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My dick wants it.
Bad.
The images are too graphic in my brain and my imagination is having a field day with how she’d look with her ass bouncing against my hips.
“If that’s not the case, Mr. Stoll,” she continues through my silence before jerking a now blue-painted thumb over her shoulder. “I need to get back to my game.”
I keep my fingers from balling into fists to keep me semi-grounded. Liv wants me to admit that I want it—and I do.
I want to spread her ass cheeks and watch my dick disappear inside her. I wish to hear every single one of her moans for me as I fuck her hard and fast.
She pats my hard chest, patronizing the hell out of me and my fucking interruption of her night before pivoting back to Ryan Reynolds.
And me, I fucking go back to my table with a hard-on, convincing myself that she did what was best for the both of us.
I don’t need to get involved any more with my employee than I already have. It’s messy, a straight pain in the balls, and I have more important things to do than chase down a twenty-three-year-old who’s in the prime of her life.
One we could teach.
Nope.
No.
We’re not doing that.
I repeat that as I retake my seat, the boys still fucking around at the same round of pool that they’ve been on and will continue to be on because neither of them can see the balls straight.
I’m more than likely going to have to drive Winslow’s car and get them all home then make that annoying-ass trip back here in the morning so they can pick their shit up.
I don’t know why I go out with them other than it’s something to do and that they’ve faithfully been with me for years while other artists have been trying to nab them up. I owe them for my success and all they want to do is hang out with me sometimes, so who am I to say no to that?
LIV: Stop pouting over there. You look sad.
My nostrils flare at the text as my regard flies back over to her with her cell in her hand, waiting for RR to finish his shot.
HUDSON: Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap and wipe that expression away?
I see her smile wickedly over her phone and I don’t know what kind of stupid shit is in this Jack Daniels but my brain just wants to get everything out that I just told it we’re not doing.
LIV: That sounds a little scandalous for you.
HUDSON: Not any more than you letting Ryan over there press his hard three-inch dick into you.
LIV: Brent’s pushing more like five.
It pisses me off that she knows his name and that she’d felt his cock against her. It takes everything in me not to stomp back over there and slam my fist into his face, but what the hell is that going to do?
It’s going to make you look jealous as hell.
HUDSON: Sounds lacking.
LIV: Kinda is.
LIV: Especially when I got more this week.
She pockets her phone into the back pocket of her jean shorts when she takes her turn. Ryan over there tries to help her again, but she waves him off and bites her tongue adorably in concentration.
Fuck.
