I hate that I have to leave. I look over at Torch, who’s still asleep. Even while he’s dreaming he looks cocky as hell. Then again, after last night, I can see why he can be so cocky. I didn’t think they made actual men like that. I have the strangest urge to dive down under the covers and give the sleeping beauty the best hummer he’s had in his life. I don’t, though. I need to get out of here before he wakes up. I don’t really do the whole morning-after thing. Shit, I usually leave right after, that’s more my speed. Besides, Bethie is probably worried to death. I need to get back to our apartment and get my stuff and get the hell out. Our plans have me meeting Bethie in Oklahoma. If I hurry, I can pack up, grab some breakfast, and be at our meeting spot before noon.
With that thought, I get up and go about finding my shit. My skirt is by the bed, so I slide it on first. I’m definitely going to have to shower when I get home, too. That thought comes as my legs slide together and I feel the dried remnants of my last orgasm. It should be illegal for a man to have a dick and a tongue that work the way Torch’s does. I sit in the sad little side chair and do my boots up. My leg is sorer than fuck. Even the extra insole cushion and tight support of my boots isn’t going to help with the pain today. I find my bra over by the door, but I can’t bring myself to put it on; it’s too fucking early to be harnessing the ladies. I can’t find my shirt and I’m starting to panic. Then, I see the rolled up, black fabric peeking out from under the bed. I bend down to get it, sparing a quick glance at Torch. Yep, still asleep. Thank God.
I unroll the shirt and notice the dried crusty fluid on it. That son of a bitch used my shirt to dry his cum with when he shot all over my ass. The man definitely has a thing for asses and, shit, after last night, I may too. Still, I am not wearing that out. When I questioned why he had condoms in the nightstand drawer, he mentioned they had been there for a few days and he likes to be prepared. Kind of sucks knowing some other chick will probably be in my place tonight, but then again, Torch is a player, and I was just using his dick. What can I complain about? Not a damn thing. Still, I’m hoping the fact that they’ve been staying here works in my favor and he has some other clothes in the worn out dresser in front of the bed.
I wince as the fake wood squeaks when I pull out one of the drawers. I look self-consciously over my shoulder. Damn, he sleeps like the dead. Good for me, I guess. Eureka! I find a couple t-shirts. I hold one up. It’s black and faded-soft. In large writing it says: A Shaved Beaver is A Happy Beaver. I want to laugh out loud, but I don’t. It’s not easy. I slide it on over my head. It falls almost level with my skirt. It even smells like him. I’ll use it to sleep in. I shrug, trying not to contemplate on why I would want to wear anything that smelled like Torch. I’m about to leave, but then on a whim, I reach into the pocket of my skirt and pull out a twenty. I grab the motel paper and pen on the table, then leave him a note with a smirk.
One last look at him, then I head out.
It fucking sucks waking up alone after the best night of sex you’ve had in your life.
Everything about that little brunette spitfire pleased me, except for the fucking fact that she left while I was sleeping. I should have tied her fucking ass up. I realize it was a one night stand, but hell, after you fuck a woman unconscious, you expect her to stay until you can get a goodbye round.
Actually, I’m talking out of my ass. I’ve never wanted a woman to stay in my bed for the night. I’ve never had a woman in my bed the whole night. I rake my hand through my hair. Shit, I guess I still haven’t. There’s no telling what time she left. I had planned to get her number, but that was stupid. She’s in motherfucking Texas, and that’s way too far from Kentucky to get my dick off. Still…
I shake my head and get up. I need a shower and caffeine before I can face today. I’ve almost made it to the bathroom when the door to my room shakes from the force of the fist hitting it on the other side.
“Guess Sabre and Latch are up,” I mutter after looking through the peephole. I stand back, opening the door for them and turn away to go start my shower. I smell like Holly and, though that’s a fucking awesome thing, I don’t need Sabre and Latch smelling her *. It’s an irrational thought, but it’s there all the same.
“Hey man. We got a locale on the girls. Get dressed and let’s get the fuck out of here,” says Sabre.
I’m busy stretching my dick and planning on jacking off in the shower because the son of a bitch is hard as a rock. Fucking Holly. I stop short and turn around to look at him.
“I need a damn shower.”
“No time. You’ll have to go smelling like *. If the info that Diesel’s crew intercepted from the Donahues is good, we need to get there before those fuckers do.”
“Fuck.” I go to the drawer to grab a pair of jeans and my favorite blue t-shirt. It’s a cat with a fucking huge dong that says Pussy Patrol on it.
“Jesus, you and your shirts,” Sabre grumbles when I turn back around zipping up my jeans.
“Don’t be intimidated by the size of my cat’s dick.”
“Fuck you.”
“Haters gonna hate,” I tell him, going to my pants over by the bed to fish out my billfold.
“It’s a mystery to me how you get laid wearing the shit you do,” Latch grumbles while I’m putting on my cut.