Page 100 of Root

“You can try. The winner gets to fuck the other with the strap-on and his cock.” The thrill of a threesome without the bother of an extra man. I’m not sure she wants to eat out another girl, but if she does, I’m there, and— “I’ll get some sex toys for you.”

“So I can use them on you?”

I open the car and bundle her in because the conversation on the busy street was about to end in indecent conduct charges.

“How about this?” I ask. “We do my thing for the first half and you can end the evening anywhere you like. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The cool and trendy places give way to high end exclusive clubs I hate. I didn’t always hate them, and I still do frequent them, but apart from picking up for mindless sex, they no longer hold the thrill they did when I was underage and had something to prove.

So, yeah, I’m here on a mission. And I still hate these places. With Jess, though, not so much. She’s fucking fun. Her spot-on observations about the poseurs make me laugh. I do avoid the few places I meet with friends, because Jess isn’t someone I want to share. She’s mine. For all intents and purposes, she’s fucking mine.

“How do you deal with these places?” she asks as I order her a tequila cocktail, one with an umbrella of girly proportions.

“By bringing the hottest girl I can find.” I pop the cherry between her lips. “Bite.”

“Your fingers?”

“The cherry.”

She does, and I eat the other half, watching as she swallows, her tongue touching her lips.

Jess raises a brow. “Disappointed?” she asks.

I grin as my phone buzzes. “Delighted.”

I pull the phone free and it’s Fred, who’s driving. I didn’t ask for the extra protection, but that’s what he is. His message confirms my suspicions.

The rough dudes are definitely following.

Sliding the phone away, I pick up my bourbon on the rocks that has her umbrella in it. I grin, move it to the side, and take a swallow.

That isn’t the way to get me. At all.

“You’re right, the umbrella’s pretty in my drink.” I lean in. “Almost as pretty as you.”

“Don’t.” Jess says this so softly I almost miss it, except I’m too in tune with her. “Who was that?”

“Work.” I can play that game too, and tell the truth at the same time.

She glances across the room, then downs her drink. “Can we go?”

I pay up and we leave.

The ugly dudes are leaning against a lamp post, arms folded.

Sometimes they change faces, but not the patch. Didn’t she say the Ten64 was a gang gang, and not motorcycle? Because that gaggle of gang members are definite motorcycle enthusiasts.

“Are they your little gang?” I ask as we get in the car.

She should know.

Jess used to be part of one.

“I’m not with them.”

Jess doesn’t say I don’t know. She doesn’t ask who. She just denies being part of them, and that tells me a whole lot too.

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