Sick Bastard Read Online Free Page B

puzzle.
    I let him fuck my mouth with his until he slows it down, giving my lips one long, lingering lick. I want more. This man has me standing in a goddamn alley – a wet, needy mess – sagging against a dirty brick wall while my heart hammers away in my chest.
    With him finally stepping away, the fog in my brain begins to clear and reality sets back in. I feel ridiculous. I was just arguing with this insane asshole, but I was so ready to fuck him right here in an alley. Shit!
    I look to him but his face shows no emotion. The only effect I can see is the quick rise and fall of his chest as he tries to calm himself down, along with the twisting of his watch again. I suddenly feel dirty and as he said, “Like a piece of ass.”
    “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”
    “Don’t.”
    “Don’t what?” I ask.
    “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t feel the need to use that kind of language, unless it’s in the bedroom. That’s the only time it should be used coming from your lips. That’s the time it would be sexy as hell.” It’s official. He’s just proven that he was dropped as a small child.
    “Whatever. I need to get back to work and I would appreciate it if you would just go.” My voice sounds shaky. I don’t wait for a response. I open the door and duck inside, letting it slam closed behind me with a heavy thud. Slumping against the door, I try to recover my frayed nerves and focus on getting some much needed air into my starving lungs.
    He doesn't attempt to follow me and I'm so thankful for that. I swear if I see him again and he says one more thing to me, I'll throat punch him. If I ever again have to watch him twist that watch around, I’ll throat punch him with a knife. If he touches me again, well, I might rip my own clothes off and climb him like a tree. I’m such a hussy.
    I've worked here for a long time, and nothing like this has ever happened to me, not even outside of work. For my own sanity, I’ll reason that I was bound to do something crazy at some point, and who better than a total crazy fuck to bring it out of me.
    I pull my shit together and work to shake it off as I head back to work, that kiss never far from my mind. Well played, Mr. Marx. Well played.
    ~~~~~~
    The rest of my night flies by in a blur. Customers, orders, seating’s, chitchat and drink orders consume me. It's a packed house and a busy evening. Mr. Marx didn’t leave as I asked. In fact, he came through the front door and resumed his spot at his table. Asshole .
    I don't speak to him, but he watches me the rest of the night. I see lust, anger, and irritation―three signs of a multiple personality disorder. He can’t make up his mind what he is. I’m just ready for him to leave and never see him again.
    I can’t help feeling slightly annoyed by all the flirtatious attention he's receiving from other women, though. I can’t blame them because he is beautiful. He’s all man and sexy, so I get it.
    My shift is finally ending, but Mr. Williams and group are still here. They usually leave as soon as I do, so while I wait, I collect all my bills and tips, sorting my portion and what will be shared with other staff members. My last bill, which is included, is from Mr. Williams’ table. My usual five hundred dollar tip is in there along with something else―Mr. Marx’s business card.
    Flipping over the shiny white card, I see something has been written on the back.
    I'm sorry.
    Along with the business card are ten, one hundred dollar bills. Is he paying me a thousand dollars for services rendered in the back alley, even though it was just a kiss… a very hot, sexy kiss? That was more of an assault on my mouth and my panties. I should probably be paying him.
    This makes me feel cheap. I think I’d rather have him slap me in the face. He's fucking crazy so I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. I look over at his table and there he sits, watching me with a smile. I can only shake my head in disgust.
    I know he's