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Story Notes:

This isn't going to be an epic tale. Just a short fic that popped into my head after a night of drinking, telling tales and laughing with the girls.

This is my first POV story, so if I screw it up...hey at least I tried it. It is supposed to be funny in parts, but if you don't get the humor, that's okay. Try to enjoy the other parts. I think that story will be told over 3-4 chapters over the next few days.    

What's a girl to do, when she doesn't listen to her head but instead throws caution to the wind for one night? Read along and find out.  

 

 




Author's Chapter Notes:

I apologize if reading this story makes you want to whip out your red pen. :-) It is rough and has not been edited. I am trying to get back into the groove.      

Items in italics are meant to be crazy thoughts roaming around in Ambi's head. If you can relate...well...welcome to the club.

 




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


 

Irish…

I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to stop, but I can’t. It’s been months now. I should be over it, over him. But I’m not.

I’m sitting here a few day's before New Year’s Eve, waiting for my flight to Aspen to be called. I should be prepping cases in the office but instead I am going on a mini vacay, with my girls.

Irish.

He's the reason that I am even taking this last minute trip. I need to get thoughts of him out of my head. He's throwing me off my game; even though I haven't spoken to or seen him since that night.

I can’t stop thinking about him. My girls say that I got it bad...tell me what you think?

Irish…

That’s his name. His real name. Incredible.

Do you know what that sexy southern mickey fickey had the nerve to do, to say to me, when I asked him if that really was his name, ‘Irish?’

He winked at me, raised his glass in the air and said, “Since you like saying it so much, you’re ‘gonna’ love screaming it. Later…over and over, darlin’. Cheers.” Then he took a sip of his drink and walked away.

Is his ass for real?

Damn you Irish, for seeing what I had hidden in my head. The minute he opened his mouth and that southern drawl escaped his lips, my body began to stir with desire. My mind immediately conjured up naughty images of me screaming his name.

Irish…

Stay away, the warning bells were blasting in my head. 

Just a taste. Why not? Wait....No. I was not going to let that happen.

That’s what I said.

What I did.

Well……

------------------------

I guess I should start from the beginning, only I don’t know which beginning? The one where I tell you about my lousy day at the firm, where my dumb as rocks intern sent opposing council a shit load of files that they were not supposed to see, resulting in an emergency hearing and utter chaos in the office.

Or the part where I ripped her ass to shreds for her error and she went running to the managing partner, who just happens to be her best friend’s father.  So of course I get summoned to the 15 floor, where the kings of the castle reside. Well I told Mark Banks, he’s the Banks in the law firm that I work for, Banks, Weir and Hanson that Ashley is a terrible intern and will probably make an even worst attorne. If she can some how manage to pass the bar.

You know what that man had the nerve to say to me? ‘I know.’

He knows that she is a liability.

But due to the politial games that people play to get ahead, he still owed a favor to her father and this was the pay off. So there I was, stuck will the mushy brains beauty queen as my intern.

Mark is smart though. He knew all of the right buttons to push, today.

I love southern men.

He gave me one of those good ole boy smiles and the keys to his ski lodge in Aspen.

So there was the bright side to my bitchin’ about the intern so far.

He told me to take a couple of friends and enjoy the New Year, on him. He apologized for saddling me with mush for brains, stating that he had hoped that she could learn something from ‘The Wrangler’. 

I love the way he says wrangler. Wrahng-la

Ok, so I lightened up after he used the nickname that everyone calls me around the office. I’m the Wrangler, because I can argue a case like nobody’s business. It usually catches my opponents off guard because, I look so angelic and unassuming. Don’t get me wrong I’m so slouch, but we’ll get to that later.

Any who, Mark and I strategize the next steps for my case, which took the rest of the afternoon and part of my evening.  That made me late for the charity costume party that my girls and I were going to. Combined all together it put me a very pissy mood.

What a way to start my weekend, right?

Before we were done in our meeting, Mark asked me to keep Ashley busy until the end of the internship, as a favor to him.  ‘Do this favor for me, Ambi and I will owe the Wrangler big time.’ Those were his exact words.

I love to hear him drawl out my name Ahmm-Bee. I love southern men.

Ok, so having the managing partner owe you one, is not a terrible way to kick off your weekend festivities.

----------------------

It was already 10:00pm by the time I showered and my girlfriends were rushing me to get dressed. But I wanted to look good, so I was taking my sweet time. We were already late so what’s the rush, I reminded Evis and Pressley.

