He grinned. “Why not?”
She squinted at him. “You serious?”
“As the grave. Not like we haven’t. And you seemed to like it at the time.”
Tabby sipped more alcohol, the colour in her cheeks so strong he could have seen it from space. He waited for what she’d say next. What sounded like thrash metal was playing through her speakers, setting an aggressive tone. He pictured Tabby on her back, her dress pulled up and her thighs wide as the real-life Tabby stood, tumbler in hand, eyeing him like a fox in the woods. Ready to flee.
“You never told anyone about us, did you?” she said. “Not Scott or Noah or any of your crypto-bros?”
“That would have been ungentlemanly.”
“Maybe I’m just not worth bragging to the boys about?”
Toby frowned. There it was again, the insecurity he wasn’t quite sure was sincere. “You want me to get on the podcast and tell anyone who wants to listen how good of a fuck you are? I’ll make it happen tomorrow. Tonight even.”
Tabby’s gaze darkened, her pupils expanding outward. “Flattering, but I think I’ll take a raincheck.”
“Whatever you want, Tabitha.”
His voice was getting deeper, closer to the pitch he used when he was inside some girl who wasn’t Tabby. His muscles tensed, wanting to move closer, but he stayed where he was. “You seeing anyone right now?”
“Would you care if I was?”
Jealousy blazed through him at the thought of Tabby entertaining another mouth-breathing cunt of a boyfriend. He kept quiet, wondering what would be worse: Her being taken or pretending to be that way so he wouldn’t hit on her.
When Tabby spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “You wouldn’t care. You’d hook up with me anyway, wouldn’t you?”
Their eyes met, and several wires connected in Toby’s brain. Her language implied she didn’t actually have a boyfriend, but unless he was as mistaken as a man could be, the thought turned her on. The idea of him cuckolding the useless assholes who’d wasted her time before now. He pictured himself pounding into her from behind, her big tits swaying as she panted into her phone,Sorry, baby, I can’t make it... No, I’m out with the girls…
He thought he’d been feeling heat before, but this was a fucking inferno. His blood turned to fire, his cock swelling to the point of pain. He liked topping. Liked being in charge, and while he only wanted Tabby for himself, if she wanted him to play the amoral asshole, he could do that, too.
He poured himself more tequila and then rested the bottle on the carpet. “If I had five minutes left on earth, I’d still use it to try and fuck you.”
She touched a hand to her mouth. “And… if I had a boyfriend?”
Was it the Village Belle that made her think of him this way? Or had this always been a kink of hers? It didn’t really matter. He'd always loved wrestling, so he could play the heel, the fuckboy, and sensed that was what she wanted. A way to flirt while keeping some distance between the people they’d once been.
He painted the biggest asshole smile he had all over his face. “I don’t care if you’ve got a fucking husband. I’ll fuck you on this couch and send you home to him with my bruises on your ass and my cum dripping out of you.”
A beat longer than any second on earth, as Tabby’s fingers gripped her tumbler like she was hanging on for dear life.
“Does that turn you on?” he said, his voice like gravel. “Ruining some dumb fuck’s life because you’ve got an itch he can’t scratch?”
Tabby quivered like a leaf in the wind. “I… Let’s say it does. I don’t… Would you really…?”
“I think we’ve established I would.” He drained his glass, placed it beside the bottle, and sat back on his couch with his arms spread. “Come here and kiss me. Find out.”
She shook her head, her blue-brown hair flying around her shoulders. “You’d have to pay a lot more than thirteen grand for that?—”
“How much?”
She froze. “Huh?”
His blood was moving fast and thin as boiled water. She wanted a cunt? He’d bring the whole party. “How much? You need money. I’ve got money. What’ll it take to get you to sit on my lap and kiss me?”
She laughed, but not like she thought it was a joke. Like she was dangerously close to something she was terrified of wanting. “I’m not a professional sex haver, Toby. I don’t have sex for cash.”
“But you’ll tattoo for it. And you’ll tattoo me for it, even though you think I’m a prick. So, you’re halfway there already. How much?”
