I attempt to read his lips, but my skills are shit.
He continues talking. I can’t hear a thing past my heartbeat in my ears.
Done with the guy stoking his curiosity with the timid, quiet mouse, I pick a rock off the ground and chuck it over the bonfire. It hits the back of his shoe. His attention cuts to me.
Glowering, I shake my head. He balls his hand but backs up. I smirk. Good man. Otherwise, it won’t be a rock I throw next. It’ll be my fucking fist.
Rush, that motherfucker, steps away from Sorrow and walks to a group standing around another bonfire. Everyone’s eyes are on a redhead who is talking while using her hands. She’s the center of attention. They hang on her every word.
I know the girl well.
Phoebe Malone. Long red hair. A sprinkling of freckles on her creamy, smooth skin. Tall with curves in all the right places. Confident. The center of attention at any damn party. And she can handle said attention with poise and grace.
We’ve hooked up in the past and will occasionally hook up when I need to blow off steam or she needs a comfort fuck after coming off a breakup. Watching Phoebe, I can’t help but smile. She’ll go places with how gorgeous she is and how well she handles herself.
The single guys and the ones with girlfriends have boners for her. She is all tits and ass, with infectious laughter, and she could charm a rock if she wanted to. That girl is a guy’s wet dream come true and would look good on any guy’s arm. She puts effort into how she looks and dresses, unlike another girl.
I shift my attention back to Sorrow. She’s not staring at the fire. Her focus is on me. Jealousy and longing flit across her face. I cock a brow. Her eyes widen. I chuckle. Caught, little mouse.
She gets up with a huff, grabs her bag off the ground, and stomps to the path that leads to the rope swing.
Fuck.
She won’t pay attention to where she’s going and will fall off the ledge.
I hurry after her. When I have her in my sight using the flashlight app on my phone with the screen pointed at the ground, I slow my pace. The moon is high in the sky, and the trees are tall but sparse, letting in the moonlight.
The music and conversation disappear the farther we are from the party. Without anyone around us and with her back to me, I run my gaze over Sorrow. Her onyx hair blends in with the night, and so do her shirt and pants. All black.
Snickering, I shake my head. Black is Sorrow. Sorrow is tragedy. Tragically, I haven’t seen her have a full-on meltdown. I have a feeling she’d be absolutely stunning. Anything is better than timid and stoic.
Jesus H. Christ, Sorrow’s jealousy sent a thrill of satisfaction through me, sending my heart into overdrive.
I fucking like Sorrow’s anger directed at me for staring at a girl who isn’t her. I want to bathe in her rage and feast on her jealousy. Her jealousy has to taste better than her fear and nervousness when she’s near me.
Her anger calls to the dark side of me that wonders what she’ll do or how she’ll react if I push and push until she tips over from the weight of the tragedies she’s carrying on her back, an invisible pack of emotions I wouldn’t want to unpack.
How will Sorrow break? Will she destroy everything in her path? Or will she scream her rage and jealousy? I didn’t expect her to leave in a huff. I expected her to sit silently and stoically in my camping chair until I told her when we should go.
Or can I get Sorrow to fall apart with pleasure instead? It’s a wicked thought full of images of my face between her legs and my cock deep inside her wet pussy.
Fuck me, how do I get quiet, reserved, and prudish Sorrow to break apart for me, and only me?
Excitement and anticipation tighten my groin. Need pulses through my cock. I up my pace and catch up to her. I’m so close I could reach out, grasp the onyx strands between my fingers, and bring them to my nose. I’d inhale her sweet scent, and then I’d fist the strands and yank her head back before I crash my mouth over hers.
Taken by surprise, she’d gasp, and I’d sink my tongue inside her mouth and taste her sweet flavor until her body slackens against mine. I would eat up her moans in a deep kiss that she’ll remember as she strokes herself to completion every time she thinks about me.
Enjoying the hunt, I prolong my torture of living out my waking wet dream with me following Sorrow, and her running away from me, this walk-run thing she’s doing that only draws my eyes to her swaying hips and tight ass. I slow my pace and give myself time to imagine how Sorrow will break apart for me before I return to looking at her like she’s inconsequential. I can see the vision before me now. It’s bright in my mind, the darkness hiding my hooded eyes, parted mouth, and erection straining against my zipper.
Sorrow would be spread out on my bed, naked, with her black hair fanned over my pillow. Standing at the foot of the bed, I’d rake my gaze over her thin body. Creamy, flawless skin. Small breasts. Narrow hips. Long legs. Her arms above her head, her glacier-blue eyes bright with desire, and her mouth parted, ready for mine.
I would go slow and worship her from head to toe with kisses before I crush her mouth with mine, claiming her in a frenzy of tongues and teeth. Then I’d grab her by the throat, plunge my dick inside her tight, wet pussy, and squeeze at the same time I thrust inside her.
As she writhed beneath me, I’d slow the rhythm of my thrusts in time to her gasps for air. With her on the verge of passing out and the walls of her pussy constricting around my dick, I’d ride her hard and fast until we both came in a tangled mess of arms and legs.
Except one time with Sorrow wouldn’t be enough. She’s not like the others. She won’t be like the others, I’m sure of it. Deep down, I know once I have a taste of her flavor, of being inside her, I’ll want more, and more isn’t good for us.
Sorrow is a date-until-we-marry kind of girl, and I’m not for a serious relationship when I have my entire life ahead of me.
