Constance hands the bags over to Memphis but keeps her eyes pinned on me. “Why would I stay for a drink?”
“Why would you wanna go?”
“Aside from the valuable merchandise in my possession?” She wedges the panel back in place and locks it. “I have an early flight.”
“How early?”
“Early enough that staying isn’t an option.”
“To where?”
Her oval face scrunches in disbelief. “Does it matter?”
“It does if you can get some sleep on the plane.”
The counter, to my surprise, receives a smirk.
“Let her go,” Memphis quietly urges. “We can dump this shit in a party bowl and-”
My head snaps his direction to bite, “I’ll meet up with you in a few. After I share a drink with Constance.”
Memphis starts to shake his head, yet her words distract me from continuing to give him my attention. “No drink.”
“One drink.”
She slings the bag over her shoulder. “No drink, but you can walk me out to my car.”
The option is immediately taken. “Done.”
“Lion-”
I ignore the attempted cock blocking and usher my hand towards the open door. “Lead the way.”
Constance struts past us, though she glances over her shoulder to double check that I’m indeed following. We maneuver around the crowded hallway one right after another, however, when we reach the main living room near the front door, I’m unexpectedly stopped by a club Commoner, a dude who frequents these parties for easy pussy and bragging rights.
“We’re playing high stakes quarters out by the pool,” the man announces. “You in?”
The woman I was anxious to have a little one on one with immediately notices I’ve stopped and back tracks to my side. “What’s the hold up?”
“High stakes quarters, Cookie.”
My fingers viciously curl the collar of his polo into a tight ball and yank him to me. “Don’t ever fucking call her that.”
“So-so-sorry, Lion,” he whimpers.
A low growl of disapproval lingers in the back of my throat. “She’s not club pussy, and if you ever make the mistake of treating her like it again, I will rip off your balls, deep fry them bitches, and feed them to you like dumplings. Got it?”
“G-G-Got it.”
I release him from my clutches, and Constance snickers near my ear. “Just because I’m half Chinese doesn’t mean you have to turn them into dumplings in my honor. I’m also half black. You could deep fry ‘em like chicken or okra.”
Laughter escapes without my consent.
It’s something I rarely do in mixed company.
Hard to take a man or his threats seriously when he’s chuckling like a lunatic.
“What’s high stakes quarters?” Constance asks the Commoner.
He shoots me a nervous look, questioning if it’s alright to answer. Once he receives a nod, he states, “You play for cash or ass.”
“Just how high does the cash pot get?”
My head turns her direction. “Depends on who’s playin’.”
Her gaze grows a glimmer. “I’ve got a minute or two. Show me.”
Happy to extend her stay, but slightly anxious to prove I’m not a complete slave to her pretty face, I playfully push back, “Can a man get a please?”
Constance slides one finger down the front of my cut. “Begging has to be earned.”
My cock twitches against the zipper of my jeans.
I’m gonna have her doing just that…On her knees. On her back. Bent over my bike and my bed. Fuck, I’m gonna have her feening for me to pound that pussy so bad she’s calling in the middle of the work day to have me stop by her job to deliver the good dick.
The two of us change course, veering to the right to make our way to the pool area that’s easily seen through the long glass wall. Outside we approach the round table where
Left Ear is bouncing a quarter into an empty glass. It lands with a graceful clink, and the Cookie sitting across from him pretends to pout.
He gives his crotch a grab. “Suck it.”
She slinks out of her seat, onto her knees, and over to the space between his open legs.
Constance meets my stare. “I see most people choose ass over cash at this table.”
“Depends.” I try not to be distracted by the blow job beginning. “Some men, like Left Ear, only play for pussy. Then you’ve got guys like Locke that exclusively play for cash,” my head motions to the blonde male at the opposite end who’s tossing his hands in the air victoriously, “and then Jumbo who picks what he wants to win based on how fucked up he is.”
She prepares to retort when the woman in the seat closest to us abruptly abandons it.
Pigeon shouts after her, “Sorry, Cookie! I never play for pussy!”
Which makes sense since he doesn’t fuck it.
“Cash?” Constance quickly questions.
His attention lands on her. “Big bills only.”
“Benny big enough?”
“Benny’s perfect.” A devious smirk crosses his lips. “Sit.”
If I hadn’t recently found out he liked dick, that look he’s tossing my woman would be a problem.
Shit.
She’s not my woman…yet.
She will be.
Can feel it.
That’s the only fucking logical reason I can’t stomach the idea of another man too close to her.
And no, middle of a war isn’t the ideal time to find your Old Lady, but what the fuck can you do? I’ve never met a woman I wanna fight for and with. Never even met one I wasn’t willing to pass along when I was finished banging her brains out. Damn sure have never met one I was willing to go rounds over.
She slides into the seat in front of me. “Rules?”
“Each shot costs a bill. First person to miss, loses.”
Constance unzips a pocket on her bag to remove her wallet. She slips out all the cash she has. “Only have enough for ten shots.”
“I’ll cover the rest.”