I know it’s my fault but hey I was working with the managing partner at the firm. Few associates can brag about that.  I told them to have another glass of Cava and chill out, it’s still early.

Pressley was picking out shoes, because I refused to wear the hooker heels Evis brought. Evis was giving me the side eye, but I didn’t care. Roman or whoever it was that she was texting incessantly, could wait.

Evis and I are friends through my home girl Pressley. Press and I grew up together in DC, where we went to the same high school and attended law school. We even work at the same firm. She became friends with Evis in undergrad. Evis is cool, but she is sneaky, there is something about her that I just can’t put my finger on.

Pressley was working hard on finger combing and fluffing up my braid out, to give me that look. You know, that just crawled out of bed from having good sex look.

Oh you don’t know that look? Truthfully neither do I. Those were her words.

Pressley is my sensitive friend. Sweet, shy, innocent, gullible and I love her for it. She is the nurturer in the group and is smart as a whip, oh and she is absolutely gorgeous. Rich, dark chocolate skin, big soft brown eyes and the thickest, darkest coiliest ringlets for hair that I’ve ever seen. Her body is tight too; but she doesn’t let anyone near it. She’s saving herself for her man. I wish her luck with that. It’s hard to find a man, when you are too shy to date. And when she did let her guard down and found someone that she was interested in dating, he ups and marries her cousin.

Yeah. Crazy huh, but that’s another story for another time.

Pressley is old money, real old money. When our people couldn't go into banks her father’s family created them. Her mother has a master’s degree in chemistry but managed to earn a PHD in spending the family fortune. Old money, older family problems. Pressley doesn’t work in the family business; it’s too political she says. I agree. I love her family to death, but that crew ain’t nothing but vultures. As my grandmother would say.

There are lots of stories hidden there.

We were getting dress for a charity costume party at ‘420 Peach’. It was supposedly, the newest, happening club in the city. Entrance, by invitation only; your party experience in the club was only as good as the type of invitation that you received.

Fortunately for us, Evis got an all access invite from the new guy who she is crazy for. Roman.  Pressley and I met him over drinks last week. He was suave with the sexiest foreign accent, I’ve ever heard. I still can’t quite figure out the origin. He seemed decent enough, given Evis’ somewhat questionable standards. No shade.

For the daughter of a federal court judge and a mayor mother, my girl loves her man to be black, white, Hispanic, sketchy, crazy, rough and rugged. Trust me the last few that we’ve encountered, well let’s just say that I kept my hands on my pistol just in case.

I know, I know, you like who you like and you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. But for Evis, well let’s just say it seems the shiftier, the better in her book.

I know of which I speak, but that’s another story for another time, as well.

Evis is the law. She knows her stuff backwards and forwards in both the US and UK versions; she can recite it in French, Spanish, Italian and Latin too, if need be. That’s why it’s always a little surprising when she shows up with a character from one of those bad street lit books. As an attorney she fully understands the repercussions of being guilty by association.

Her philosophy is, ‘Eff it. I would rather live my life, than dream about having a life.’ I get that; but still, she knows better.  Mocha colored skin, light brown eyes and ass for days, she turns heads where ever we go.  Well, we all do.

She is that friend, though. She always has a man. Evis can have anyone she wants; we’ve seen her in action. But she is most content with the men who seem to treat her as an object and not as a person.

I wonder what that’s really about.

We are all attorneys, but Evis works for our biggest competitors, Hartley Davis. She passed on working at our firm. Banks, Weir and Hanson is The Firm. It is the most prestigious firm in the southeast. We turn people away. Not the other way around. It seems a bit fishy to me that she went to work for those other guys.

No one does that. There has to be something behind that.

Maybe that’s why I have my suspicions about her. I can’t lie though; girlfriend is making things happen at her firm. She is on the fast track to partner, already.

Any who we’re supposedly dressed as Charlie’s Angels, sadly the revamped TV version, was cancelled. I liked it too. That sister was rocking her natural. Go team natural.

Dressing like street walkers was supposedly for charity and all in good fun. Except for the fact that those damn costumes left nothing to the imagination. Truthfully, our costumes are an inch left of slutty.

Evis picked them out. No shade.

A glittery bralette, boy-shorts with some sort of mini skirt that is serving absolutely no purpose. What is this?

This skirt thing was supposed to keep my goodies hidden? I can still see my ass cheeks with it on.

