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His frame fills the doorway. He’s a foot taller than me, and even under his long-sleeved workout shirt, his body is perfection. The thin fabric stretches over his broad shoulders. I’m vaguely aware of a dog barking and racing around the apartment behind him, but my gaze follows his movement as he props a hand on the doorframe. His sleeves are pushed up, and my gaze lingers on his forearm. Jamie Streicher’s forearms could get a woman pregnant.
I’m a whore for some decent forearms 🤤
Pippa Hartley is standing in my living room, playing with the dog, and I can’t breathe. When I opened the door, I thought I was hallucinating. Her hair is longer. Same shy smile, same sparkling blue-gray eyes that make me forget my own name. Same soft, musical voice that I’d strain to hear back in high school while she was talking and laughing with the other band kids.
On the street outside, I open the container and shove one into my mouth. My eyes roll back in my head as the sugar hits my tongue, and I nearly moan in ecstasy. It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.
That’s until you get to taste HER
“Andrew.” He says the word like it tastes bad. I meet his piercing gaze, blinking in confusion. “Yeah. He’s young. Probably my age. He’s a personal trainer.” Jamie’s gaze turns cold before he prowls to the door. “I’m coming with you.”
Omg possessive much?😂😂
“That guy was never good enough for you. Not in high school and not now. I hope you fucking see that.”
“I thought you were gorgeous, too,” he murmurs, looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Even back then.”
“I’m very good with my fingers.”
I BET YOU ARE
“I think you could.” His voice is a hot rasp in my ear. “I think you could take my cock. It’d be a tight fit in this gorgeous pussy, but we’d make it fit.”
“I have feelings for you, songbird.” My heart pounds, and the rest of the bar falls away. “I like you so fucking much. I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore. I flew out here for you.”
