Not my lot in life to mess around with the love bullshit. All it does is break you when it ends.
And it always ends.
They always leave.
My mom.
My first wife.
Rafferty might not have left physically, but emotionally, the prick abandoned me too.
“I’m not gone yet,” she whispers.
There’s a hungry note in her voice that has me lifting my eyes to hers while my cock gets heavy.
Her chest is rising and falling faster than it should. Her pupilshave dilated to the point that there’s the barest golden ring around them. And she’s mere inches from me.
With a pink stain on her cheeks and her tongue doing a slow swipe of her bottom lip.
This is a bad idea.
Lucky for both of us, I love bad ideas.
22
Goldie
I’m goingto kiss Fletcher.
Not in public where someone can jostle us.
Not because I want to make a scene.
Not because I want to prove a point.
I’m going to kiss Fletcher because I want to kiss Fletcher.
He’s watching me with a heavy-lidded gaze like he’s daring me to be the one to initiate the kiss.
Like he doesn’t think I’m brave enough. Bold enough. Like I don’t want it enough.
I smile. It’s impossiblenotto.
This man knows how to push my buttons, and I like it.
“Fuck me,” he mutters, and then his hand is hooked around the back of my neck, he’s twisting on the floor beside the coffee table, and his lips brush mine.
Fuck me.
Agreed,Fletcher.
Agreed.
His whiskers are at that perfect length to be soft-scratchy around my mouth, and much like his hair, his lips are deceptively soft.
Plump. Firm.
Hot.
