Forrest took another picture.
“That’s the money shot right there,” I rumbled, shooting a grin at Forrest who turned the phone around so Coullson could see himself with his lips stuffed full of Frederica's wiener.
“I think you’re right. You can still make out who’s doing the sucking. I think I’m a fucking artist.”
Laughing, I nodded. “You’re right, Forrest. I think you could make a real exhibition out of that shot. Could take center stage.” At that, Coullson spat out Freddie’s cock. “Think he’s finally figured out that we ain’t servers, bro.”
“Never let it be said the Mayor ain’t smart.”
“Keep your fucking voice down!” Coullson snarled, peering around like people might hear, not registering I was the shark amid the guppies.
My lips curved. “I think you’re misunderstanding the situation, Mr. Mayor. You don’t control shit anymore.” I took a seat at the edge of the cabana. “I control you.”