Come on ladies, big hair, hooker heels and feathery sequined wings?

Tell me the truth. Doesn’t that outfit sound like we could hit the stroll and make some change?

Press insisted that we wear the wings; she said that they gave an air of authenticity, to our look. I rolled my eyes at that one.  I love my girl to death, she is so sweet; naïve but sweet.

There is nothing saintly about this shit we are wearing.

---------------

Pressley drove, because she isn’t much of a drinker, and we all lived within a mile of each other. Besides, Evis was probably spending the night with Roman. She can pretend like they are just friends all she wants. She isn’t fooling anyone, pretending like he hasn’t already smashed it to smithereens.

Ok, I know that wasn’t nice, but I am still annoyed from earlier and maybe just a little jealous of Evis.

When we arrived at ‘420 Peach’ the line was ridiculous. Luckily we didn’t have to wait. Roman told us to head straight to valet and give the host our names. 10 minutes later we were headed up the VIP stair case and into the VIP lounge.

Roman was sitting in the largest roped off booth with another guy. When he saw Evis, he immediately waved us over and motioned to the security to let us in. This was a very exclusive club. Score two for Roman.

How does a foreigner have an in, to the hottest night spot in your city, when you don’t have an in yourself?

Evis was being very evasive when Press and I kept asking her questions about him, earlier. Her responses were a bit guarded. All she would offer us was that he was in the oil business, he was foreign but she would not say from which country and they met through mutual friends.

That’s it; we didn’t press for more and she didn’t offer any more. I am pretty sure that was perhaps for legal reasons.

I know, more shade right?

Roman stood up to greet us and I could fully appreciate why Evis was keeping him to herself. He was Beautiful. Smooth, rich dark skin; well over six feet tall and he took excellent care of his body. There wasn’t an ounce of fat visible on him. Roman is a real looker and the accent...it sounded like, French mixed with something else. All I know was that it was simply foreplay on the ears.

After introducing us to his friend, Said, Roman poured us a glass of our favorite. I liked him even more at that moment. He already had two bottles of Taittinger Rose’, chilled waiting for us. We sipped as Pressley and I made small talk with Said.

Said in a word was mysterious and seemed a little shy at first. But he quickly warmed up to us. His copper skin tone, cognac colored eyes and thick jet black shoulder length locks, I’m sure made him a prime source of naughty nighttime, Sheiks in the desert fantasies.

I’m sure of it. But I asked him if I could take a picture, you know for research or something.

He was from Morocco and his accent was even sexier than Roman’s. I think Pressley was feeling him, a little bit. I could tell by the way she was smiling at him, each time he spoke.

Evis was in her own little world with Roman. She seemed positively giddy. I’ve never seen her so captivated by a man before.

And I have seen her interact with many men. Ok, that’s it. I’ll leave her alone now.

I liked both Roman and Said. I think that they would be good for my friends. Both men were sophisticated without being stuffy. Gorgeous without being vain. Moneyed without being boastful. They were real cool guys.  So it came as a surprise to me when they introduced the last member of their trio. An arrogant asshole by the name of Irish.

Irish? Yes Irish….

He actually came over and sat down with us, with two tramps glued to his lap.

Ok so I don’t know them personally to be calling them tramps, but their behavior was a bit well…trampy.

Irish…..

Roman made the requisite introductions as he poured another round of champagne for us.

“Irish? Is that’s your real name?” I asked him before I could stop myself.

The puppet sitting on his right knee giggled as if the adults were speaking to her.

That shit was unreal.

“That’s what’s on my driver’s license.” He drawled smoothly.

Southern boy…yummy.

He was whispering something into dumb and dumber’s ears as he stared straight at me.  It caused them to squeal like annoying little piglets.

I’m being mean, right? I know.

His hands moved from his sides as he gently caressed each of D&D’s exposed midriff. He was still looking at me. I had to get away. 

If I was also going survive the rest of the night, I was definitely going to need something stronger than champagne to drink and keep myself entertained.

Downing the last of the champagne in my glass, I left the booth, after completely being ignored by my friends, who were chatting it up with Roman and Said.

I blazed a trail out of the VIP area, across the dance floors and to the nearest bar to get a drink, a real drink, a strong drink.

Irish……

Yep, I was going to need more than a buzz, if I had to endure that nuttiness.

Strutting over to the bar, I was hoping that I was giving off that vibe.

