Ooo I like bossy Remy.
To quote a famously annoying stalker of mine, “That's not an answer.”
You really wanna know? Fine. Every night since seeing you. And all day if I’m being honest.
Lust clouds my judgment. My imagination whips into overdrive. I’m a helpless victim to his hypnosis.
Sounds like a curse.
I don’t mind as long as you’re the one cursing me.
My head hits the back of the seat with a groaned, “I’m a fucking idiot,” as I proceed to dig my grave.
You better not be taking care of that while texting me.
Taking care of what?
I smack the steering wheel. Maybe I’ll toss my phone out the window and run it over. Or I could just runhimover.
I swear to god I’m seconds from murdering you.
Mmm, yes, talk dirty to me.
If you’re touching yourself right now, this conversation is over.
I’d never do such a thing ;)
With a growl, I chuck my phone into the passenger seat and floor it out of the parking lot. But by the time I get home, I’m no less wound up. I stomp into the bathroom and crank the shower to ice cold.
I must be a masochist because before I step under the chilly water, I check my phone one last time.
But if I were to do it… I’d make a fucking mess of myself while I call out your name.
The phone falls to the floor.
I grip my cock.
I’ve officially lost my mind.
26
Win
Six Years Ago
My Starlight,
Is it possible to miss someone when they're right in front of you? Because I miss you. I miss your hand in mine. I miss the freedom to run my fingers through your hair. I miss kissing your sweet mouth whenever I want. So many times, I catch myself from pulling you against me. It takes everything in me not to hold you. Touch you. Devour you. Every day, I count down the hours until I can have you all to myself. You're all I think about. All I dream about. The last month has been torture, but I wouldn't trade our moments for anything. Even if we're not out in the open, you're mine and I'm yours.
XXYour Sunshine
Abittersweet ache settles in the back of my throat as I carefully refold the note and close my locker. Remy’s track practice takes up a good portion of our after-school time together, leaving both of us desperate for a moment alone. In Chem, his fingers find mine beneath the table. During lunch, he presses his thigh against me like the physical contact grounds him. The other day, he dragged me into an empty classroom, pinned me against the door and kissed me until I saw stars.
I adore his affection but he’s getting too bold.
It’s a fucking problem.
I’ve noticed a few confused looks already. Next will be whispers. Then outright jeers. Half of me wants to say, “Fuck it,” and ask him to go public. The other half screams bloody murder at the idea of dragging him down to my circle of hell.
