Savage Mafia Prince

Micah

I blame the margaritas for why I’m so fucking tactless. Tadhg may be slow when he makes them, because he’s still new to having a real job, but they were fucking drunk.

Wait—that’s not right. Strong. They were strong. I’m fucking drunk.

Or maybe I should blame the three mind-blowing orgasms I’ve had between the margaritas and now. Once when Tadhg blew me in the backroom of the Feral Possum after we closed down, and then two more since he carried my drunken self home. There was a pit stop in there somewhere to check on Tobias, but he was asleep on Gunnar like a spoiled kitten—Gunnar is so far gone for him, and it’s barely been a week; it’s both hilarious and adorable—so we decided to leave them in peace.