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And of course I’m in my office.
The last thing I need is the guys questioning me on who the hell I’m talking to.
One of my brows flies to the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Op. Was there a specific word I was supposed to use to make it register with you?”
“No,” she replies simply. “But you’re talkin’ crazy at work and you never do that.”
“I haven’t fucked you in three days because you’ve been avoiding me and I’m getting impatient.”
“I have not been avoiding you,” she claims with some steel to her tone. “It’s called sleep.”
“You can sleep in my bed. On top of me while my dick is inside you.”
Said body part twitches at that thought and I hear Liv chuckle softly on the other side of the line.
This woman has no fucking clue what she does to me and how much I’m shoving back all the warnings of getting hurt again.
Yet how much longer am I going to do that for?
Bianca has been dead for three years now. My child is lost. I haven’t properly fucked a woman since my ex, and Liv opens up a side of me that I thought was dead and gone.
I want to be a better man for her. I wish to be the dude she brags about to her friends with stars in her eyes.
I want to be a thought.
Something she thinks about when we’re not together and wishes to be.
I’ve got it bad and I don’t give a fuck about it.
“I’ll be back with food in a few minutes,” Liv tells me. “Do your job.”
“You forget who the boss is, baby. I make the rules.”
“Mhm,” she hums haughtily. “I’m not so sure about that.” I open my mouth to explain how much I can show that but she tacks on, “My phone is about to die. See you in a bit.”
Then she hangs up.
Tossing my cell to my desk, I stew over how much Liv doesn’t back down from me. How she challenges the living fuck out of me.
And I love a challenge.
There’s nothing more than my showing Liv how much I can get her to do everything I want just by kissing those soft lips and sliding my fingers into her warm cunt. We’re two opposites with pride and stubbornness and we both know each other’s weaknesses.
We’re fucked.
The phone to Rapture Ink rings off my desk but I remain seated in my spot.
Then it keeps going.
And going.
And going.
Since Liv isn’t at the parlor, apparently the boys forgot how to answer the phone or they’re with a client, so I lean over and pick up the line.
“Rapture Ink.”
“Is Liv there?” a female voice asks, sounding out of breath and almost frantic.
