Finding Perseverance(4)

By: T. E. Black

What is happening?

I push at his head to get his attention. “Uh … Brad?”

He looks up with a classic pussy eating face—the face that tells me he thinks he’s hitting every magical spot, but in reality, he’s nowhere close. His lips glisten from my wetness and a sly, cocky grin lingers on his lips.

Oh God. I’m going to be sick.

“You close?” he questions.

“I don’t think …”

“Do you need something more?”

I rub my hands over my eyes, praying that when I open them he won’t still be looking and acting as if he were going to give me the best orgasm with his mouth.

“This isn’t working.”

His brow furrows, and he gives me a perplexed look. “What’s not working?”

“This,” I state, saving us both from the embarrassment of my orgasm never happening.

“Why didn’t you say you weren’t into having your pussy eaten?”

His comment pisses me off. He actually thinks the problem’s me when it’s not. I love having someone eat me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—hell, even dessert. But it’s this guy’s problem he can’t figure out how to use his tongue.

“Oh no. I love getting my pussy eaten. The problem isn’t me, big guy.”

“I think different,” he throws back, his cocky grin fading. “I’ve been pleasing women for years and eating them out. Not one has ever said my tongue was the issue.”

How dare he imply it’s me who has the problem? Why can’t he man up and say he’s shitty at oral?

“Let’s agree to disagree. Either way you look at it, the mood’s dead, buddy. I couldn’t fuck even if James Deen were standing in front of me with his cock pressed to my lips.”

He looks confused for a moment before recognition of the name comes.

“Did you just use a porn star to insult me?” He scoffs. “Wow. That’s a first.”

“I dig James Deen.” I shrug, unapologetically.

“Maybe you should call him and see if his mouth could get you off then.” The bitterness in his tone is obvious, and I can’t help but laugh to myself.

Brad’s all bent out of shape over a comment about someone I’ll never meet. Although, I’m sure James Deen bruises many male egos.

“We’re getting off topic here.”

What I need is to kick him out of my apartment. There’s no longer a reason for him to stay. The moment’s gone, and I need to get back to the bar since it’s only nine o’clock.

“Do you need a ride or something? I could drop you off on the way to the bar,” I offer.

“No, I’ll find my own way home,” he mumbles, searching for his clothes in a pile on the floor.

“Okay. Thanks for … everything. I’ll see you around.” I lie through my teeth.

Brad glares as he slips his shirt over his head before replying, “I doubt it, Ryleigh. Although, I wouldn’t mind a chance to redeem myself.”

With the bed sheet wrapped around my chest, it’s my turn to laugh. “No offense, Brad, but that won’t be happening. It was nice meeting you, though,” I say, offering my hand to shake.

He takes my hand in his, despite looking like he’s bursting at the seams with laughter. Yup, I just offered a handshake to the guy who had his mouth on my pussy.

Lord help me.

“It was nice meeting you, too.” He nods before leaving.

Looks like I’ll be hitting up James Deen’s huge cock via the Internet before I go back to work after all.

I made it to the bar after Mr. Deen took care of my needs with all his dirty talk and orgasm giving skills. I had no choice in the matter. I was worked up and pissed off. If Brad couldn’t do it, someone had to.

Sweet as he was, I should’ve called it quits when I saw the first sign of a guy with poor skills—his lack of manscaping. I can do a little fur. It’s not a big deal, but by all that’s holy, it needs to be tame. I don’t do bushes—male or female.

Not a chance.

The bar is as busy as usual tonight. There’s never a shortage of people who want cheap beer, which is good for me. Since I signed the ownership papers a few months ago, I make the executive decisions. My first one was to keep the prices as low as they’ve always been.