She closed her eyes and hummed.
My fingers settled in her thick curls. I gave them a little scratch. I said, “Hey, I’ve been thinking. What if we got away next weekend?”
She opened her eyes to frown at me through the smoke. “Get away?”
“Yeah. Just you and me, alone, out of town. Do you think you could take off work one Friday so we could head to Vegas for a long weekend?”
“Ooh, I’d like that,” she said, wiggling her cunt against my fingers. She tugged the soiled towel from her cunt and tossed it aside. She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and started massaging her breasts again. She spread her legs and cooed at me.
She asked, “When could we go? Where?”
“Next week or two maybe?” I shrugged, like I was just coming up with the idea. “I’ll be back in town Thursday. We could leave Thursday night, be in Vegas in a few hours, spend the weekend drinking, eating, gambling, and fucking.”
“That sounds awesome,” she said, sucking in a deep breath as my fingers slid into her. I pushed in three fingers to the knuckle, then pulled them out slowly. Her soaked cunt closed around my fingers.
I asked, “Think you can get off? Work, I mean?”
“Yessss, I can get off…” she sighed, her hands assaulting her big tits again. “I’ll ask on Monday.”
“Awesome,” I said, pushing my hand inside her with my thumb rubbing against her clit. She reached down to find my cock rock hard between my legs.
It wasn’t because of her.
The thought of a big score always made my cock hard.
SANDY
My plan to exact revenge on Rick Wright and his gang started two months ago, even though at that moment I didn’t even know who he was.
Brent was dead in my arms.
The police came.
An ambulance.
A forensics team.
The coroner.
More cops.
A female detective who said her name was Cochran pulled me away from Brent’s lifeless body so a photographer could take pictures of the scene and the forensics guy could gather evidence.
I was in shock, she said, covered in Brent’s blood.
An EMT wrapped a blanket around me and sat me on the back of his van and shined a light in my eyes. I’m fine, I muttered. Help Brent. Help Brent.
Detective Cochran was taking notes. She asked me to tell her everything I could remember.
Did I see their faces?
No, they wore masks.
Did they say anything to me?
No, nothing.
Would I recognize them again if I saw them?