You know the one.

I was looking quite sexy, thank you very much.  I wanted to play. Hot single guys need only apply.

Waving over the bartender to order my drink, I was surprised when I caught that damn Irish watching me in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

What the hell was he looking at? With his sexy ass.

When I say the boy is sexy, whew.

Irish.

He has everything. He is everything. He knows it too. He’s at least 6’5” with dark blonde hair and jade green eyes. His radiant tan was a great compliment to his body that was chiseled perfection.

How do I know?

Well, his costume was a tight white t-shirt rolled up at the shoulders and blue jeans. When Evis asked him who he was supposed to be, he smiled and replied, just your average Joe. That was cute; because he knew damn well that he was anything but average.

Did I mention the size of his feet? I know that’s just an old wives tale but…did I mention the size of his hands. Each one of my ass cheeks can easily fit in each of his palms, and that is no easy feat, because I pack a punch back there. Oh yeah. I doubled checked to be sure; just in case, you never know.  I could tell by the way he was still looking at me, that Irish was game; if I was willing to deal him a hand.

But he messed up that possibility with the gnats sitting on his lap. That alone confirmed for me that he was nothing more than a man slore.

Yep, a slore. 

What’s a slore you ask? You know a person who is 50 percent slut and 50 percent whore. The worst of the worst.

What gave him a way? Well besides the fact that he was sitting with too birds on his lap and had a harem on reserve, just outside the VIP area? He also wore that smile. You know the one. It basically says ‘I can have you whenever…I want to….If, I want to.’

Yep he’s a slore.

Stop looking at him. I chided myself.

It will only make his gigantic head even bigger. Yet, I smiled at that possibility. Mmmm, my ability to make that thick swollen head of his even bigger. I quickly frowned when I realize that I’ve conjured up an image of what I think his, um, inflated male ego would look like. Yummy.

I am much too proper and reserved to utter such a nasty thought from my perfectly glossed lips. But that does not preclude me from thinking them. Either way, Irish…he’s not my type. He’s far too sexy, tall, southern, and conceited.

Who am I kidding?

As much as I hated to admit it, as soon as I saw him, I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and beg him to fuck me with everything he had. Repeatedly.

Yes, he was just that damn gorgeous. Sadly for him he screwed up when those chits sitting in his lap, started to grind themselves on his thighs and he let them. Nasty skanks.

Irish….

I swore he must have been a mind reader or something, because I looked back over my shoulder at him and he winked at me. Asshole. He was waiting for me to look at him.

“Damn it where is that drink? It’s just Goose, sprite, and cranberry, nothing complicated. What’s taking so long?” I muttered to myself. “What kind of name is Irish anyway?”  I wondered, still waiting for my drink.

I was more than just a bit intrigued by his name. But I wasn’t about to let him know that. The smile I was sending the cute Asian guy three seats away, fell from my face, when I heard his voice near my ears.

“I suppose it comes from the same family of names as Ambi.” Irish drawled in that sweet southern twang that country boys are known for.

He heard me? When did he follow me over here? Shit!

His lyrical tone tickled my ear and nearly caused me to slip where I stood in front of the bar.

Damn those stupid hooker heels.

Irish’s big paws on my back steadied my stance as he helped me to regain my balance. The sound of his voice and the heat from his hands quickly caused my quivering hidden knot to swell with arousal.

“It’s just that, um well, it is a rather odd first name. Don’t you think? Unless of course, your family is actually Irish? But if they are not, then well…I mean it’s not something that you hear every day.” I rambled on.

What the hell am I talking about? I am a lawyer for heaven’s sake. Words are my business.

Shutting up, only to sip on my cocktail that the bartender finally placed in front of me, I waited for him to say something. But he didn’t. At least not right away.

“I’m guessing that your intention was to compliment my parent’s creativity and not to insult their intellect?” Irish asked, waving the bartender over.

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, he had me there.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to insult you or your parents.” Trying to turn my body slightly so that I could look at him, he moved his hands off of my back and onto the top of the bar; essentially pinning me between his body and the bar.

My heart was banging in my chest and I felt myself tremble at the contact. Oh god, he felt incredible.

“I know what you meant, Ambi.” He replied dryly.

He was looking directly into my eyes as he spoke. Hypnotizing me. Casting his spell on me.

“Ambi…that’s an odd first name.” Tossing my craziness back at me was cute. Well played Irish, well played.

