Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
But the kind of pussy who weren’t looking for a husband or a boyfriend, usually because they’d just scraped one off, or a man scraped them off. Instead, they wanted a man who knew how to use his dick and tongue. And use them well.
Tina finished braiding his mohawk before securing the end with a hairband, and then pressed herself harder against his back, sliding her hands around to his pecs and down, tweaking the barbells in his nipples.
“Never met a man so into piercings,” she purred.
Deacon remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes focused on his clothes piled on the floor. He needed those to escape. But he couldn’t make a move while she held tightly onto his barbells.
“Yeah,” was all he answered. He wasn’t there for deep conversation. In fact, he hadn’t picked her for talking at all. What he had been there for was over.
It was time to jet.
“Do you have to go so soon?”
Soon? He’d been there too long already. She was starting to get clingy. While the pussy had been great, it wasn’t one he’d want to revisit.
“Gotta work.” And that wasn’t a lie.
“What do you do?”
Fuck. He’d found her on Tinder, not eHarmony. She needed to learn the unspoken rules of a hookup app.
“I’m a pimp.”
Her hands dropped suddenly, like his skin had burned her, and her tits disappeared from his back. “What?”
“Yeah. This was a job interview. Thought you knew that.”
“Bikers are pimps?”
“Yeah, we got a whole stable of bitches. You did alright. You interested? You’d draw some decent money. You work enough johns in a night, you could make enough scratch to start an IRA.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, then winced when she shrieked, “Get out! Get the fuck out of my bed! Get the fuck out of my house!”
That was one way to get cling-free.
He quickly got to his feet, yanked on his clothes, shrugged on his cut and shoved his feet into his boots, not taking the time to lace them. He’d do that when he got outside.
Before walking out of the bedroom, he tossed over his shoulder, “Guess that’s a no?”
Tina was sitting on her bed, the sheet now wrapped around her, pointing toward the door. “Get out! Before I call the cops.”
Deacon shot her a smile, gave her a chin lift and did what he did best...
Got out while the getting was good.
“Four fuckin’ days.”
He lifted one eyelid and stared at his giant of a cousin who was filling the doorway of Deacon’s office.
He had his feet kicked up on his desk with his ankles crossed, his arms crossed over his chest and he’d been trying to take a little snooze. He guessed that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He reluctantly lifted his other eyelid.
Judge apparently had a burr up his ass today.
Deacon just might be that burr.
“Last I checked there are seven days in a week, not four. Learn to count, cuz.”
Judge took a step into the office and shoved Deacon’s feet off his desk. “Four fuckin’ days to do a job that shoulda taken two.”
“Got sidetracked.”
“Yeah, like normal. By pussy.”
“It was decent pussy.” Otherwise he would’ve been home a day earlier.
“Glad you were havin’ fun while my ass was back here takin’ our business seriously.”
“Hey, I got the job done and the money should be hittin’ our account any day now.”
Judge only grunted.
His cousin and business partner couldn’t argue that because it was true. They were getting a nice little chunk of change for Deacon finding a fugitive out in the boonies of northern Pennsylvania. The skip had been hiding out in a hunting cabin in the woods, where cell phone coverage was sketchy, and the neighbors consisted of mostly white-tail deer, black bear and squirrels. And a few backwoods rednecks.
Despite that, Deacon managed to track down the bail jumper, get him cuffed and deliver him to the nearest police station for the bondsman to come haul his ass back to Jersey.
It actually only took him a day and a half. But Deacon wasn’t bringing up that point right now. Not when he had a scowling giant standing a couple feet away from him.
Fee-fi-fo-fum.
“What’s up your ass anyway? Is Cassie findin’ herself unsatisfied with your baby carrot cock and forcin’ you to fuck your Fleshlight again?”
“Got nothin’ to do with Cassie.”
“Then, why you bein’ a dick?”
Judge planted his knuckles on Deacon’s desk and leaned over until they were face to face. “’Cause I can.”
“Whatever. Be Mr. Grumpy McGrumpFace all you want. I still wuv you.” He puckered his lips and made kissing sounds at Judge. “You need a hug?”
“Need you to take your fuckin’ job seriously.”
“This ain’t a job, Judge. It’s my business, too.”
“Then fuckin’ act like it!” his cousin bellowed.
Justice, his American Bulldog, got up from lying at Deacon’s feet to come around the desk. He nudged Judge with his nose.