T. Ashleigh

He touched me and I melted, yielded like I was putty and his hands were God, molding me into whatever he wanted.

He’s like an addiction, a drug of the worst kind that’s consuming me, and all I want is my next hit. I’m like an alcoholic dying for a sip, telling myself it’ll be the last one, but always wanting more.
Silas Richards is my favorite vice.

I have to hand it to him, he either has balls the size of Texas or he’s a good liar. I’m going with the latter, considering I’ve seen his balls in real life and they’re average-sized.

I still despise him, just not his face.

“Where are we?” I ask, casting a nervous look at Silas. This isn’t where he kills me, right? I’m too young to die, especially with cows as my witness.

My head rests on his shoulder, and every now and then my lips wander to nip at the freckles on his throat, but he’s been ignoring me.
He’s still fangirling over this damn bike.
He needs to pay attention to my dick. It’s all sad and lonely. It needs a hug. Preferably with his mouth.

I don’t think Silas realized what he called me, but I did.
And I fucking love it. I want him to call me that all the time. I want to be his baby every damn day and from now on, if he’ll let me.

“You’re important to me. Fuck that, I’m obsessed with you, Blaine Yates. Like a toxin there ain’t no cure for. You’ve poisoned me, baby, but I’ll happily suffer for you.”

Normally, I love when we fight each other for our pleasure, ramping up the sticky tension until we both just explode, but this is different. Him taking care of me sounds like the best thing in the world. Being under Silas’ tender hands, his unwavering gaze, his sweet mercy is everything to me.

I’ve got a one-track mind right now. I need his dick in my ass more than I need to breathe. I want us to be together like that again and again and again until we can’t distinguish one of us from the other.