Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(13)
Now I’m the one that rears backward from the venom in her voice and the absolutely unexpected violence of her convictions. I open my mouth to say something… what, I don’t know, but snap it shut when she whirls away from me and stalks from the bar.
“What the f*ck did you just say to her, *?” Brody asks as he slams his hand down on the bar in anger, right in front of me.
Turning my head slowly, I look at him… eyes flamed in anger, his jaw muscles ticking because his teeth are clenched hard.
Picking up my glass of Oban, I shoot the rest of the liquor back in one swallow. When I set it back down, I pick up the rest of my money on the bar, leaving a last twenty-dollar tip behind.
“Friend of yours, I take it?” I nod toward the door that Savannah just slammed through.
“A very good friend,” he snarls as he waits for me to enlighten him on our conversation. He can keep waiting for all I care.
“Well, cheers, mate. I’m off,” I tell him with a smirk, so he knows I have no intention of addressing his concerns. He glares at me as he swipes the twenty-dollar tip I left him and stuffs it in the jar. After tucking my money in my wallet, I walk over to the blonde, who watches me with hungry eyes as I approach. She licks her lips, and I’m betting they’ll be wrapped around my cock before the end of the night.
I forget all about Savannah Shepherd and her tender sensibilities.
My orgasm is just lukewarm as I watch the blonde head bobbing up and down over my cock. I’m almost dispassionate about the whole event as I unload down her throat, my balls slightly tingling from the effort. I figure maybe because it’s the second orgasm I’ve had with this chick in the last hour, and I am pretty f*cking drunk, but if I’m honest about it… the first orgasm wasn’t all that great either.
The blonde from the bar with the fabulous tits did indeed give me a ride home. I f*cked her the first time standing up against my front door, on my front porch, thankful for the two hundred yards of privacy separating me from the neighbors to either side. Then I invited her in and we cracked open a new bottle of scotch, courtesy of a quick stop at the all-night liquor store. After a few drinks, and ten minutes of me having to listen to her prattle on about how sexy my British accent is, the best way I figured to get her to shut up was to push her face down onto my lap and have her blow me. Yup, with her mouth full of my cock, I enjoyed the blessed silence and the fumbling of her tongue up and down my shaft, resulting in an orgasm that ranked just above not having an orgasm at all, and right below the way it felt to blow my load after a wet dream when I was thirteen.
Still having no clue what her name is, I push the blonde away from my dick and reach for the bottle of scotch, tipping it back so I can suck it straight from the bottle. I hand it to her, but she shakes her head in the negative.
“I got to get going, baby. Told my babysitter I’d be home by two.” She stands from floor of my living room and wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingertips.
I stare at her hard. “You have children?”
“Two,” she says with a grimace. “Run me f*cking ragged all the time. Half the time, I want to pack them up and send them to live in Virginia with their daddy. They’re so draining on me.”
Her words make fire swim in my stomach and fury rip through my veins. While still holding the bottle, I lift my index finger and point it at her. My voice is low and menacing. “You should cherish your kids.”
She’s clearly too drunk to comprehend the warning in my voice, because she snorts over my comment as she bends over to pick her purse up from the floor. “Those brats haven’t done a damn thing for me other than give me stretch marks and migraine headaches. If I knew then what I know now, I’d probably have insisted their father raise them.”
Setting the liquor bottle on the table to my right, I stand from the couch. She gives me a heated look, probably thinking I’m going to give her a passionate kiss, or maybe drop to my knees and return the oral orgasm. Instead, I grab her roughly by the arm and push her through my living room, right through the kitchen and to the front door, where I open it and push her out onto the porch.
“Time for you to go,” I tell her and start to close the door.
“Wait,” she exclaims in surprise, and her hands shoot out to stop me from shutting her out. “I mean… what the f*ck is all that about?”
My upper lip curls in disdain and while I’m pretty f*cking drunk, my words come out clearer than ever. “You don’t deserve to be a mother. No one should talk about their kids that way. Now get off my property, you f*cking bitch.”
Her hand drops from the door in surprise over my words, and I slam the door in her face.
I walk through Gavin’s house, surveying the damage that has been done since I was here last Thursday and realize, without a doubt, that this guy is a certifiable slob. The kitchen is a disaster… the sink full of dirty dishes, the garbage can overflowing, and a jar of mayonnaise that was left out on the counter for God knows how long, because it now has a green layer of fuzz across the top when I open it up to inspect it.
His bedroom is no better. He apparently doesn’t know how to put his discarded clothes in the hamper as they are scattered all over the floor. The sheets and lightweight comforter on his bed are twisted around one another and kicked almost all the way onto the floor. The man must not sleep very well.