“I had to pee.”
“God damn,” he said. “That came on quick, huh?”
I pressed the back of my head deep into the pillow. “Yeah.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Were you sucking my cock? Right before you had to pee?”
My actions couldn’t be labeled as dick sucking by anyone with knowledge on the subject. It was more along the lines of tasting one of the odd colored suckers at the bank, only to realize the flavor wasn’t palatable.
“Not really,” I muttered. “Licking was more like it.”
Still rubbing one eye, he lowered his hand and gave me a funny look. “Why were you licking my cock?”
“Because the opportunity presented itself. You were asleep.”
His gaze narrowed in opposition. “Wouldn’t it be better if you waited until I was awake?”
I sighed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“When you’re asleep you can’t complain.”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “Why would I complain about a blowjob?”
“I suck at sucking dick. I lied. I didn’t have to pee. I ran to the bathroom, so I didn’t puke on your dick.” I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t swallow an Extra Strength Tylenol without puking.”
He laughed. “Why torture yourself?”
I parted my hands enough to respond. “With what?”
“Trying?” he asked. “If it makes you puke, why try?”
I wedged my hands beneath my thighs. “Because, guys like having their dicks sucked. I want to be well-rounded. Sexually well-rounded.”
Still sitting up, he motioned for me to come to him.
I did as he asked, mentally prepared for a tongue lashing.
He hugged me. “I don’t care if you can suck a dick.”
“Do you like blowjobs?”
“I’d be lying if I said no,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter.”
I should have known. He was the same as every other man on earth. He liked them and I was inept. I bungled blowjobs.
Devastated, I slumped in his arms. “How can it not matter?”
“It doesn’t,” he said a rather convincing voice. “You’re like my motorcycle. You excel at other things. So much so, that the things you can’t do get lost in the wake of your successes.”
Feeling fractionally better about my dick sucking deficiencies, I leaned away and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“My motorcycle’s ugly, right?”’
I couldn’t argue that point. I gave a nod in affirmation. “Hideous, really.”
“But it’s fast as fuck.”
“It sure is,” I agreed.
“It doesn’t have a good coat of paint, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s rusty,” he said. “But it goes like a bat out of hell and it stops on a dime. It’s so good at what matters that I can forgive its shortcomings. You’re really good at fucking, cooking, and looking good, so who cares if you can suck a dick?”
I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He hugged me and then pushed me away slightly. “Now get busy doing what you’re good at.”
“Cooking breakfast?”
He scowled.
I tossed my hair. “Looking good?”
The scowl continued.
I licked my fingers. “Oh, the other one?”
He nodded.
I rubbed my pussy until it was a wet, throbbing mess. I peeled off my panties and tossed them aside. Facing his feet, I straddled his hips. Satisfied my performance would cause him to forget the dismal blowjob, I gripped his morning stiffy in my hand. Eager to prove myself, I guided the swollen head between my wet folds.
I shot him a quick look.
He gave a nod of reassurance.
I sank my teeth into my lower lip and forced myself along the length of his thick shaft like a boss. The tip of his cock bumped my cervix.
A shudder ran the length of my spine.
I pressed my palms against his knees and drew a deep breath. Armed with Price’s encouraging words of my sexual abilities, I bucked my hips wildly, forcing his entire length in and out of my wetness like I was getting paid by the inch. Hoping each frantic stroke would act as affirmation of my skill, I continued the rapid pace like a woman possessed.
At the one-minute mark I had thirty strokes in. I was on the brink of a sexual meltdown. Instead of masking my pleasure, slowing my pace, or changing positions, I simply continued. Shouting my satisfaction into the room, I left nothing to the imagination.
“Fuck. Yes. Fuck yes. Fuuuuck yesssss,” I wailed, tossing my hair in every direction. “I. Love. Your. Big. Cock.”
My porn star performance peaked seconds later. As I thrashed about like a 1980’s rock video vixen, my pussy clenched his shaft like a vise. I glanced over my shoulder and offered him an apologetic look.
