As we kiss by her front door, Becca’s fingers are twisted into the front of my shirt, holding me close.
I’m not going anywhere, angel.
I’m not going anywhere, angel.I’ve found that over the past two weeks, I could have filled an entire novel with brand-new s***k-bank material featuring Becca. It’s not that I never noticed how pretty she is with her casual nice-girl vibes, her shiny ponytail, and bright eyes. Of course I did. I just locked that s**t down faster than a parole officer does with an inmate. I wouldn’t let myself go there. Couldn’t risk it.
Now, though? There’s no holding me back. Imagining her flirting back, biting that full lower lip, pressing her t**s together with her arms as she tries to tease me. And the most dangerous fantasy yet? Picturing her in my bed wearing nothin
