~~~This is a prequel, spin-off from Ties~~~
Briar Hayes has lived her entire life being polite, never daring to express the crazy and wild thoughts running laps in her head. At almost twenty-five, stuck in the throes of monotony, she finally snaps...
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"I am so"—and I stress the living O outta the last word—"glad you're here."
He's my happy place. A figurative Xanax that my erratic ass so desperately needs. The moment I'm with Trey, any bad stuff goes to the wayside.
After dragging him along, practically manhandling him into my small office space, I smash my lips against his. The second I back-stomp a heel, and kick the door closed behind us, my tongue plunges into his mouth. He tastes like mint and heat. You know, if heat had a flavor.
My eyes screw shut at the rush of adrenaline he provides, the way he flexes his arms around me, and I leap onto him. Not even leap, it's somewhat of a scaling move, ankles crossing behind him. He stumbles but doesn't stop. He doesn't break the extreme mouth to mouth and reciprocates my lavish kiss.
"I missed you so much," Trey says. And I promise if there's a silver lining to having any relationship of distance, this shit right here is it.
The want. The need. The buildup.
Since I don't get his body, live and in person, everyday, it makes me wanna use him up. Hell, he can use meup in every way possible... almost.
Listen, saving an asshole for marriage may not seem like the most romantic gesture, and I suppose it's not, but it sure is a fun thing to dangle in front of him. The obsession is real. Trey is an ass man.
Truth is, he already has so many other things that I've never attempted to give another. My affection, my love, my heart, and most importantly—kidding, though they make for a wonderful mood—my orgasms.
I grind into him, the thick seam of my faux-leather pants assisting in the feel of his thick cock against my own seam. I guess that works? Damn, I should wear these more often. I rotate my hips, groaning when he hits the exact spot that has my driving force vibrating, welcoming him how she always does.
Holy hell. Not long ago, this was a mythical happening, and now it's as if Trey is a push-button provider. He knows how to bring the poon monsoon.
No lie, the other night we went at it in a brief phone-sex session—nowhere near the same as the real deal, trust me on that. The husky way Trey told me how he was going to fuck me this weekend had me finishing in less than sixty seconds.
No batteries.
With my mediocre fingers.
What even?
"I always miss you," I whimper when his attention shifts to the curve of my neck.
His tongue and mouth lick and suck. I promise I've signed the deed to my body over to this smoldering leg shaker. He owns it, all of it. I never want it back.
My eyes remain shut because the physicality of this is enough. His touch is overwhelming, sending my hormones into a tizzy. If I look at him, while he's rubbing so thoroughly against that sweet spot, Ole Faithful will have nothing on me.