Before I turned around, a paralyzing orgasm engulfed me. My toes curled. My thighs cramped. I arched my back in opposition, hoping to continue my noteworthy performance. I managed one more stroke before my body tensed to the point of uselessness. Completely impaled by his entire length, I froze in place, absorbing each jolt of pleasure as it worked its way up my thighs and through my erogenous zones.
The euphoric ripples of pleasure seemed to continue for all of eternity. As soon as they subsided, I collapsed in a pile at Price’s side.
Breathless and wearing a smirk, I glanced in his direction. “Looks like today’s not my day.”
Far from sexually satisfied, but not seeming to care, he laughed. “Make breakfast in your panties and that tee shirt,” he said. “I’ll settle for two out of three.”
28
Price
“What’s the difference between the truffle fries and the regular fries?” Swag asked.
With the fella’s incessant questions about everything from the relationship status of waitress to the new food choices, I felt like I was the bar manager.
I turned my stool halfway around. “Regular fries are the same fries you’ve been eating for the past fucking month. Truffle fries are coated in truffle oil and tossed with a handful of parmesan cheese and some finely chopped parsley.”
He looked at me like I’d responded in Russian. “Tossed?”
“Tossed,” said in an aggravated tone. “She puts ‘em in a bowl, adds the truffle oil, parsley, and cheese. Then, she flips ‘em up in the fucking air a few times to get ‘em covered in all that shit.”
His eyes narrowed. “Buck and a half extra for a little bit of showboatin’ in the kitchen?”
“Ever bought fucking truffle oil?”
Confusion washed over him. “Can’t say I have.”
“Well, if you had, you wouldn’t be bitching about that buck and a half,” I assured him. “Shit costs about fifty bucks for a bottle half the size of a beer bottle.”
“Fifty bucks a bottle? God damn.” His brows raised. “Are they good?”
Panzer, who was seated beside me, turned his chair around. “How’d you find out she was selling them? They aren’t on the menu.”
“Carp told me.”
“What’d Carp say about ‘em?”
“Said they were good as a motherfucker.”
“Well, there you have it,” Panzer said. “It’s a buck and a half, you tight ass. Treat yourself.”
Swag gave a nod of uncertainty. “I might.”
I wanted the bar to be a massive success for Gray. Pinching pennies over the cost of truffle fries versus regular fries wasn’t the way I wanted the men to act. I preferred a no-holds-barred spending pattern that would allow Gray to pay for the waitress, a new cook, and still have money to spend after paying her rent.
I glanced around. The bar was slow. Only the men with nothing better to do had arrived. Granted, in another hour it would be wall to wall ‘Eights. For the time being, I saw the sparse attendance as assurance that Gray would never be able to make financial ends meet.
I wanted her evenings free seven days a week, and
I’d stop at nothing to get it.
“If these fuckers are going to bitch about the cost of truffle fries, she needs to raise her beer prices,” I said.
“No argument here,” Panzer replied. “She’s got the cheapest beer in the valley.”
Brisco stepped to Panzer’s right side and lifted an empty beer bucket onto the counter. The new waitress, Teddi, must have seen him coming.
She hoisted a fresh bucket of beer onto the bar. “Here you go, Brisco.”
“Thanks,” Brisco said, his response long and drawn out.
“Still nothing?” Teddi asked.
Brisco’s gaze fell to the floor. “Nope.”
“That’s so weird,” she said. “How long has it been?”
“Month,” Brisco muttered.
“Man,” Teddi said, shaking her head. “I bet it’s been one brutal month. Has it just been awful?”
Still staring at the floor, Brisco nodded. “Worse than awful.”
Panzer glanced over his shoulder. “You know what they say when people are kidnapped.”
Brisco looked up. “What’s that?”
“If they aren’t recovered in forty-eight hours, they’re figured for dead.”
Brisco’s brows knitted together. “Why the fuck you wanna say something like that?”
“Just trying to better prepare you for the inevitable.”
