Page 40 of Gin and Lava

11

MASON

It’s Friday night and the Lava is packed. I’ve been mixing and slinging tiki drinks for three hours straight, and it feels like the universe is just trying to give me a good week. First Naomi after the wedding, and now a Friday night that’s hopping like when Connor used to work here. Things are looking up.

Heck, there’s even a cute brunette bending over the bar and giving me a good look down her shirt.

“You’re the owner, right?” the brunette asks, crossing her arms under her tits to give them a boost.

“Who’s asking?” I tease, putting an umbrella in her drink and sliding the glass over to her. “You or Betty and Veronica?” I nod to her perky tits, who she seems to prefer I be speaking with. Her mouth drops open, both scandalized and amused.

“I follow you on Instagram,” the brunette admits with a giggle. “You say some naughty stuff, Mason.”

She knows my name. “You’re an internet stalker who wants my cock, huh?”

She blushes again, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she might be game for some backroom action.

“I’m Annabelle,” she shares. “Me and my girlfriends are here from California on vacation.” She nods to two girls sitting at one of the tables. “I’ve been following your Instagram forever.”

Annabelle bats her eyelashes, and I never thought I’d have a groupie, but here one is. The universe is really trying to lay it on thick—which makes me wary that someone’s about to kick me in the dick.

“Your drink names are hot,” Annabelle continues, nodding to the hot pink one I just gave her named The Pussy Pounder.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, knowing she’s tee’d me up perfectly. “Are you craving a good pussy pounding?”

She smiles like she’s been dying for me to ask. “Always!” she gushes, wrapping her lips around the straw and sucking.

“If you follow the Lava on Insta …” I say, starting to mix the next drink, because we’re way too busy for me to give her my full attention. “Then you know I have a huge cock.” I point to the rather large penis flowers on my shirt and Annabelle giggles as she toys with her straw. Clearly, Naomi doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I advertise my sizeable dick enough that Anna-who-wants-me-to-ring-her-bell has added my kitschy drink joint to her vacation itinerary just for a chance at what I’m packing. “Do you think you can handle it?”

“It can’t bethatbig,” Annabelle giggles.

“You might be surprised.” I shrug, and she practically salivates into her drink.

What’s up with the universe? I never thought anyone would read those raunchy captions and actually come in asking for it.

I mean, I prayed for it. I probably promised my soul to the devil in some drunken state for my dirty Instagram posts to be my ticket to Pussy Street. Only, the devil has loopholes in everything, and I’m starting to see my mistake. The lust in Annabelle’s eyes promises she’s a sure thing—per my deal with Lucifer, here he is delivering—and yet, I’m standing here, pouring rum, and not even considering taking Annabelle to my office.

Instead, I’m thinking about Naomi’s face when she finally got to lower herself onto my big surprise, and the wild Viking Princess she turned into when she took the ride.

There’s no way Annabelle will compare.

Not that Annabelle isn’t cute. I’m just not ready to erase the image of Naomi yet.

What the hell is wrong with me? Naomi is never coming near me again. She’s a mythical unicorn fuck that I get once. Then, game over.

I’m not stupid.

And here is this cute, pink-drink of Annabelle-delight who’s flown over an ocean to order a Pussy Pounding both on and off the menu tonight. So why is my cock acting like she’s Betty White promoting a granny-panty marathon?

Annabelle bites her lip. “I like surprises.”

And I like sure things. Except, my cock is broken.

“We’re slammed,” I say, finishing the drink I’m mixing and holding it up as evidence, and I swear Annabelle moans like I offered to impale her against a wall with my giant harpoon.

“I can wait,” she says all breathy, giving me a wink before retreating to her friends.

Did you hear that, cock? The perky brunette wants a harpoon ride. Are you going to rise to the challenge? This is the kind of shit that used to happen to Connor when he was juggling rum bottles. Girls would throw themselves at him all the time, and we were jealous as fuck.

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