My mindless volunteering receives both of their gazes.
Dipping into my stash probably won’t hurt, or if it does, I’ll pick up a few more bartending shifts at Hatzidakis, the upscale Greek restaurant owned and operated by the club. It pays well, and I save better. Learning to pinch pennies is one of the only good things growing up in that shit hole trailer gave me.
Pigeon grunts his concern. “You sure you want me to take your money, Lion? Don’t wanna hear your ass roar in the house about this shit later.”
I don’t bother glancing at Constance. “Positive.”
He gives his red nose a rub and repositions the glass. “Alright. Ladies first.”
Constance places her bill on the table beside the glass, snatches the quarter, and bounces it in with what appears to be minimal effort.
Impressed by the shot, I mutter under my breath, “Damn.”
Pigeon fishes the quarter out of the glass and mimics the action, making it in as well.
The woman I want underneath me for hours upon hours, pulls her long black hair to the side of her face. “This is going to get very boring, very quickly. Let’s make it more interesting.”
“I’m listening.”
“Trick shots. I make it, you have to mock the shot and make it too.”
His large eyes widen in anticipation. “I’m game.”
“Good…” Her sly grin should instill more fear in him than it appears to. “Up high.”
Constance places another bill on the pile, lifts her arm at a strange angle, forcefully chunks the coin against the table, and we watch it soar questionably high. To our surprise, it lands dead center in the glass on another triumphant clink.
Pigeon hastily scrambles to repeat the shot, yet his execution is too sloppy for success. “Fuck!”
She drops her index finger down on the cash and slides it to her side. “Nope. I’m like you, big boy. Only play for cash.�
�
He twitches a glare, and I lightly chuckle, loving the fact she has the balls to hold her own when most women would cower.
That’s the kind of woman you want as your Old Lady.
The kind you want on the back of your bike.
Sporting a cut with a nickname that matches yours.
Weak women are to be fucked.
Strong women are to be wed.
Constance drops another bill on the table to indicate she’s starting another round. This time, she places the round object on her middle finger and flicks her wrist, delivering an even more difficult shot than the first. It sinks itself, leaving behind the familiar winning sound. Pigeon, yet again, rushes to replicate the movement. He loses another bill and babbles to himself about this being bullshit.
She slips the money over to her at the same time she taunts, “Should we go back to the easier version?”
Pigeon grunts, “You’re only winning because you’re picking the shots.”
“You can go first this time.” Her offer is proceeded by her leaning back in her seat. “But only if you’re willing to double down.”
He throws two hundred-dollar bills near the glass. “Kiss your cash goodbye, Princess.”
“Treat the Lioness with more respect,” I instinctually growl, “especially if you don’t want me to kick your ass after she’s through doing it.”
Constance tosses me another curious look over her shoulder but doesn’t verbalize her question.
Fuck. Me.
Did I really just claim her like that?
Did she really not fight me on it?
Pigeon clears his throat and takes an odd, side angle in his chair. With his palm facing the direction of the glass, he delivers a swift side bounce to the object. It skids past the glass and lands in front of her like a present being perfectly gifted.
She tilts her head sympathetically at him. “Wanna go ahead and give up?”
He huffs, stands, and snatches his beer bottle off the table.
I wait until he’s out of earshot to state, “Nice hustle.”
Constance sends her smirk my direction. “Thanks.”
Nudging the chair beside her away from the table so that I can sit in it, I ask, “Is it the only one you know?”
She collects the cash with a casual shake of the head. “Nah. Used to hustle pool too. The pouty look and long eyelashes seem to make men assume I have no idea what I’m doing.” Her eyes soar to mine. “Works at my day job too.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business.”
Once the money is out of sight, she prepares to stand, yet I drop my hand warmly onto her thigh. “How about I make it my business?”
It’s impossible not to notice the way her white teeth dig into her bottom lip.
“You won’t play for ass-”
“Because my pussy doesn’t come with a price tag.”
I helplessly chuckle. “Right. But how about you play for answers.”
Her interest seems piqued.
“I make a shot you answer a question. You make a shot I’ll answer one. But basic shots only. None of that trick shit.”
“How many rounds?”
“Ten.”
“Too many.”
“Eight.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
Constance hums softly in contemplation.
Part of me is tempted to push, tempted to further play off her love of a challenge nature, but the other part enjoys having her cave of her own volition.
I like knowing she wants me even when she’s trying hard not to.
“Done.” Constance pushes the glass they were using into the space between us. “You wanna go first?”
“Hell yeah.” My plunking the coin out of her hand shocks her. “Saw what happened to Pigeon. I ain’t lookin’ to embarrass myself that bad.”
She giggles, and the sound is enough to silence everyone else around us.
Fuck, how does someone dull your senses to everything but them?
That’s probably more dangerous than any arsenal I’ve ever seen.
Thankfully, my first shot is a success. “What is it you do for a living?”
“Pharmaceutical Rep.”
My head tilts in question. “Fucking really? You sell drugs legally?”
