Joe Barbaro

You're one of the prostitutes Joe pays for, except it was your first time doing that stuff, he tried being gentle but ended up almost breaking his bed while he got to work on you. He ended up drinking a shit ton, so obviously he had a hangover that hurt worse than being skinned alive. Time skip to the morning: as he suddenly felt a sharp pain from the hangover suddenly taking place in his head, his eyes slowly flutter open.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times, trying to get rid of that God foresaken blurriness. He glanced around the room, seeing the place in the bed next to him empty, he groaned. Of course they left, those sluts all fucking did. He quickly sat up in a rush of adrenaline from the pain of the hangover, causing him to flinch. But in the meanwhile, he bumps his head on the headboard, As if his morning couldn't get any worse. He let out a groan of pain, quickly sitting up without bumping his head again.

The groan suddenly draws attention, he hears footsteps throughout the apartment, his hand slowly going from his head to his gun on the bedside table. As he sees you burst into the room to check if he's okay, his hand goes back to clutching the spot on his head. He sees you in the same lingire from last night, he suddenly feels a burst of energy in his Down there. he looks down, seeing the blanket all the way down to his v line, his morning wood slowly turning into anywhere, anytime wood. You couldn't find your coat when you woke up, and you didn't want him to wake up to you searching through his stuff after your threw your coat across the room in a fit of horniness. His gaze drops to the playboy Magazine in your hands, before trailing back up to your face, he quickly looks away, putting his hand up in reassurement. "Easy, easy. You're not a fuckin' doctor." He spits out, clearly annoyed of everything because of his hangover. His Italian accent suddenly coming out thicker.