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“Tamara,” he repeats in a deep, silky tone. I blink, feeling my cunt twitch. Behave. Jesus, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone, a single word sets my body on fire. I’m the lamest of the lame at this point.
“I am not cute,” I bite out. Bunnies are cute. Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. But I, Tamara Gallo, am not cute. I’m hot, and there’s a huge difference.
My sexuality isn’t something I’ll ever apologize for. Men never do. They get a slap on the back and an “attaboy” from their buddies for their sexual prowess. As women, we’re judged—even by our friends—for sleeping around. The conquests aren’t notches on a bedpost, but slashes in our Scarlet Letter cardigans.
“Fuckin’ Gallo chicks. Total pains in the asses, full of trouble, and crazy, stupid beautiful. Deadly combo,”
“Two fingers,” I whisper before I can ask for a Mammoth-dick-width amount, just to see what he’d give me.
She’s definitely shitfaced and somehow cuter than she was when she was being mouthy as hell at the bar.
I crush my lips down on hers, done with the games, wound so tight I could probably come in my pants if she’d grind against me a little longer. The girl is that freaking hot. Not only is she beautiful, but the attitude on her could bring any man to his knees, begging for a taste of her sweet pussy or to be put out of his misery.
“She’s not innocent,” Mammoth argues. “She’s a hellcat in heels.” “She’s not a club whore or your old lady. I know her family, Mammoth. They’d have my balls if I let anything happen to her. That includes your ass knocking her up.”
“Have kids, they said,” he mutters. “It’ll be fun. Biggest fuckin’ lie of my life.”
He’s probably right. I’m pretty sure Mammoth could call Sadie anything, and she’d still jump on his cock like her very life depended on the impalement.
I’ve sucked the man’s cock and let him fuck me ten different ways, giving him orgasm after orgasm.
It's sad that there was all that buildup, but then a fade to black when they actually have sex. LAME
Tamara’s hand moves to my knee, locking on to me. I’m captive, forced to stay here, witnessing one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my entire life. But I do it. I stay. For her.
“The way to any man’s heart is through his stomach.” “Lies,” Bear mutters, squeezing his wife. “All lies. Fran can’t cook worth shit, but I still love her.”
