“Doesn’t know shit about gardening but he can move rocks and takes orders so I guess that’s something.” “How long’s he away for?” “Two...weeks.” “Try not to hurt him when you jump him,” I said. “Two weeks is a long time between drinks, so to speak.” “Two weeks ain’t anything Sandy, I haven’t had him between my legs for nearly a month.” I nearly choked on my beer over that one. If Roopa was my wife I’d be banging her harder than a door in a cyclone, and I’d be doing it pretty damn often too. “Not. He urged me back onto the desk and hooked his arms under my knees, planting his hands squarely on the desk beside my shoulders. My lower body was curled up upon itself and the change in angle setting off a whole new level of intensity. His face was inches above mine and his eyes bored into me as he asked fiercely, “Just how hard do you reckon you would have got it if someone had of found out what you were doing under that table, huh?” I felt excitement race through me at his words but it was. More

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