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Chapter Three
Conor
Maybe I waswrong about this chick.
She had a bit of a bite, and I liked it.
I reached over to hit the switch, bathing the living area of my apartment in bright light. Stepping away from the door, I stood back and waited for the door to latch before moving toward Curly.
“Grand tour,” I said, giving my general spiel with a heavy sigh. I tossed the pad and invite down on the coffee table before gesturing in the direction of the couch. “Living room.” I pointed to the kitchen, which was clear due to the lack of wall between the two spaces. “Kitchen slash dining.” I stepped past Curly, skirting my comfortable, well-worn leather couch, and headed toward the single hall in this place. Assuming she’d follow, I pointed to a door as we passed it. “Half bath.” I kept walking to the end of the hall, heading toward the only other door, and walked into the bedroom.
This fucker was bigger than the living room and kitchen combined.
I had a California king in the middle of the far wall. A leather ottoman thing at the end of the bed. A dresser. A huge ass television. Door to the attached bathroom. Nothing horribly special in there yet, but I wanted to at least redo the shower. Nix the tub.
When Rory and I bought the bar from my parents, one of my projects was renovating the apartment above as well. Rory had his own place due to some investments he made in college, so I got to call the apartment my own. It had been a two bedroom with an office, and I wanted it to be a bitchin’ bachelor pad.
Dream it, do it, you know?
“Bedroom. Where the magic happens,” I finally said, turning to watch as Curly walked into the room behind me.
Usually the woman would say something at this point, or start stripping—something—but Curly just looked around. I followed her with my eyes as she stepped past me, moving along the wall and taking it in.
“It’s a bit big for just you, don’t you think?” she finally asked. She had stopped near the bed but turned toward me.
“The room or the bed? The bed is sometimes too small.” I smirked at the memories.
Four women. One at the head, sitting with her legs spread. Another between her, eating her out. Me eating that one out while on my back and another woman bouncing on my cock, my hands buried in the fourth’s wet, slick, bare pussy while she rubbed her tit and girl two’s tit.
Good times had been had in this room.
Good times.
Curly looked like she was torn between shock and rolling her eyes. I liked the shock factor.
“Strip,” I told her, reaching behind my head to pull off my shirt. No more talking shit. Down to business. I wanted her naked and spread on my bed.
I had an ache in my cock that having her fucking eyes on me caused. All damn night, she stared. Every fucking time she bit that damn lip of hers, I got a little harder.
It had been a long night downstairs, and I was long and thick to prove it.
When my shirt cleared my head, I saw that she had done the same, leaving her in just those fucking skinny jeans and a bra.
Her tits were fucking huge on her body. They weren’t the perkiest I’d seen, nor the fullest, but tits were tits. Her belly and hips were soft, but she had a small gem hanging in her navel, showing me she wasn’t one of those insecure girls who thought a little extra meat meant she was fat. The piercing proved it; she wasn’t afraid to show off her belly.
I moved to sit on the bed, grinning to myself when she shifted at my nearness. I had a huge fucking bed and yes, I was going to sit next to her as I finished undressing.
I leaned forward to remove my boots and socks. I stood again so I could remove the kilt and my black boxers from underneath.
“You’re moving slow, Curly.”
I dropped everything and stepped out of the puddle of clothes, standing bare in front of this curly-haired woman.
I saw her rake her gaze over my body, lingering on my thick, hard cock that was pulsing and purple, straight the fuck up and down, needing a pussy to envelope it.
Her fingers faltered at the button of her jeans. That’s right, Curly, I was fucking hung.
The women loved it. Often I was told it was my best asset.