“Fuck you,” Brisco whined. “I’ll get ‘em back. Kidnappers are probably holding out for more money.”
“Out of curiosity, what would you pay for ‘em?” Panzer asked.
Brisco gave him a shitty look. “What would you pay to get your sister back?”
Panzer jumped off the edge of his stool. He glared at Brisco with fire in his eyes. “Mention my sister again, and I’ll cut your fucking throat. That’s a promise.”
“God damn it, Brisco,” I snarled. “Have some fucking tact.”
“Sorry, Brother,” Brisco said, directing his comment at Panzer. “Wasn’t thinking.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about your cats,” Panzer said. “But you need to pull it together. You’re a fucking wreck.”
Brisco nodded and turned toward his table. “Doin’ my best.”
Panzer hopped on his stool. “Funny how shit changes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Six months ago, you and meathead over there were inseparable. Now, you two barely speak. How long’s this gonna last?”
I had no idea when it would end. I got tremendous satisfaction from seeing Brisco wallow in misery. The closer I became to Gray it seemed the more I enjoyed watching Brisco suffer. It did need to end, but I wasn’t quite ready.
I glanced over each shoulder. The closest men were Chin and Swag, and they were thirty feet away. Teddi was at the end of the bar, filling buckets with ice. I leaned to the side.
“I’ve got the cats,” I whispered.
Panzer shook his head. “Say again?”
“You heard me.”
“Got ‘em, like you’re the one that took ‘em?”
“No.” I sipped my beer. “Gray did. It was her idea. Figured it was a way for her to get back at him for what he did to her.”
“That’s fucking awesome,” Panzer said. “What’s next? Holding out for more money?”
“Sooner or later we’ll give ‘em back. Kind of got used to ‘em, though. They sleep at the foot of the bed.”
“Aren’t they wild?” Panzer asked.
I shook my head. “Energetic.”
“What’s the difference?”
“They go like hell for four hours a day, and then they lay around and sleep. Kind of nice having something to come home to every night.”
“I can see that,” he said. He reached for his beer. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Haven’t got one, yet.”
“Wait much longer, and he’s liable to commit suicide.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Brisco was sitting beside Carp with his head buried in his hands. I turned toward the bar. “I’ll figure something out here pretty quick.”
“Good on Gray for thinking of that though,” he said. “Little chick’s a genius.”
“She’s pretty witty.”
Teddi leaned over the edge of the bar across from us. She pushed the bill of her ball cap up a little. “So, three chicks all work together, and they go out to celebrate one of them finally getting divorced from her abusive husband. They get shit-faced drunk on Fireball. At the end of the night they stumble out of the bar and go their separate ways.”
She replaced Panzer’s empty beer and checked mine. “You good?”
I nodded. “For now.”
She alternated glances between us. “So, the next day at work, the three of them are together, comparing stories from the night before. The first one says, ‘I was so drunk, I stumbled into the house and immediately blew Chunks.’ The second one says, ‘That’s nothing. I tried to drive home and two hundred yards from the bar hit I a telephone pole and totaled my car. Luckily no one was hurt.’ The third one raised her index finger. ‘I’ve got you all beat. I got home, immediately started fighting with my husband, decided to sleep in the den, and ended up pissing myself because I was too drunk to get up.’ The first one shook her head and laughed. ‘I don’t think you two understand,’ she said. ‘Chunks is my dog.’”
Panzer spit beer across the bar. “That’s nasty.”
Teddi laughed. “Funny as fuck, though. Huh?”
Panzer wiped his mouth. “Pretty funny.”
Teddy cleaned the bar and tossed the towel in the ‘dirty’ bin. She glanced at the clock. “Thirty minutes before this place goes to hell. Either of you need anything?”
“Reuben,” Panzer said.
I nodded. “Same. Truffle fries.”
“Same here on the fries,” Panzer said.
She turned toward the kitchen.
“What do you think about her?” Panzer asked.
“She’s good,” I said. “Damned near as good as Gray.”