Ambi is an unusual name and no I’m not named after the bleaching cream; it’s my nickname.

“I am named after my father Ambrose. Even though I have a brother, his name is Ambrose as well. My mother wanted to name me after my father because I am older than my brother…” I was rambling on like an idiot.

Why was I so nervous? “Ambi is the remix of my real name, Ambrosine.”

“Ambrosine….” Irish tested; then whispered in my ear, “That’s almost as sexy as Irish.”

The warmth of his breath on my bare skin sent shivers through my body. I smiled at him, as he smirked at me.

Before I could come back with something witty, the bartender was there asking if I needed anything else. I turned to him and asked him to start a tab. He told me not to worry about it that Irish had already taken care of it.

I spun around to thank him, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

Irish…

----------------------------------

On my way back to the booth, I set a goal of making new friends. For whatever reasons, Evis and Pressley seemed smitten with his Irish’s friends. I mean as far as hotties go, they were holding it down; but still they had a big red x against them because they were friends with Irish. They seemed too down to earth, while Irish came off as a conceited prick.

A sexy, conceited, prick with big hands and a boyish smile…damn you Irish.

Though he was still holding court with the crowned queens of the bimbo brigade, I occasionally caught him looking over at me. And you know what he did, every time I looked at him? He winked at me.

Really? Arrgh…What was it about this guy? I swear I wanted to stab him and lick him at the same time.

Wait, lick him? Where the hell did that come from, I don’t talk like that. I don’t even think like that. Shit, I think I just gushed a little. What’s happening to me. Damn you Irish.

Excusing myself from the booth again, I got up and headed to the ladies room. I had to get myself together. I needed a moment to compose myself.

Irish isn’t the only one with game. It may have been a while, thanks to Andre, my ex; but I was sure that I would be leaving with more than one date. I made up my mind, I was going to flirt with some of these hot guys and forget about, him. I gave myself the once over in the mirror, I was still smoking hot in my costume. I fluffed my hair and reapplied my gloss. Yep, I was on the hunt.

Just as I left the ladies room and started making my way back to the VIP area, I felt someone grab me from behind and pull me into a darken corridor. I should have been alarmed but I wasn’t. I knew exactly who it was.

It was the hands that gave him away; those big meaty paws…swoon.

Standing there in that stupid costume, I felt naked as I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Irish just stood there staring into my chocolate eyes. I started to say something but the words died on my lips when I felt his hands meandering all over my body. My breasts heaved and my nipples tightened, when I felt his thumbs run up and down my rib cage.

I am tall for a girl. I’m 5’9” and in great shape. I ran track in high school and played volleyball in college. Which the guys loved because my ass is bigger than most, so when you put me in those little bottoms, well you get the picture.

An ex told me that it was my legs that drove him crazy; especially when they were wrapped around his waist. They are shapely without being too muscular and had great tone. I guess sacrificing an hour of sleep most mornings for my daily runs through the park, has its benefit. My stomach is flat with a slight hint of a six pack; my breasts are ok. Not too big but no itty bitties either. I am definitely fuckable and Irish was clearly in agreement. I could tell just by the way his breath hitched each time his hands and eyes discovered one of my many attributes.

“Tall, lean, toned, feminine and sexy.” Irish whispered as he kissed my shoulders.

Stop talking Irish, you’re making me wet.

His fingers traced my full lips when he tilted my face to meet his. His lips landed on mine and he quickly started sucking on their ripeness. His mouth was so freaking delicious and before long, his tongue slipped past my guard and he was feeding it to me.

Mmmm. He wanted me to taste him, to savor him, to suck him.

Wait, wait, wait….he wants me to blow his tongue? That’s so nasty, yet so damn erotic and hot at the same time.

So what did I do? Instead of being outraged at the implication of sucking him off, I open my mouth wider and began a slow blow of his tongue. Irish moaned softly and I knew exactly what he was thinking, damn if only this was his dick.

He wanted to fuck me and as much as I didn’t want to admit it to him, I wanted him to fuck me too.

No, no sappy love making for us. I wanted him to slam into me over and over until I was breathless.

What can I say, it’s been a whileA long while.  A very long while.

It had been a long while since I was pinned to the bed, taking it deep. Yes, a very long time and Irish looked like he could give it hard and long, all night; over and over.  Just the thought of it had me so wet. Whew…

My body was primed and damn it, I wanted him. I was ready for him. I could feel the tension in his body, he needed a release too.

