Bret whispered in her ear, “You keep close to me, close as a coon hound to his master. You hear me, Jess?” He unlocked the cuffs and set her hands free. “Like you’re on a leash.”
“Thank you, Bret,” she purred. Jessica in her pretty, ruffled see-through blouse; probably cost her a couple hundred dollars for the little slip of material that was now falling off one shoulder revealing her pale white skin.
Inside the shack, she clung to Bret’s arm like she belonged to him. Her shivering arousal deepened as the crowded room turned to look. They’d never seen anything like this pair. Although they weren’t strangers to Toady’s, they were a startling contrast to the rest of the black man’s customers. Mostly the black regulars, plus a few citified whites who were in to first class blues, jazz and