“Pfft,” Panzer spat. “She’s good. But she’s no Gray.” He watched her ass as she walked away. “Cute bitch, though. She’s got a great ass, too.”
Teddi was in her mid-thirties. Tall and flat-chested with a small waist, she had an incredibly curvaceous ass and massive thighs. She kept her long blonde hair in a ponytail and wore a ball cap cinched tight on her head. She wasn’t easily offended, cussed like a sailor, and had an outgoing personality, which was great trait for a bartender.
“Bet she played softball in school,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Probably right.”
“What?”
“All those ball players like pussy.”
“Hell,” I said with a laugh. “You two have something in common.”
“I’d like to see that ass of hers out of those jeans,” he said, nodding toward her as she passed through the kitchen door. “I bet it’s as tight as a banjo string.”
The death of Panzer’s sister took a toll on him, emotionally. Since then he hadn’t been in a single relationship and seemed to care much less about women, other than making an occasional comment. Having been in a similar situation after the loss of my aunt, I hoped that one day soon he’d find a way to let himself begin the recovery process.
I nodded toward the kitchen. “You ought to see if she wants to go for a ride with us sometime.”
“Thought Gray was hiring a cook?” he asked. “Been a couple weeks, and all she’s done is cut the hours that she serves food.”
Panzer was like me in many respects. When he didn’t want to answer a question—or if he was tired of talking about something—he simply changed the subject. I was the world’s worst at answering a question with a question. Panzer was a close second.
“She’s got a couple of ‘em coming in on Sunday,” I said. “She whittled it down to two before ever interviewing them.”
“Dudes or chicks?”
“One of each.”
“Hope it’s a dude,” he said. “G
ray would completely walk all over a chick that was trying to cook her recipes.”
I laughed. Gray would walk all over anyone who she felt wasn’t doing a good job, me included. That was one of the many things I liked about being in a relationship with her. I knew if for some reason I wasn’t meeting her expectations, she’d let me know.
An empty bucket hit the bar with a clank. Brisco leaned against the bar beside Panzer. “This day can’t end fast enough.”
Panzer slapped his hand against Brisco’s left shoulder. “I’m sure those cats will show up in good health, Brother. Probably some chick you pissed off who just needs to cool off a little.”
Brisco looked up. “Problem is there’s dozens of bitches that it could be.”
“Just think of the one that you fucked over worse than all the others,” Panzer said. “She’s probably your woman.”
Brisco chuckled a dry laugh and nodded toward the kitchen. “Hell, that’d be Gray.”
“Think Gray took ‘em?” Panzer asked.
“Naw.” Brisco shook his head. “She wouldn’t have done that.”
Panzer sipped his beer. “You don’t think?”
“No fucking way. She told me the other night she had a cat when she was a kid. She knows how a person can get connected with an animal. She wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Yeah,” Panzer said. “Your probably right.”
Teddi burst through the kitchen door and made it to the bar in a few long strides. She looked at Brisco. “Out of beer already?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“Still nothing on the cats?” she asked.
He looked confused. “Since you asked earlier?”
Teddi winked at Panzer. She then looked at Brisco. “Did we talk about this already today?”
He scratched the side of his head. “Yeah. Thirty minutes ago.”
She lowered her gaze to the bar in mock shame. After a moment, she looked up and shook her head. “You know what they say about blondes.”
“What’s that?” Brisco asked.
“A blind man walks into a bar and taps his cane against the floor until he finds his way to a barstool.” She glanced at each of us before continuing. “He orders a drink and asks in an overly loud tone, ‘Anyone want to hear a blonde joke?’ The bar goes silent. Then, the woman next to him says, ‘Before you tell that joke, I need to warn you. The bartender is blonde, the bouncer is blonde, I’m blonde, and the fella behind you is blonde. Lastly, the big muscular gentleman on your other side is blonde, too. You still wanna tell that blonde joke?’ The blind man laughs and says, ‘Forget it, I’d rather not have to tell it five times.’”
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