Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Roger that.” McPherson does his best to nod. “But you know the Marvin Gaye Act comes at a high price, Wahl.”
“Double it.”
Another stunned expression appears.
“And then get me the fuckin’ receipt from this order, McPherson.” My head tilts to one side in a menacing nature. “Your life fuckin’ depends on it.”
Chapter 6
Slater
I thought I knew torture.
I really did.
I thought it involved shit like jumper cables and a bucket of ice-cold water and being dangled from the ceiling like fresh meat in a freezer.
But here I stand.
Corrected.
It turns out that watching my woman in a teeny, tiny blue jean mini skirt with her tits pouring out of a too tight white tank top bend over this bar, desperate to get another man’s attention, takes the shit to a whole new level.
This is the very definition of torture.
We’re talking look up the word.
See this moment.
This moment I would like to rip up into a million fucking pieces and never experience again.
“No matter how hard you stare at my ass in this skirt, it’s not coming off anytime soon, babe.” Arley tosses me a sassy smirk over her shoulder. “And as hard as this damn thing was to get on, once it, along with these fucking boots come off, guess what? They’re staying off.”
“Fair,” I state on a crooked grin and lean in closer, “however-”
“Ohhhh…” she swivels her frame my direction, “such a fancy but for such a non-fancy place.”
“However, while I had to stand by and watch you put all this shit on, I will not simply stand by and watch you take all this shit off.”
Thrill instantly arises in her gaze.
“And just to be clear,” yanking her downward by the beltloop hitches her breath, “I’m not askin’, Angel Cake.” Her lips twitch in what I imagine to be debate prompting my mouth to feather hers, “And I damn sure ain’t arguin’.”
Rather than wait for a verbal reply, I let my tongue slip inside and steal it straight off hers. The first sweep isn’t sweet. Or soft. Or even the loving shit I should be doing in public. No. It’s rough and short, the exact opposite of the ones that follow, which are all coated in so much feral frustration that she doesn’t know whether to moan or whimper, push me away or grab the lapels of my flannel for leverage.
“Could you two stop that?” Blu unexpectedly interrupts, voice severing our locked lips. “That’s what’s scaring away the fucking bartender.”
“He is avoiding this section, right?!” Arley squeaks, figure still leaning into my hold as it shifts from the loops of her skirt to possessively resting on her hip. “It’s not just me?”
“Oh, no, it’s definitely just you,” my second in command pokes between chuckles, “but that’s because Wahl is using the force of his ancient Jedi ancestors to Luke Skywalker his ass away from you, Princess Leia.”
Arley cocks her head in confusion. “Weren’t they brother and sister?”
Lifting my practically full beer occurs at the same time I state, “We all know if I were to be anyone in that universe, I’d be fuckin’ Han Solo.”
“Which makes sense since Blu is basically a hairless Wookiee.”
“Ohmygod, he’s totally made that sound during sex!” Aviva giggles over her boyfriend’s shoulder.
“Hey!”
“Plus, he does usually ride shotgun like a co-pilot should.”
“You hate to let anyone else fucking drive!”
“And I damn sure would hate to let anyone else fly my Millennium Falcon if I had one.”
“I’d make your horn play ‘The Imperial March’ every time you honked it.”
“Do we really think the Millennium Falcon has a horn?” Aviva ponders out loud. “Like was that subject ever covered in any of the movies?” She adjusts her grip on the old fashioned she’s drinking. “They’re all so long that I don’t think I’ve ever fully finished one without having sex or a nap in the middle of it. Oh! That gold bikini costume for role playing is way overpriced, by the way. Had Khar not begged and pleaded and promised to let me lick honey off his nipples I don’t think I would’ve splurged for it.”
The corners of his lips curl upward on a halfhearted shrug. “What can I say? I’m a man willing to compromise.”
“Can we compromise by endin’ this conversation?” I impishly grumble prior to pressing my lips against my bottle.
Chuckles leave the three of them as I allow myself another small sip.
Technically, I’m here on assignment.
An assignment I could’ve easily left Arley at the penthouse while conducting.
Getting an information drop from McPherson in a public location, that’s easy to write off as a coincidence, doesn’t exactly require a Daniel Craig level of finesse, but it does call for some face time in a social environment. One in which it would be hard for people to eavesdrop in and be less suspicious of us having to be so close to talk. For instance, if it was a loud, overcrowded country bar downtown. Which is where we are. Having a “date night” out at The Doubble Barrell to further cultivate the fairytale that we’re an actual couple.