
“You’re so strong.”
In her Boston twang I heard my ex-wife gloating to my face outside the courthouse door. The rage made me horny. I could have fucked an entire harem and had energy left over. But not for this woman, and not for anyone like her.
I opened the door and the singed cat twisted its way into the room, meowing. A little hand snaked through the open door, clamped down on the
“About what?” I asked. I drove the knee of my dirty jeans between her legs, bent to kiss her other breast, avoiding the nipple this time.
“Wish I knew.” The words escaped from her like air from a deflating balloon.
I caressed her cheek. Her face was wet. “What did he say?”
She stifled a sob. “He quoted Camus.”
I lifted my head. “Who?”
“Camus. The French philosopher.”
“Who said what?”
She was suddenly cross. “What is this, lecture time?”
“It could be important. What did he say?”
She unbuckled my belt but I stopped her.
“‘The only true philosophical question is suicide.’”
“Meaning what?”
“To live or to die. It’s a choice. You have to choose.”
“And what was Pitt’s choice?”
“He didn’t say.”
I nibbled her neck just under her ear. “Then how do you know he has guilt?”
“I know what guilt looks like. I look in the mirror every day.” She shoved me up onto my knees and grabbed for my pants. “Now shut up and fuck me.” She had my belt undone and my cock in her hand before I could stop her.
Her feather touch clouded my brain, thickened my tongue. “Where would he go?” I asked.
“God, it’s huge,” she said. “You live up to your nickname, I’ll say that.”
“We were talking about Pitt.”
She tickled me in the wrong place. I gasped.
“It matter to you, baby, where he is?”
“It does. Yes.”
She bent to take me in her mouth, but I covered myself with my hand.
“Hard to get.” She laughed, husky, deep in her throat. “I like that.”
I wasn’t, actually. Hard to get. Just not worth getting. But that wasn’t the point. Even though Pitt had screwed me over, and big time, I couldn’t bring myself to return the favor. I’d already fucked his mom plenty. I stuffed myself into my pants, zipped up.
She sat up on her knees and cocked her head to one side. “You’re serious.”
“I said I was, didn’t I?” It came out more tartly than I had planned.
She trailed a finger along my shoulder, came up behind me and pressed herself against my back. She took hold of my sweater and pulled. I put my arms in the air and let her yank it off me. She reached under my armpits, began unbuttoning my shirt. Her lips brushed my neck.
“Said something about volunteering,” she murmured.
“Volunteering?”
“Save the planet, all that crap.”
I took hold of her wrists. “You know where?”
She struggled. I didn’t let go. I leaned my head back, kissed her.
She said, “Pitt always comes home. Eventually.”
“Not this time,” I said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a feeling.”
“Is it your fault?”
I nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“But you have to know for sure.”
I have to know how he deals with his guilt.
But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
I nodded and let go of her wrists. She got up, went to the rolltop desk. She bent forward, her bottom aimed at me in silent invitation. I looked away, closed my eyes, peeked.
“He keeps the things he wants to hide in here.” She lifted the pigeonholes to reveal a secret compartment, and removed several business cards. I was out of the bed and snatched the cards from her hand before she could turn.
“Finally,” she said. “A man who knows what he wants.”
I stuffed the business cards into my jeans pocket, draped my sweater over my shoulder. I pinned her arms to her sides and inched around her to the door.
Her mouth opened wide. “Amazing. But how?”
“What’s that?” I said, one hand on the doorknob.
“You’re so strong.”
In her Boston twang I heard my ex-wife gloating to my face outside the courthouse door. The rage made me horny. I could have fucked an entire harem and had energy left over. But not for this woman, and not for anyone like her.
I opened the door and the singed cat twisted its way into the room, meowing. A little hand snaked through the open door, clamped down on the
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