"We agreed. If I won, you'd marry me someday."
"Why'd you wanna marry me, anyhow?" I ask.
"So, I can do this for the rest of our lives," he stops walking with me in his arms, his radiant blue-green eyes flickering between my eyes and lips as the ons...
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Control.
It's never been my strong suite.
I act on impulse. I do what I want, how I want when I want. I think about the repercussions once all has been said and done.
I never fight my cravings, desires, or urges. My body wants it and I comply.
I don't fight it.
I don't try to control it.
I simply allow myself to divulge.
In simpler terms, I'm fucked.
In this moment, my body is demanding a ride on memory lane. My body is begging me to run my fingertips down the sweet valleys of Alec's impeccable abs.
My body is begging me to capture his lips and explore his mouth. My body is begging for a taste out of curiosity if he still tastes the same.
My coochie is begging me to rename her and make her a chicken coop. Just so that I can bury his cock deep inside my chicken coop to roost.
It doesn't even make sense, but my body is begging, pleading for a taste of him.
My body and mind are not amalgamating. My mind is fighting for control.
My mind is demanding to be in charge and do the right thing. It's reminding me of Justin and my engagement.
It's reminding me of my decision to divorce Alec.
But that wink has my pussy fluttering, pulsating, and throbbing. Ripping through the fabric of my red thong.
His lips curled in a smirk has me questioning reality but the cherry on top of the cake is his deep husky voice with a raspy undertone.
It sends a wave of frenetic desirous through my body at full speed, but my brain keeps up the good fight.
I open and close my mouth, trailing my eyes over his impeccable abs until my gaze connects with his green-blue eyes. I wish I could say it's enough for me to snap out of it and back to reality, but I can't.
"I-I'm," I stammer breathlessly. "I'm here for the signed–" emphasis on signed – "divorce papers."
I can't focus. My mouth is moving on its own. Images of my sweaty body tangled with his, is all I see. My mouth exploring every decadent ridge his has to offer, is all I can feel against my tongue.
I need to snap out of this.
I need to focus on what's important.
Debauchery.
Sex with the ex.
No.
"Word has it you're in town for a week."
"And?" My gaze slips to his toned chest. I skim over the black ink on his left pec, right above his heart before I force it away, focusing on the ripples in the water.
