Page 107 of Thug

My porn star performance peaked seconds later. As I thrashed about like a 1980’s rock video vixen, my pussy clenched his shaft like a vise. I glanced over my shoulder and offered him an apologetic look.

Before I turned around, a paralyzing orgasm engulfed me. My toes curled. My thighs cramped. I arched my back in opposition, hoping to continue my noteworthy performance. I managed one more stroke before my body tensed to the point of uselessness. Completely impaled by his entire length, I froze in place, absorbing each jolt of pleasure as it worked its way up my thighs and through my erogenous zones.

The euphoric ripples of pleasure seemed to continue for all of eternity. As soon as they subsided, I collapsed in a pile at Price’s side.

Breathless and wearing a smirk, I glanced in his direction. “Looks like today’s not my day.”

Far from sexually satisfied, but not seeming to care, he laughed. “Make breakfast in your panties and that tee shirt,” he said. “I’ll settle for two out of three.”

28

Price

“What’s the difference between the truffle fries and the regular fries?” Swag asked.

With the fella’s incessant questions about everything from the relationship status of waitress to the new food choices, I felt like I was the bar manager.

I turned my stool halfway around. “Regular fries are the same fries you’ve been eating for the past fucking month. Truffle fries are coated in truffle oil and tossed with a handful of parmesan cheese and some finely chopped parsley.”

He looked at me like I’d responded in Russian. “Tossed?”

“Tossed,” said in an aggravated tone. “She puts ‘em in a bowl, adds the truffle oil, parsley, and cheese. Then, she flips ‘em up in the fucking air a few times to get ‘em covered in all that shit.”

His eyes narrowed. “Buck and a half extra for a little bit of showboatin’ in the kitchen?”

“Ever bought fucking truffle oil?”

Confusion washed over him. “Can’t say I have.”

“Well, if you had, you wouldn’t be bitching about that buck and a half,” I assured him. “Shit costs about fifty bucks for a bottle half the size of a beer bottle.”

“Fifty bucks a bottle? God damn.” His brows raised. “Are they good?”

Panzer, who was seated beside me, turned his chair around. “How’d you find out she was selling them? They aren’t on the menu.”

“Carp told me.”

“What’d Carp say about ‘em?”

“Said they were good as a motherfucker.”

“Well, there you have it,” Panzer said. “It’s a buck and a half, you tight ass. Treat yourself.”

Swag gave a nod of uncertainty. “I might.”

I wanted the bar to be a massive success for Gray. Pinching pennies over the cost of truffle fries versus regular fries wasn’t the way I wanted the men to act. I preferred a no-holds-barred spending pattern that would allow Gray to pay for the waitress, a new cook, and still have money to spend after paying her rent.

I glanced around. The bar was slow. Only the men with nothing better to do had arrived. Granted, in another hour it would be wall to wall ‘Eights. For the time being, I saw the sparse attendance as assurance that Gray would never be able to make financial ends meet.

I wanted her evenings free seven days a week, and I’d stop at nothing to get it.

“If these fuckers are going to bitch about the cost of truffle fries, she needs to raise her beer prices,” I said.

“No argument here,” Panzer replied. “She’s got the cheapest beer in the valley.”

Brisco stepped to Panzer’s right side and lifted an empty beer bucket onto the counter. The new waitress, Teddi, must have seen him coming.

She hoisted a fresh bucket of beer onto the bar. “Here you go, Brisco.”