“You're a screamer.”
Irene tried, and failed, to stop the smile that showed on her face. “Yes, I am. Problem? Scared of the neighbour's criticism?”
“No. They'll know I did a good job.”
She swatted his chest playfully. “Don't be arrogant about it.”
“Not arrogant. Truthful.”
As much as she wanted to disagree with him so he could get off his high horse, she couldn't.
The man was amazing.
She'd discover boys since the age of fifteen and had never been this satisfied. She had almost always been a mile short of being satisfied and she'd been branded a prostitute because she pitched her tent with no one and wasn't shy to try out different c***s.
She'd tried a whole lot of them. Fat men and thin men. Men with short fat c***s, men with thin c***s, and the ones that were caught in between.
