Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
I’ve pulled the car up, and under my breath, I murmur for Jasmine to get some money out of the case.
“How much?” she asks, understanding my plan without me needing to spell things out.
We need new wheels and the ones in front of us are for sale.
We also have a giant suitcase full of money.
Not a lot that needs explaining, and I’m satisfied when she picks up on that.
I’m also more than satisfied once her fine ass is pressed against my face, her whole upper body bent over the bench seat to get to the suitcase in the back.
It’s impossible to concentrate, and against my will, I experience the sensation of a powerful erection again.
It must’ve only just gone down, too.
The closeness of Jasmine’s sex to my face is too much for me. And I growl hungrily, greedily gripping the right side of her ass as I remind her just how much of a dicking is coming to her next chance I get.
She jumps and squeaks but stays focused enough to produce way too much money for the old jalopy in front of us.
Usually, I’d get out of the car.
But this effect Jasmine has on me…I’m not sure it’s for the best if I bring my tent pole to a car sale.
I watch as the old woman wipes her hand across her nose and mutters something I don’t need to guess, and she makes her way over to me.
She’s still showing nothing but annoyance and a toughness of character I think even my family could learn from right now.
Including me.
“What you want?” she snaps, her eyes level with mine as her fierce, but clear gray eyes survey me, Jasmine, and then the car.
“You in some kinda trouble or somthin’? Followin’ me like that?” the old woman says, smiling a toothless smile before laughing like a lunatic.
Maybe we shoulda kept on driving….
“We were interested in your truck. Is it really for sale?” Jasmine pipes in over my single thought.
Keeping us both on track for what matters most here, no matter how many loose screws the old woman has, she can spot us a mile off.
And we need her truck.
“How much?” she snaps, her eyes moving over our car again until she’s actually got her hand flat on the door.
Like she’s sizing up a prize steer or hog at a county show.
“And what you want for this one?” she asks, narrowing her eyes to slits as she leans in the open window.
I don’t want to appear weak in front of Jasmine, but this old woman gives me the creeps.
“I was thinking a straight swap. Maybe a few hundred for gas money? We kinda just need to disappear,” I tell her in a low tone, hoping she’ll understand.
“What? Speak up, honey, I ain’t got elephant ears on. I can’t hear a damned word yer sayin’.”
Jasmine laughs until she snorts and produces a wad of cash, pressing it into the old woman’s hands once she’s leaned over me, and seals the deal I can’t seem to make.
Damn, though, that’s a lot.
“We get to keep everything in the truck, and minus our luggage, you get everything in this car.” I caution the old lady, realizing she couldn’t care less as she shrugs.
“Jus’ usin’ it for the farm,” she mutters, sniffing loudly before doing a final inspection of our sedan, making the whole car shake when she starts kicking at the tires.
“I think we’d better go before she changes her mind,” Jasmine smiles, seeming to delight in my expression.
I’m still reeling at the amount she’s handed over for the truck, but I figure Jasmine has more than the value of a truck in mind by the time we’ve hit the road in our new wheels.
“It looks like she could use the money anyway,” Jasmine muses aloud once we’re moving again.
There’s still a ton of money left, and I think about cautioning her on her spending habits.
But after, I decide that my queen can have whatever she wants, even if that means giving it to others.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jasmine
I can tell Rocco’s a little sore about the deal I made for the truck, but does he know how much money is actually in that suitcase?
I can hardly lift the lid, his massive arms were straining big time when he lifted it.
A little pile for an old lady in need, her truck as a fair exchange?
I think we’ve done some good with it so far.
Rocco’s sullen look doesn’t last, though, and it’s not long before we’re both commenting on how the old ride we just ditched was way more comfortable.
“And less smelly,” I echo back to him once we both agree we’ve been short-changed.
“At least it has plenty of gas, and we don’t stand out like we did a minute ago,” Rocco assures me, and I ask him again.
About how much longer we have to play hide and seek from somebody who’s probably not even following us.