Bittersweet

Bittersweet: Chapter 1

THIS BOOK IS CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN AND HEAVILY EDITED. NAMES, PLACES, AND SOME SCENES WILL BE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. SOME STUFF WILL BE TAKEN OUT AND SOME WILL BE ADDED.

THE INITIAL PLOT STAYS THE SAME.

So, if you begin reading as of 5/21/2021 and choose to read ahead further than I have updated-some things might be confusing or might not make sense. As of right now and will continue, slowly, adding the new chapters as I write them. CHAPTER ONE has been rewritten & updated.

**IF A CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN/EDITED THE ^^ABOVE^^ NOTE WILL BE AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER.

Chapter One

1984

Austin Burkhalter

Laying on a hard bed behind bars seemed to become a reoccurring thing in my life these days. Not that I was complaining- it was sometimes nice to hear silence. Once the room stopped spinning, I was actually content. Unfortunately, my peace didn't stop the havoc that was undoubtably conforming outside these walls, specifically at The Burkhalter Estate which, I couldn't exactly complain about either.

My eyes followed a small fly crawling across the ceiling slowly as I got lost in my own thoughts. While I knew a shit storm was brewing, I could no longer fight the small smile that had been threatening my lips all night long. After I had been booked for indecent exposure for pissing in an alleyway outside the bar, assault on a police officer, and stole his patrol car on a bet last month, I had been on lockdown for weeks. Weeks. Luckily, all charges were dropped since my parent's solution to everything was money, but I was bound to fuck up again-I knew it, they knew it-which is why I was on round-the-clock watch for 17 days.

Hell, I was a mother fucking ticking time bomb counting down the seconds.

Last night was the explosion.

Once again, I had gotten past the security guards in front of my family's estate to go partying with me on and off again lay, Delia Prescott. But that's not why I am currently locked up in the Manhattan Police Department. Shit got wild.

The real reason I was in the drunk tank on a god damned Tuesday morning was because after we'd had our fun at one of New York City's finest nightclubs, we decided to go on a drunken joy ride in her father's brand-new Aston Martin. Long story short, Delia decided to get frisky and give me road head. Who was I to turn her down?

Fuck that.

If a woman wants my cock in her mouth, a little drive isn't gonna stop me from letting it happen. Thinking back on it, as much fun as it was, it wasn't one of my best judged moments.

As soon as she wrapped her pouty lips around me it all went to shit. Between one moment and the next, Delia was on the floorboard with a nasty gash on her forehead and her daddy's precious car had collided with a fire hydrant, T-totally fucked. I was booked for open container and driving under the influence. Delia was loaded onto an ambulance, which was a little bit dramatic but that wasn't much of a surprise.

I was loaded into a squad car and taken away just like the little jailbird I was.

You see, Delia is an enigma. For some fucking reason, I lose all sense of control when she is around. She had a way of talking me into doing stupid shit and it wasn't because I had feelings for her. Definitely not because I had feelings for her. Nope, Delia Prescott was actually a snide bitch-she didn't care who she'd have to trample to get exactly what she wanted. To me, she was a warm pussy-one so tantalizing that I couldn't exercise basic composure when she was around. If she told me to jump, I'd ask how high. I'd had plenty of women in my bed over the years, but she was the only one that ever had me coming back for more. While she could be heinous at times, she was one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever laid eyes on and she was always down for a good fuck whenever I called.