Page 42 of Devil’s Disciples

“So, you like him?”

It was the most ridiculous thing she’d said all night. “I like his dick. That’s it.”

She seemed confused. “I thought you said he was hot.”

“He is. But he’s a man. Eventually men do what men do. As long as he stops in and fucks me from time to time, I’m getting all I need.”

“It’s nice to have a man to come home to,” she said. “Not all men are like Jacob.”

Hearing his name made me cringe. I arched an argumentative eyebrow. “Says the woman whose husband ran off with the big-tittied chicken wing waitress.”

She huffed out a breath. “Point taken.”

I reached for the bottle of wine. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up his name again.”

“He lives three thousand miles from here, and you guys have been split up for, what, five years? It’s not like you have anything to worry about. Not anymore.”

She was wrong. Thoughts of what he’d done lingered in my mind every hour of every day. The only way of making certain I never had to relive the experience was to never get attached to another man.

And that was what I planned to do.

15

Baker

Good pussy had the ability to change a man completely. History had proven that it caused men to go bankrupt, cheat on their wives, commit murder, and even declare war. Denying the effect a tight pussy had on a man’s ability to retain his wits would be foolish.

I wasn’t a foolish man.

I pushed the door to Andy’s office open. Sitting sat her desk with a stack of paperwork in front of her, she was wearing a form-fitting gray blouse that accentuated her every curve. Her blond hair was down and had a slight wave.

As my cock began to rise against my jeans, she looked up and smiled.

I tore my eyes away from her tits and looked her in the face. “Do you make your hair like that, or is it natural?”

She reached for her hair. “Like what?”

“Curly. Like it is now.”

She lifted a few strands of hair off her shoulder with her index finger. “This isn’t curly. This is what it looks like if I straighten it and then curl it a little. If I leave it alone, it’s a disaster.”

“Disaster in what sense?”

She raised both eyebrows. “It’s a curly mess.”

My throat tightened. I swallowed heavily and then raised my index finger. “Is that the natural color?”

“This?” She shook her head lightly, sending her hair into slow-motioned orbit. “No. It’s naturally brown. Brown and curly.”

A person’s nationality made no difference to me. I truly believed we were equal in the eyes of our maker, and, therefore, should be in mine. I ranked people based on idiocy, and quickly cast the idiots from my life. Sensible people were kept as associates and companions. Color, religion or nationality never came into play.

I did wonder about Andy having the Brazilian temper, and how it might come into play when I broke off our sexual relationship. The odds of Cash being right about her nationality were a million to one. Her pale skin tone told a story that her hair and eyes couldn’t deny.

I sat down. “Kinky and brown? Is that a genetic thing?”

“I suppose. My mother’s Brazilian. I’ve got her hair.” She blinked a few times. “And her eyes. Sucks that blue eyes are recessive. I wish I had them, instead.”

What little rigidity my cock had when I sat down promptly vanished. I swallowed a mouthful of complications and coughed into my clenched fist. “Brazilian, huh?”