I love women. I’m not
ashamed to admit that making a beautiful woman come is my main goal in life—one
that I accomplish night after night. Women are as drawn to me as I am to them.
I don’t get turned down. It’s not a brag, just a fact. At least it was a fact.
Until I met Quinn—the one woman who didn’t fall for my easy charm. Now, I have
to have her. She may not want to get close, may not want to admit that I turn
her on and can give her a night that she’ll never forget, but she was mine the
first moment I saw her. Eventually, I’ll have her beneath me, my hands in her
hair, and my name on her lips. It’s what I do. I’m the Panty Whisperer.
TOMMY IS SHAKING his
head too much for comfort as I walk up to him at the bar top.
"What?" I
ask.
"Nothing, man.
Didn't say a damn thing, bro."
"Megan tell
Quinn?"
He stares at me like
I'm an idiot. "Herbert, I just wanna shake the ever-loving shit out of you
sometimes. Quinn knew the second she walked by you and you poked your little
head, yes I mean both of them, up like a turtle coming out of his shell. Megan
tell Quinn? Fucking Michelangelo over here. You didn't learn shit from
Splinter, did you? Fucking honorary Foot Clan member."
"It wasn't like
that."
His eyes are about to
pop out of his head. "Just save it, bitch. You're making my life oh so
complicated. You're lucky you're a hot piece of man meat."
"But—"
"Don't!" He
bugs his eyes at me again.
"I—"
"I said
don't." He talks so damn fast I can't get out a word and his puffed out
cheeks are trying not to laugh. His eyes open wider.
"Look—"
"You are
terrible at this game, Sir. I said don't!" He's on the verge of an
aneurysm.
"Fine. You are
such a persistent prick. You know that? What the fuck is new?"
He looks away. So
smart to have such an obvious tell. He's withholding information.
"What is
it?"
"Nothing."
He won't look at me, and now I have to know.
His voice gets all
high pitched. He's nervous. "You see the new Force Awakens trailer? If
Abrams doesn't bury that goddamned Binks clown I will murder him, Herbert. I
will fuck his Facebook page with the fury of 1,000 angry porn dicks, by
god!"
"Tell me what
you're going to tell me." I inch closer to him.
He shakes his head.
"Didn't work. Did it? Changing the subject. You can't be persuaded to the
dark side?"
"Tell me. I know
you want to. Join me, Thomas."
He looks away.
"Thomas, look at
me." I'm the one bugging my eyes now.
He turns back to me
and cackles. "Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me, Sir. I am enslaved
by the pussy of one Megan, much like Leia tied to the likes of a forty-ton gila
monster. I am a Jedi, like my father before me."
I crouch down in his
face. "So be it, Jedi. And now young Skywalker, you will die."
"Fine, man
goddamn!"
I grin huge.
He glares back at me.
"Quinn's leaving town. She's going to speak at some bullshit conference
for their company. And it could be permanent if she does well." He gasps
like he's been holding his breath for hours.
My heart drops into
my stomach. Pain rips through my bones at his words, but I compose myself.
"Good for her. I'm sure it'll be good for her career." I look around
and want to rip the walls off this building and burn it to the ground.
"I'm sorry,
man."
"For what?"
He looks up at the
bartender and orders two scotches, then tosses me a look like I'm clueless and
want to copy his calculus homework. "I'm sorry."
I give in and stare
down at the ground. "It's okay, buddy. It's not like it's a hundred
percent sure thing she’s leaving forever, right?"
"Yeah, well. I
don't know. I wish you two would stop being idiots. Everyone can see it but the
two of you." He stares out the window.
I want to change the
subject, but my thoughts are flying back and forth like a Blue Angels air
show. "It's too late, man. Yeah, I love her. But I fucked it up. Can we
all please move on?"
His face tightens and
his jaw clenches, grinding his teeth together.
Guilt pummels my abs
with a right cross.
"You didn't fuck
it up, man. You could still have her. You're just too much of a pussy to do
anything about it." He slams his fist on the counter, rattling all the
glasses down the bar, then turns and walks toward the door.
"Dude, what the
fuck? What do you care anyway? Sorry I'm not making things convenient for you
and Megan." I squeeze my glass of scotch so hard I'm worried it might
break.
He pauses for a
second, then turns back around and walks over to me. His hands are clenched
into fists. I don't know that either one of us has ever been in a fight, so I
don't know what the fuck to do.
Sloane Howell lives
in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or
writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with
the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost
always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.
Visit his web page
www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new
releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.
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