I’m game, baby do you want to play? Pick me, please, pick me, Irish.

Irish must have sensed my thoughts, because he quickly pulled his tongue out my mouth, buried his face in my neck and whispered, “You’re such a naughty little Angel. Nice.”

“You have no idea, just how naughty I can be.” I replied, still a little breathless from the kiss.

What the hell am I saying?  What the hell am I doing? Damn this guy has me talking crazy and feeling crazy.

His hand slipped into my glitter bralette, “Do you know what I do with wannabe bad girls like you?” He asked me, tugging on my already swollen nipple. “I make them scream.”

And I did.

Not so loud that anyone could hear it, above the music playing; but loud enough for Irish to know that I liked it.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to suck on these.”  He murmured, exposing both of the twins now to his gaze; as he tested their weight.

His hands toying with my nipples felt so good. It had been so long since I had been intimate with a man, that I couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped my lips as he rolled them around his fingers.

God….I need a man. I need this man. Toys can’t ever compensate for the real thing. Just my opinion.

“You are one hot little cock tease, you know that Ambi?”

“Who’s teasing?” I asked pulling him closer into me.

My cries only got louder, when his fingers slid down my heated body to my crotch. I pushed my wetness to meet his eager fingers and shivered when he obscenely grabbed the fatness between my legs. “Fuck, you’re wet.”  Irish rasped.

Pressing his thumb against my protruding lips, he elicited yet another moan from me; and I felt myself gush right into his palm. He felt it too, because his jade eyes flew to mine and he gave me that wicked grin; you know the one.

The one a guy gives you when he knows you want it, bad. “You want me right now, don’t you, Ambi?

Cupping my heat in his big hands, “Is that what you want, angel? You want me to fuck you right here?”

Hell yes, I wanted him to, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. He’s a man whore, remember. And a respectable young lady like me would never want to be associated with a slut like him. Right?

I tried for indifference. I couldn’t let him see that he had affected me; or that I was his for the taking. “You really are full of yourself, you know that?” I deflected, running my hands up and down his solid chest.

It was like fondling a brick wall. Irish…

He knew what I was trying to do, “I think that you’d rather be full of me?”

My body jerked at his suggestion. I really needed to regain control, he was winning. Was I really going to let a stranger have sex with me in some night club?  I couldn’t think straight; he was still rubbing his thick finger against my clit. It was a good thing that I was wearing white, so no one could really see the wet spot on my costume. If I didn’t have camel toe before, I certainly did just then.

I needed to slow this down, I needed to gain control. I just needed a few seconds to get it together and cool down.

The boy had me seriously hot.

“So Irish,” I asked, “Why did your momma give you that name?” it didn’t work. He was now kissing my neck.

“Because I was born on St. Patrick’s day.” He replied, still palming my kitty. “Though, I think that the luck of the Irish is on your side tonight, baby.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, slightly irritated by his words.

“Out of all the ladies here tonight, I picked you…to fuck; until my cock begs for mercy.” He offered coolly, without one hint of jest.

Who in the hell does this guy think he is?

I didn’t know how to respond to his comment, so I attempted to push his hands off of me and latched on to his swollen balls; which were huge, by the way and whispered, “Fuck you, you simple hick…this is probably the only thing you’ve got going for you…”

Irish laughed and palmed my wetness, even harder. “Not hardly, sweetheart.”

That only brought me closer to an orgasm.

“You want to cum so bad, I can smell it.” He teased.

Damn him to hell, he was right.

He was clearly winning.

As for me, well… I did the only thing that I could do to save face. I slapped his hand away from my wetness, tucked my breasts back into my costume and walked back into the party with as much dignity as one could muster; after participating in a lewd make out session with a stranger in public.

“We’ll finish this later, Ambi.” He called after me. “I know you want to.”

He was right. I did want to finish. But I couldn’t let some stranger think that he had bested me. I am the Wrangler after all and I did have my pride.

Yep, I was walking away with my pride and now thanks to Irish, a pair of soggy panties to go along with it.






Chapter End Notes:

Thank you for reading. Errors, spelling, grammar, et al....I'm sorry, please forgive me.

I've had a very long year :-) but I hope to get back to my other stories, soon.

This is story is just a little thank you, happy holidays, peace and blessings for the new year gift to all of you wonderful ladies, who take the time to support other wonderful ladies. Cheers!

 







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