What the fuck was wrong with me last night? Why the fuck couldn’t I blow? It wasn’t that Jacinta didn’t try; she sucked until she could suck no more. I’d then pounded the ever-loving shit out of her, but still no fucking result.

Fucking Suds. No bra, short shorts, and informing me that she was off to use her vibrator. I was completely unravelled. When I’d taken the girl back to my room, it was all I could think about. After catching a glimpse of her pussy yesterday morning, it was just fuel to my imagination.

I had a right mind to storm into her room and tell her off. Why did she have to say it? Why couldn’t she just stay in her room?

I push up onto my elbows, and my head screams. The shooting pain behind my eyes temporarily blinds me, and the acid whirls around in my stomach. I really did a number on myself last night. I should’ve eaten something when Jones did, but I had more important things to focus on.

I palm my dick gently. This shit isn’t funny. I’m hard as stone; I need to piss. It’s gonna take days to recover from this, and all I wanna do is grab my dick and blow.

Rubbing my eyes, I get up and stuff my woody into some boxers and wander to the bathroom, banging the door closed behind me.

“Fuck,” I complain, as I lift the toilet lid and seat up. I don’t have time for this shit.

As my piss streams into the bowl, that’s when I see them. Everywhere. Hanging from the shower rail. Looped over the side of the bath.

It’s like a fucking sexy rainbow landed in here, in the form of underwear. Lace. Bras, and dainty little G-strings.

Aside from my own mother, I have never lived with a woman. Not even Trinity. That wasn’t exactly a living together arrangement, more like fucking, but we were long-term. Needless to say, seeing this shit in my bathroom is not fucking on. Especially when I’m not boning or touching the pussy that wears this stuff.

I shake the snake and stuff him back in my boxers. With a white-knuckled grip on the handle, I yank open the door. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Suds!” I call out into the hallway, my voice echoing my anger.

“What?” she calls out just as loud, from the kitchen.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Even with her out of sight, I hear the loud huff that leaves her mouth. Her bare feet pound the timber floorboards as she approaches. She’s wearing this tiny black satin robe, and I can’t imagine she’s got anything on underneath because it’s all on proudly on display in my bathroom.

I grab her hand, pull her into the bathroom, and point at the offending rows of lingerie.

“This!”

“It’s called underwear, De Loser.”

What the fuck? De Loser?

“It’s De Luca,” I seethe, my voice slow and deep.

“Yeah, I know,” she drawls and raises an eyebrow.

Women.

“Why are they hanging on display like that?”

“I can’t put them in your dryer because they’ll disintegrate.”

Well, that wouldn’t be hard. There’s nothing to them.

They would barely cover her pussy. Fuck. Just a little tug of fabric to the side, and it’d be welcome to pussytown.

My dick hardens, and I wince with pain. What a fuckin’ tease. I need to find some chick to bury myself into. Or one with a willing mouth.

“Just get rid of them,” I bark out and storm from the room.

“Just chill. They’ll be dry in no time, and then I’ll remove them.”

Did she just fuckin’ roll her eyes at me? For fuck’s sake. “Well they’d better, otherwise I’ll be jerking off all over them.” There. Take that.

“Well that’s just charming.”

“Not what I’d call it, but hey, whatever floats your boat.”

****

SOPHIE

“Can you clear table ten please, Sophie? I’ve just gotta take these coffees out before they get cold,” Tarsh says, as she adds some teaspoons to the saucers.

She’s giving me orders now? I should’ve been out of here twenty minutes ago. I’m late for dinner at April’s place as it is, but I couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Tony is totally fucking up the staffing right now. He should know we’re always busier on public service pay week.

“Sure, but then I have to go.”

“Thanks, Soph. I really appreciate the help.”

I give her a weak smile back. I don’t mind this girl. At least she’s grateful for the assistance.

I finish clearing a couple more tables, say goodbye to Tarsh, and head into the staff room. When I grab my bag, I can’t help but take another look at the roster. I don’t know what Tony’s playing at with the shifts, but he needs more staff on.

Scaling across next week on the spreadsheet, I realise that he’s changed my shifts from what was up here the other day. Four days a week now and no weekend shifts? Fuck this shit. Tony and I are having words.

I storm into the back office, where I know Tony is sipping espresso and fucking about on his laptop. Of course, I’m right.

“What’s with the roster, Tony?” I blurt out, as I strut towards his timber desk. I’m not pussy footing around with this. I need the money.

“G’day to you too, Sophie,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

I curl my hands around my hips, and grip a hold of them as I’d like to grab his fat neck. “You cut my Saturday shift, and now I’m only on four days next week?”

“Sasha is helping me out with admin. We’re trying to see if we can run a little leaner.”

Sasha, his new wife, who clearly hates my guts? The one and the same woman who brought her stupid-arse mini dog in a handbag into the kitchen, and I said something to her about it being a food preparation area? She must get along great guns with Tarsh, because that girl is cleaning up with the penalty rates.

“I’ve worked for you for four years, Tony. I’m always there for you when you need me. I thought we looked after each other?”

“It’s just business, Sophie. Don’t take it so personally.”

“Wow,” I mutter quietly to myself. Really? He’s got to be shitting me. How can I take it any other way?

His eyes move back to the laptop, and he smiles, as if he’s looking at something funny.

I could teach him a thing or two about staff morale. Human Resources 101. You communicate with your staff, you look after them, and in turn they’re more productive and more inclined to bend over backwards for you. Right now, all I feel like doing is bending my knee between his legs and smashing his balls.

I’ve got a right mind to quit, but he knows that I won’t. I don’t want to go back to slaving away at a big chain coffee house working my guts out for minimum wage. That’s what I hate about this situation. I’ll always lose the argument. Apart from the details on my employment form, the only thing he knows about me is that I’m desperate for money, and as far as his business goes, he probably figures that’s all he needs to know.

I leave his office without another word. If I stay any longer, I’ll only get more riled up, which will no doubt end in me getting fired.

****

Not in the mood to go straight home to change first, I drive over to April’s. As always, she greets me with welcome arms.

“I missed your face,” April says, as she pulls me into a hug.

“Missed you too, babe.”

She drags me into the kitchen and points at the dining table, which is half filled with bridal magazines tagged with Post-It notes.

I’m such a bad friend. I should’ve been looking at all this stuff with her. I think a part of me has been avoiding it, because it reminds me of a time in my life I’ve been trying for four solid years to forget.

“I’ve been saving this bottle for you,” she says. With a smile a mile wide, she pours me a glass of red wine in a glass big enough to probably hold half a bottle.

I swear, I almost convulse in my pants after I have my first mouthful. The smooth taste of the rich, full-bodied wine lingers in my mouth moments after I’ve swallowed it. It’s got a bite to it, peppery, just the way I like it.