Holy shit.
“How your toes curl,” Saylor continues, looking down at my feet. “Fuck, yes, just like that,” he groans out. “I loved watching how you came for my brother and how you made yourself come, but I need you to come for me now. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, my voice and body trembling, already feeling my orgasm building.
Saylor leans down to bring his lips to my other nipple, and I might combust, drowning in a wave of tingles and utter bliss. Shuddering, my hips rock with each aftershock, and I press my eyes closed with a moan, just as he told me I would.
When I open them again, he’s leaning back, watching me come, while his fingers don’t stop moving over my pussy until my body settles and I relax into the bed. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, unable to form words, my mind blown.
The heat in Saylor’s eyes is replaced by affection when he whispers, “So fucking beautiful.”
But then his face contorts with frustration, mirroring the turmoil boiling up inside me as I see him start to struggle.
No, not now, please.
“Please don’t leave me.” My voice is a mere whisper, fragile, breaking with the vulnerability I can’t disguise.
Saylor’s eyes widen, his distress clear as day. “Please don’t hate me.” His plea is a desperation that claws at me before he disappears.
The lingering warmth of his presence evaporates into a chill of abandonment I know too well. The echo of his plea mingles with my solitude, leaving me to face the haunting silence that follows.
ELEVEN
The intrusive chimeof my phone has me groaning awake. I reach for it, squinting at the bright screen. It’s just past noon. I had hoped to catch up on some much-needed sleep after another restless, lonely night.
My head was spinning with what Saylor and I did and how it did not help keep him with me in the least.
Tally’s name lights up on the display.
Tally
Hey girl, can you meet me at the restaurant?
I release a tired sigh, wondering what could be so important that Tally would want to meetnow. My shift doesn’t start until later in the evening.
Reluctantly, I type out a response.
Be there in a few.
Dragging myself out of bed, I wiggle into some tights and pull on a sweater, pulling my hair into a messy bun. When I open the van’s sliding door, I have to shield my eyes from the sun.
Just as I’m about to step out, I look down and notice a basket in front of my van’s door. Irritation prickles at the edges of my exhaustion, and I crouch to inspect it. Inside, there’s what appears to be homemade bread and an assortment of cheeses, which agitates me even more.
I fucking love cheese.
There’s no way I can just set this aside or handle it casually like I did with the cookies. My stomach growls at the smell, so I pick up the basket and climb back inside, holding it in my lap as I sit on my bed.
I pull out the bread and cheese, uncovering an envelope at the bottom of the basket.Sirenis written on it in Nash’s handwriting.
I shouldn’t read his poems.
They only hurt and are a way for him to slither back in.
But my curiosity wins, and I pull out the letter, popping a piece of cheese into my mouth as I do. A groan escapes me as I savor the perfectly flavored cheese. Then, I unfold the letter and begin to read.
It’s cute. Nash is calling me a wildflower and his muse, and I catch myself smiling.Fuck.
With a heavy sigh, I set the letter aside and continue to nibble on the bread and cheese.
