Traffic seems to be moving a little faster now, but not nearly fast enough. You curl into me again, but this time you run your hand along my thigh ins...ead, only stopping to sample the bulge you created. You coo approvingly, rubbing my growing cock through my pants, and I lick my lips. “How far are we?” you plead, and I genuinely don’t know. Cars are lurching along, bunching in between lanes and jockeying for opportunities. “I think I chose the wrong restaurant.” You don’t seem to mind the. Cooking meant volatile chemicals, and it wasn't at all unusual for a crack kitchen to blow up spectacularly, as some addict's addled brain caused him ... or her ... to do something stupid.Once the subjects were huddled in the street near the paddy wagon that had driven up while Harper was inside, things calmed down a little. A designated member of the entry team had stayed inside to deactivate potential sources of ignition, and four others had finished clearing the building before running. More

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