CHAPTER EIGHT
Ronnie's hungry tongue retreated from Alvin's mouth, she breathed into his lips. "Let's get these clothes off, honey."
"Right," he muttered, hating to release his close hold on her pretty ass. Easy, man. Let her set the pace. I sure don't want to mess this up!
He backed away, his hands shaking, staring at her boyishly slender figure, the hard, pointy breasts in the snug blouse. Sonofabitch! It seemed almost too good to be true. He had taken a couple of belts of whiskey during her absence, he glanced at the bottle again. About three good drinks kept him from going off too swiftly; he was getting what he had hoped for, a fine booze hard-on.
"Want a drink, Ronnie?" he grinned, in control of his passion now.
"I had a martini down the street," she giggled. She reached for the
