XXX Shamus by Red Hammond

glasses greasy. The girl wheezed in a deep breath and then let out a moan like she was crying over a boy band. “Fuck me hard, now, I’ve gotta have this one!”
    He let her have it—BANG BANG BANG, and all the squishing that went with it.
    “Fuck, Hoppeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr.”
    He even felt when she came, the gush from her hitting his legs, splatting to the floor. She was weak in his grasp. That’s when he couldn’t take it anymore and he let loose inside her, pulling out and letting his seed string and stretch until it snapped and ran down to the floor. Georgia sank to her knees and pulsed it out of her ass. Hopper cleaned himself with his shirt tail. After another minute, he eased over and put his arms around her. She turned to face him, an exhausted, sweaty, but lovely smile on her face as he pulled her into his chest.
    “I’ve never been taken like that before,” she said. “You must’ve done something special.”
    “Shush, now, doll. Be a good girl. Like I said, I don’t even know you.”
    “You know, I won’t mind sharing you if you’ll promise to come back and see me again.”
    “That’s not you talking. That’s whatever it is I did to you. Please.”
    “I can’t help who I want to be with.”
    Hopper imagined he wouldn’t be back here again for a long long time, wished he had left sooner. She didn’t deserve him—a bastard who fucked everything. She deserved a special guy, even if she liked playing the slut. It was Hopper who deserved the slut, and he had found her already. Divinity. He deserved Divinity.
    “Put your panties on, sweetie. I’ve got work to do. Are you going to be okay?”
    Georgia wheezed again, pointed across the room. Hopper pulled his pants up and walked over to where she pointed. Her purse by the fire extinguisher. He rushed it over to her, and as he expected, she pulled out her inhaler and took a few squirts. Hopper moved behind her on the floor and propped her up until she calmed down.
    “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll be better than fine, wishing I could have you with me again tonight.”
    “Sorry, you know I can’t.”
    Sigh. “I know. I just…wish.”
    “You can still work? You need to wash off?”
    Georgia laughed. “Here? If you haven’t noticed, the place already smells like shit. You go on, do what you need to do.”
     
     
    Hopper arranged himself and stepped into the front room, the sportswatchers averting their eyes, probably crying in their beer. He left a message on Divinity’s cell: Let’s meet in an hour.
    As he hung up, he heard one of the guys mutter, “Fuck and run. What a dick.”
    Hopper stared him down. The guy went dead silent. Hopper made his footsteps heavy. When he was directly behind the son of a bitch, he clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Treat her right the rest of the afternoon. If not,” he squeezed the guy’s shoulder, fingertips grinding into muscle, “I’ll find out.”
    The guy nodded. Hopper turned for the front door.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     

    Hopper pushed open the Pub’s door and stepped out into Sahara heat and sunlight that made him squint and feel dizzy. He turned towards his car and barely saw the two-by-four swinging toward his head.
    It struck and burned and every muscle hurt. Whiplash. Hopper hit the pavement. The strikes came—two, three, four—on his head and shoulders. Cleared his vision right up. He shaded his eyes with his arm and caught a glimpse of Ernie the Charming Goon wielding wood and waiting for Hopper to get up. Another man was with him, a tall guy who looked like a TV actor, in a double-breasted navy chalk-stripe. He held a digital camera. A careful step closer to Hopper, then he dropped to a crouch. Hopper whiffed expensive cologne and sweat.
    “Mr. Garland, I’m Alex Michel, and I’m Ernie’s attorney. I’m here to make sure you don’t assault him again as you did earlier this afternoon.”
    “Him? What about me?” Hopper felt his face swelling.
    Michel