He sinks down beside me, having but to open his arm for me to take up space in every available inch beneath its sheltering embrace.“Only for you, City Boy,” he murmurs, peppering the top of my head with soft, sticky kisses.“Only for you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Grady
“Rebel Yell.”
I grumble, half-asleep, as an airhorn tears through the mid-morning silence outside the bedroom window.I blink my eyes open, the sun so bright it illuminates the vibrant pink handprints seared into Chet’s pretty little ass.I marvel at them, tempted to trace them one last time but sensing that would only lead to another jizz-soaked rumble atop the already ruined sheets.
He wriggles his tight little tush as if he can feel me watching, mumbling something about “noise complaints” as I stir, sitting up as my cock tears away from where it’s been embedded in a dried smear of jizz on my left thigh for who knows how long.I wince and look for my phone.
Then I realize, I’m not at home.This isn’t my room.It’s not even my house.I haven’t checked my phone in hours, and for that matter, it’s not early in the morning at all!
“Shit!”I grumble, scrubbing my face with my hand and standing abruptly as I stumble around the room, tugging on clothes that I know are going to look ratchet as hell by the time I finally put myself together.
The horn blast blares again, every note a jarring stab to my sleep-starved brain as my heart pounds with the implications of what I might have missed by oversleeping on a Monday morning.
“Shit,” I grumble, finding my boots in the living room and shoving into them with dirty socks, bleary eyes, and wobbly legs.“Shit, shit, shit!”
I glance around the house feverishly for the phone in question, spying only half-empty wine glasses and long since burned to the quick candles, souvenirs from what had arguably been the best night of my life.
I clomp across wooden floorboards down the hall and swing open the front door, Parker’s massive truck idling at the curb as he beams from the driver’s side window.“Morning, Sunshine!”he teases, big hand hovering over his steering wheel as if to signal the old Pistol Creek Pythons fight song again.
“No, please!”I beg him playfully, hands up in surrender as I realize I’m still holding my belt in one of them, the buckle whacking me on the forehead as it dangles like a pendulum in front of my blurry eyes.“I’m up, I’m up.”
“‘Bout damn time,” Parker grumbles through the open window, glancing at the thick gold watch he insists on wearing despite being glued to his cell phone 24:7.“I been calling your irresponsible little ass since nine.”
“It’s ...after nine?”I shield my eyes from the blinding morning sun, finding it much higher in the sky than I’d first imagined.
Parker rolls his eyes.“Near on eleven, Dipshit!”
“Fuck!”I gasp, mind reeling with today’s schedule, jam-packed full of walk-throughs, meet and greets, and spit-balling the game plan for this Friday’s big Grand Opening festivities.“The walk-through of the Shooting Gallery!”
“Yeah, well, I got them to postpone a bit on account of your little friend there...”Parker waves at something behind me, and I follow the trajectory of his big, sausage fingers to find Chet peering at us through the guest room window.Our eyes meet, and I glower back at him, giving him my best “get your ass moving” scowl.He winks merrily and disappears, the slatted blinds wobbling to and fro with his abrupt departure.“But time’s a wasting, so...”
I sigh.“Fine, just...”I scratch my head, doing the mental math of how long it might take for a quick shower, breakfast at the Cracked Egg, and then a quick jaunt around the corner to the new Galloping Galleria project on the north side of town.
