15
Brock
Jessie looked better than I’d remembered. Tasted twice as sweet. Her p***y more glove-like and silken than I’d remembered while j*********f almost every damn night since our first time together back in that podunk town. Holding her, f*****g her on my aching d**k had been nothing short of heaven—and I wanted her again.
She seemed different, definitely hurting in some way, but the woman had ten-foot walls like I did. No strings, we’d agreed on, and I wanted it to stay that way, keeping on in my solitude. Sure as f**k enjoyed her visit, though. She’d be back in October, too.
I hurried to scrub my body and hair, tugging up a clean set of pants I’d line dried the week before. Not the most comfortable things, but I couldn’t exactly walk around n***d like I’d done on occasion while a