Constance snatches the coin out of the glass. “Why do you think I’m so good at the shit illegally?” Her wink is proceeded by a simple bounce that results in a win. “What’s your name?”
I tap the answer on my cut.
“No. Your real name. The one your mother calls you.”
“She calls me shithead.” There’s a brief pause out of me. “Well, when she calls me. And even that’s only when she needs money.”
That I somehow can’t stop myself from giving her.
Maybe it’s because of the guilt that lingers like the scar through my left eyebrow. It’s an apparent reminder of the night she sacrificed herself to take a vicious beating from the deadbeat known as my father. A beating meant for me. A beating that distracted him long enough for me to bail and never look back.
Constance’s hand flies to my thigh to give it a sweet squeeze. Pity from most people would make me spout some shit about not needing sympathy, yet from her it feels oddly comforting. Like I want more of it. Like it’s not a horrible thing to have.
“Colm,” I quietly confess. “My first name is Colm.”
“Sexy.”
My wink is just as flirtatious as hers was. I retrieve the coin and toss it again, landing a second one. “Boyfriend?”
“Impossible.”
The answer receives a raised eyebrow.
“Between a job that drags my ass all over the country, being a part of a charity organization that drags my ass all over the city and having a very…overly protective family that drags my ass through the ringer when I look at a male too long, I’m barely able to enjoy one-night stands.”
My mouth moves to inform her she’s done with those yet stops in fear of crossing a line too soon.
Constance takes her next shot, once more hitting nothing but the bottom of the glass. “You called me Lioness. Why?”
“Because it’s what you call a female lion.” I cock a playful grin. “Shouldn’t you know that? That’s like Kindergarten shit.”
She bumps my legs with hers. “I like to see dick, not have men act like it.”
I surrender my hands in apology.
“Tell me why you branded me.”
Constance doesn’t seem satisfied with my silence.
“Tell me why you claimed me.”
“You belong with me.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“But I wanna know everything, and where I come from, and the way my club operates, that’s the type of shit that only happens when you’ve met your Old Lady.”
The information cracks her jaw.
“Besides, a lion knows his mate when he sets eyes on her.” I slowly slip the quarter out of the glass. “And I’ve had mine on you since you walked through the door.”
Her chest starts to rise a bit faster.
With an over confident grin, I execute my turn. The coin hits the rim and flops on the other side. Pissed to have lost the opportunity to lead the conversation the direction I wanted has me cringing.
“Ooo,” she mocks, “better luck next time.” Constance swipes the object and wins her turn, which is a shock to no one. However, the question out of her mouth is. “If I told you, you could have me, but for only one night, would you take it?”
My hand flies upward to stroke the facial hair on my jawbone line.
This shit feels like a fucked-up version of that “Deal or No Deal” game show.
What happens if I pass and the chance never comes up again?
What happens if I pass, and she hands the offer to someone else?
What happens if I have to bury someone else after I kill them for laying a finger on my woman?
Her body leans
in closer, clearly trying to tempt me. “Would you lock me away in your room for one night? Make me roar like the lioness you want me to be?”
I groan at the spoken scenario as my cock grows inside my jeans.
“Could you give me everything you had only once?”
My mind reels, and my body inches forward.
“Need an answer, Colm…”
Hearing the way my name rolls so flawlessly off her tongue threatens to make me embarrass myself by nutting in my jeans. I push down the growls clawing up my throat and shake my head. “Nah. Once you’re mine, you’ll be mine for that night and every night afterwards.”
She wets her lips and leans back in her seat.
“My turn.” Rather than rush through the motion, I take my time, line up the shot, and fire only when I’m completely certain I’ll be victorious. The coin swirls around inside, granting me access to the avenue of questioning she just provided. “If I kiss you right now, are you gonna stop me?”
Slowly, she shakes her head.
I wrap one of my feet around the leg of her chair and scoot her closer. Constance’s attempt at coyness is demolished by my hand tugging her to me by the thick locks I’ve been desperate to get my hands on. Unlike most women who simply surrender to being taken, she battles back, nails clawing anxiously along the inseam of my jeans. Our tongues collide like recently unleashed animals. They forcefully twist together. Lash ferociously. Trace one another before striking hard. Her palm presses firmly against my cock, and the earlier one-night suggestion seems to warrant a second consideration.
Maybe we start with one night.
Maybe one night is all it’ll take for her to realize she belongs to me the same way I already know it.
All of a sudden, my name is abruptly grumbled, “Lion…”
We instantly split apart to see Memphis staring at us from across the table.
His arm falls from around the woman it was just holding onto and delivers a swift smack to her butt. “Get me a beer, Sweet Ass.”
The Cookie bounces away, and his glower deepens. “We need to talk.”
My growl is louder than anticipated. “You can see I’m fucking busy.”
“Not anymore,” Constance swiftly declares.
“Wh-”
“Talk.” She pushes away from me and rises to her feet, bag finding its way back to her shoulder. “Seems important.”
More important than getting my future Old Lady into bed?
Twisted Tales of Mayhem Page 71