She wastes no time unbuckling my belt, shimmying my jeans and my boxers down my legs, and lowering her mouth to my cock. She goes to town on me, slobbering and sucking, and…nothing happens. I look down at my limp dick in her mouth, and she stares at me with a frown. “Your technique could use some work,” I deadpan, pushing her off. “Go practice on some other poor sucker.”
“Asshole,” she spits, climbing off me. “Not my problem your cock’s dysfunctional. You should get that checked out.”
I yank my boxers and jeans back up, shooting daggers at her back. “You should demand a refund from your plastic surgeon,” I yell after her. “Those tits made my cock shrivel up and die.” Take that, slut.
I puff on my blunt, closing my eyes, willing that bitch Presley Barlow to take a hike.
This is all her fault.
She broke me.
Broke my cock.
I can’t even get it up now. Unless I’m in the shower, hand wrapped around my dick, imagining she’s on her knees, worshiping my cock like it’s the best thing she’s ever had in her mouth. And just like that, life returns to my lower regions, and my cock thickens behind the zipper of my jeans.
Fuck. My. Life.
I pop a couple benzos, washing them down with a few tequila shots, and join my buddies at beer pong before I decide it’d be a great idea to pay Presley a visit, to tell her exactly what I think about her cheating skanky ass.
Ramshackle is packed to the rafters when I arrive an hour later. Pushing my way through the crowd, I make it to the counter, edging a couple of girls aside so I can plant myself directly in front of the woman who has taken a machete to my heart.
Presley hasn’t noticed me yet because she has her back to me as she makes a couple of cocktails. A “Happy Birthday” banner hangs over the top of the bar, confirming tonight is a special occasion. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice a bunch of balloons and banners spread across a few booths. Someone is celebrating a twenty-first. Music blares from the wall-mounted speakers, and a group of chicks dances in the middle of the room, whooping and hollering, holding beer bottles aloft as they butcher the song, screaming out the lyrics.
I turn back around, my eyes hungrily roaming Presley’s tempting form. She’s wearing ripped black jeans and a fitted red and black corset top that ties at the back. A tantalizing strip of skin is exposed where the top ends and her low-rise jeans start, and I long to flatten my tongue to her flesh and press a row of kisses along her silky-soft skin. She shakes her hips in tune to the music as she fixes a line of cocktails, and my gaze is glued to the sexy motion. When she turns around, my eyes almost bug out of their sockets. Her gorgeous tits are molded perfectly in the low-cut top, and layers of her thick, dark hair kiss her shoulders in seductive waves.
“Kent. I didn’t know you were dropping by.” Her face lights up, like I’m her favorite person in the world, and I almost fall for it. Almost.
“Where’s your fuck buddy?” I snarl, looking around the bar.
Her brows pucker as she sets the drinks on a tray. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure, you don’t,” I slur, grabbing the bar when I feel myself swaying. “If you needed a dicking, I would’ve gladly volunteered. That skinny dude didn’t look like he had it in him.” Word vomit pours from my mouth. “For one second, I believed what we had was real, but you fucking played me.”
She slides the tray to her blue-haired friend before turning to Ford. “I need five.” She told me they alternate shifts, so I’ve no clue why he’s working as well. Unless they knew it would be busy with the party and it was an all-hands-on-deck scenario.
Presley disappears, and rage boils underneath the surface of my skin. Grabbing the nearest drink, I down it in one go.
“Hey! What the fuck, asshole?” A whiny female voice protests at my side. I swing my gaze on her, and the change in her demeanor is comical. “It’s you,” she rasps. She wiggles her fingers at me, even though I’m standing right in front of her. “Hi, Kent.” She giggles, and the sound is like a dagger slicing through my brain.
Behind her, I spot Presley making her way toward me. I sling my arm around the girl’s shoulders, tugging her into my side. “Hey, babe. How about you and me ditch this joint?”
“How about I give you three seconds to get your drunk ass in the back room before I kick you permanently to the curb,” Presley snaps, glaring at me.
As if I’m the one in the wrong.
The girl leans in closer to my side, sliding her hand around my back, her palm landing on my ass. I push her away so fast she loses her balance, wobbling on her skyscraper heels before falling. Presley catches her at the last second. “Watch it, Luanne. And stay away from him.” She jabs her finger in my direction, and her blatant possessiveness is hot.
Maybe I got it wrong?
I don’t know. I’m confused.
Presley grabs my hand, tugging me forward, past the bar, through a door, and into a back room. She roughly shoves me down on a small, lumpy couch before slamming the door shut behind us.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she yells, standing in front of me with her hands on her shapely hips.
“You cheated on me,” I hiss. “You fucking bitch,” I add because I’m seething again and the drugs and alcohol in my system are messing with my thought process.
She sighs, sitting down beside me, clasping my face in her hands. “You saw Chris. When were you at my place?
