"What, didn't get yer fill o' bullshit trash talk yet?" She screwed up her face in thought, winced, and settled for half a scowl. "Yer nothin' more'n a walkin' stiff prick, swear on me mam. Ye talk more when ye've gone unfondled. All gratin' an' full o' whingin'."
She put thirty in the middle.
"Lass'd think ye were tryin' t'soften her up, way ye beat around." She giggled, "'R mebbe not. Dice'll get all cold an' lonely wi' yer tongue loose as 'tis. Roll."
She put thirty in the middle.
"Lass'd think ye were tryin' t'soften her up, way ye beat around." She giggled, "'R mebbe not. Dice'll get all cold an' lonely wi' yer tongue loose as 'tis. Roll."
