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Holy shit. Holy fucking crackers on shit. Low slung, pale blue pajamas should be outlawed. They have no business hanging precariously low on the leanest, well-cut defined hips, owned by the skyscraper of a man, and not with his bare feet peeking out at the bottom. I’m outraged and turned on. Protective shutters engage.
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It’s too time consuming to remember to put all the letters in all the words. My god, what am I, some kind of genius?
the consensus was your opinion sucked gerbil balls, and we didn’t have to listen to you.
Not enough men give forehead kisses. It’s a well-known fact that our emotional storage is found on the forehead. Kiss it, and you will own a woman.
“Sometimes I need my pipes cleaning, lion. It’s biology.”
“Slobbering? He was not. Besides, I might like a little slobber. We do like to be desired, lion, don’t we? It tickles our special places.”
When did it become the norm to ask a woman you’ve hardly said five words to, ‘Is your pussy bare?’
It’s so unfair. When I sweat, I look like a troll’s uglier sister.
To catch everyone up to speed. I’m on top of Noah’s bed, watching a movie with his hand under my shirt, while he may or may not be asking me if he can ease my lusty ache and feel my tight, wet pussy.
“Are you going to let me in these shorts? To find out what all the fuss is about, to feel a too-tight wet pussy with my fingers, Sena?”
“An offer to get you off is the opposite of sadistic. Now, if I slipped my hand into those shorts and found your hard-little clit and worked you until you were hysterically pumping your hips. Desperate for it, and then I stopped. That would be sadistic.”
Don’t you ever look at a gorgeous man and wonder how he moans?
KingOfManhattan: I’m beginning to feel like a needy chick. KingOfManhattan: I won’t be happy if you’re dead, and this whole time I’ve left messages for a corpse. KingOfManhattan: Are you dead? KingOfManhattan: I’ll send flowers. Pansies...
“Sena, for the love of God, would you shut the fuck up and stop trying to fill the silence.” He growls in a warning.
If I keep talking about bullshit, my logic is we won’t address the elephant in the room wearing hot pants and roller skates.
“Don’t go away from me again, kitten. I didn’t fucking like it.”
“For someone who can hack like a criminal—” “—I told you that in strict confidence!” I burst out, eyes pinging open, accusing slits, staring at him. “And it was only that one time to see if I could.” “—and able to work every piece of tech effortlessly, I forget how innocent and gentle you are, kitten.”
“I’ll make coffee, and we can go ahead with not talking about how fucking spectacular you are when you come.”
“How are you, kitten? Have I given you enough space yet?”
he steps forward, cupping my cheek, the touch gentle as it is familiar. So is the way he traces his thumb down to my lips. “I thought we’d dealt with it, kitten? Was I wrong? Do we need to talk some more? We’re fucking drifting, and I don’t like it.”
“Jesus. If I’d known you’d turn into the invisible fucking woman, I would have never stopped fingering you, kitten.”
“So, I hooked up with this guy last week.” His forehead hikes up at my confession. “I think I turned him ... gay.” I stage-whisper, and then he smirks and rests his forehead to mine. “I missed my silly kitten. Let me buy you a coffee; you can tell me all about this queer fucker.” “How do you know he’s a fucker?” “He’s made you sad; obviously, he’s a bastard, kitten.” He grabs my hand and doesn’t let go. We get coffee and talk like our old selves.
To be loved by Noah—even platonically is about the greatest gift a person can be blessed with.
“Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? It’d fucking kill me, Sena.”
He kisses the same way he rules his life and business with utter control, and I’m so fucking devastated by him.
Holy Gouda, if I die now, I’ll be one pissed-off afterlife ghost.
I angle my head back, and Noah proves to me I haven’t been kissed before him.
He gulps a bottle of water, then licks a drop from his lips while looking at me. Instant arousal slams into me. He’s a goddamn menace. He ought to be locked up.
“If you don’t know what you mean to me by now, then I’m not going to say it, Sena.” He
You’re on a date with a nerdy dipshit, and you’re soaking wet for me. So, wet, you’re probably churning your greedy thighs together for any grind of friction to ease that little pussy. Do you even deserve dirty talk from me right now?
Yes, I do because it’s all your fault. Pay up, lion. So damn wet, I can still feel your tongue pushing inside me. It was the best non-orgasm I ever had, and I want it again and again until I can’t walk from all the times you make me come.
My dirty-girl is wet and needy? It would take no effort at all to make you come right now. To slide in with my fingers, my tongue, my hard cock and drown you in your screams.
KingOfManhattan: Your pussy is the only one I’ve eaten out, and it’s all I can taste in the back of my throat. I fucking loved that pussy.
KingOfManhattan: Then give it back. Earn all the filthy secrets I want to tell you.
I’m a starved beast with a broken chain.
I die. And die. And die some more. His consumption of me is perfect.
I find myself pinned against the island—a thick pipe mining into my belly, fingers curling around my nape, forcing my head to tip back. His oceanic eyes flame bright and give my heart a slight stutter. “Don’t be obtuse, Sena.” “I wasn’t—” I was. A little. But hello, wet underwear. I can barely string a coherent thought together. “Now, what did you say about my legend cock?”
Damn! 🔥🔥🔥
“I want inside you. Inside all this wet. I need to feel how tight it gets on my cock.”
Ohmigod, I’ve had sex with him! I should high-five Sena from four years ago. I did it for that bitch.
“I don’t have a thigh gap.” That is what comes pouring out of my mouth. What the hell, Sena? Really. Instantly horrified. I’m better than this. Just give me ten minutes to think of something sassy and intelligent to say. My legs haven’t bothered me before; I’ve never coveted stick-thin, shapeless legs. Fair play to those women with them. But I’m good with a bit of chunk on my southern bones. And while it’s true, my thighs meet in the middle, they’ve saved my iPhone more times than I can count, making them worthwhile. “Who cares if you don’t have a thigh gap?” He replies gruffly. Eyes turn
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God of all the unicorns, he makes me burn.
He should know how hilarious I am if we’re going to be married, right?
My soon-to-be boyfriend grins, and I swear I feel it tug at my uterus. This is my baby-daddy! He is extraordinary.
His lids ping open when I’m mid-freak out. I’m going to lose him. That’s the first and most prominent thought.
He turns his head on the pillow to face me. “I have no fucking answers, only feelings. You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re the person I can’t envision ever being without.”
“Hard. Are you listening to me? A hard fuck is the only way you ever ride it, kitten. Take me or be taken. Decide now before I make it for you.”
As my momma says, love is love. For all its power, it doesn’t recognize sexuality.
The grainy black-and-white picture shows the moment I’ve broken her heart when she sees me with Tom.
Not only do I love my kitten. I fucking worship the goddamn ground that woman tiptoes on. Her smile is my currency.
mine. Having her in my life has superseded everything, and I never told her.
