Page 24 of The Man Handler

Before I can continue playing my song list in my head, I am once again snapped out of my reverie by the pesky, annoying sound of my alarm. I blink, staring at the clock. I can’t believe that it is almost eight o’clock. I am shocked that I have been lying in bed daydreaming and reminiscing when I should already be on my way to my office.

“Fuck ’em,” I say out loud, reaching for the phone. I call out from work. This is the second time I’ve called out because I spent all night sucking and fucking.

But between you and me, sitting at a desk today would be downright torturous. Ian tried to rip me a new asshole last night. Now I’m paying dearly for it. Ugh! I should have never let him stick that thick dick in my ass. My hole is aching something fierce! On top of that, I think I have the beginnings of what feels like hemorrhoids. My ass is on fire!! The only thing I plan on doing today is soaking in a tub of Epsom salts and applying ice to my ass to quench these damn flames. There’ll be no further digging out this hole for at least a month. Believe that! Thank goodness I have two other holes that are still functional. Ugh, damn him! But, oh, baby…that dick was so damn good.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Hey, baby.”

For some reason, hearing those words, hey baby, the way he says it, the way it rolls off his thick tongue—low and sweet, dripping with innuendo, causes my chest to tighten. I’m not sure why, but hearing his voice today and the happiness in his tone makes me nauseous. For a brief moment, my breath gets caught in the back of my throat. I feel myself getting light-headed as I imagine his large hands wrapped around my neck, twisting the life out of me, strangling me. Eyes bulging, gurgling sounds seeping from the back of my throat until my body goes limp. I gulp a deep breath, fighting for air, my eyes darting around the room as I attempt to break free from his grasp.

Coming to my senses, I blink the thought away.

“Garrett.”

I glance at the clock. It’s after eleven and I am still in bed, naked underneath the covers. I can’t believe I have slept most of the morning away.

“Yeah, baby,” he says thoughtfully. “I haven’t spoken to you in a while so I thought I’d call to check in on you; you know, see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You sound like you’re still in bed.”

“I am. I’m playing hooky today.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see him smiling, licking his lips. “You up for some company? I’d love to stop by and help reenergize you.”

“No, I’m too exhausted,” I reply, bursting his bubble. “Besides, didn’t I see you a few days ago?”

“Yeah, and? Can’t a man call a special friend to see how she’s doing and want to spend more time with her?”

Friend? In the three or so years I’ve been fucking Garrett, I have never really placed a label on the two of us, except for maybe…fuck buddies. But, friends…uh, that would be stretching it a bit. Outside of sex, there is no exchange of information between us that is usually shared between two people who consider themselves friends. There are no secrets shared, or nights out on the town; just pure, unadulterated, sweaty fucking. So how the fuck does he come up with this friends shit? Humph.

“I guess so,” I offer halfheartedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. I was thinking about you, and wanted to hear your sexy voice and let you know you were on my mind. That’s all.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. I know I should be touched by the gesture, but I’m not. The last thing I want is for him or any other man to be getting all mushy and shit on me. That is not part of the arrangement. I know, I know. I can’t control how someone else feels about me. Nor can I prevent them from feeling what they feel. However, I still don’t have to like it, and I definitely don’t have to subscribe to it.

I inhale deeply, then slowly exhale. “Thanks,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you?” he asks.

I suck my teeth. “Didn’t I already say I did?”

“But did you mean it?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“C’mon, Bianca, you know, like I do, that sometimes what a person says and what they actually mean aren’t always the same. So I’m gonna ask you again, did you mean it?”

“Okay, Garrett. You want the truth?”

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding annoyed. “That would be nice.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then why’d you say it?”