Page 50 of The Killer Card

“Enough!” She cries, shoving my hand from between her legs before she collapses atop my chest. Her fingers still hold my jaw firmly, though her nails no longer bite. “Enough…”

My hands remain where she left them. I don’t reach for her. I don’t try to comfort her. Instead, I take the moment to just lie there, catch my breath, and try for the life of me to remember how the fuck we even got into this position in the first place.

✽✽✽

"So….”

I sit at the counter with my relit joint, watching Naomi pour herself a glass of wine from a bottle Elias gave me years ago that I never opened.

I’ve never been much of a wine drinker, or a drinker in general really. I’ll have a glass of wine at dinner, or a beer with the guys. Sometimes I order a whiskey at the club, but alcohol was never my vice. It sure makes being a bartender a lot easier to not have that particular temptation, but it also means that I have a lot of unopened bottles that have been gifted to me over the last decade.

Naomi drinks though and appears to very much need one as she still refuses to look up at me. Acknowledge me. Even care that she’s standing in my kitchen with those legs on full display.

It’s almost comical really, this beautiful woman standing with my shitty kitchen as the backdrop. She belongs in a goddamn palace. A temple dedicated solely to her. I could build it, I’m good with my hands.

She’s so pretty I could literally cry. Especially when she’s standing in the middle of my dimly lit, shitty little kitchen wearing nothing but a thong and one of my work t-shirts. I want her, madly, deeply, forever. I want those long, sable legs wrapped around my head and shoulders while she suffocates me with her pussy.

But more than that, I just want to take her out. Show her off. Be the guy with this goddess on his arm even just for a single night.

Naomi Mychal makes me want to give up bachelorhood- which I have held onto like a python for thirty-nine years- and put all my savings into buying her a diamond ring. I’d ask Elias for help getting a house worthy of her. We could fill it with half a dozen children, all who look just like her. Her perfect skin, her icy blue eyes, the natural curl of her hair, her ridiculous height.

Of course, I’m nowhere near stupid enough to ask for anything more serious- not after she turned me down the last time- but I’m also just dumb enough to attempt something mildly more pathetic.

“Ready to tell me what the fuck that was all about?”

That being the sex marathon she just put me through the last few hours. We went from the couch to the hall, to my bedroom, then the shower, then back to the bedroom. Only after I was pretty fucking sure one more orgasm would actually kill me did she finally call a ceasefire.

She demanded I make her breakfast, so I threw together some protein pancakes from a box I miraculously still had in the cabinet and some eggs and mildly questionable sausage. We ate in silence, it was awkward. Now I’m sitting here, nursing my second cup of coffee and she’s standing there, looking like that and…

She looks up, wine still streaming into her cup- because why would I own wine glasses- as she glares at me. “Do you actually require an explanation for being fucked?”

“Considering exactly a week ago I watched you walk out of my bar to get dicked down by no less than half a starting lineup, I’d say yeah.” It’s my turn to glare now, though I’m sure mine is nowhere near as murderous as hers. “I think deserve a fucking explanation.”

Naomi has the nerve to scoff at me as she recorks the bottle, setting it aside. “Deserve is a strong word when I just extracted your soul through your dick—”

“Why are you so incapable of having a conversation with me?!” Graham threw his arms wide. “You and I haven’t been able to have a civil discussion in months—”

“We talk all the time—”

“We bicker at Sunday dinner—"

“You regularly agree with Cristian that I’m a cunt—”

“Well, you have yet to prove me wrong—”

“I just fucked your actual brains out of your skull—”

“And now I have found them, and they would like to make sense of why they were so abruptly ejected—"

“Because you were fucking right, okay?!” She takes a very long drink of wine as I blink stupidly at her. When she sets her cup down her jaw is tight. “You are… The only one who can make me come.”

It looks like it physically pains her to admit it, but my ego has never been bigger. The grin that overtakes my face is probably wider than a horror movie clown’s.

“Oh?” I link my fingers beneath my chin, batting my lashes at her innocently. “Care to expand upon how you finally came to that conclusion?”

Her glare is bitter as ever. “Do you really want me to recount all the sex I’ve had in the last three months?” That sobers me up instantly, stealing the stupid smile from my face because no, I really don’t. “Or would you rather be a good boy and shut the fuck up?”

Crossing my arms- on my own counter- I mutter, “I’ll be good…” And try to hide how aroused she’s made me with just that simple directive.