Oleg
OlegI don’t have a way to get home. I could text one of the guys in my cell, but it’s almost four in the morning.
I could use a ride-sharing app, but it would mean interacting with another person—something I loathe. I decide to walk. It’s only a few miles. It’s freezing out, but I’m from Russia. Cold doesn’t bother me, especially when I could use the temperature to cool down after what just happened.
Story’s vanilla-sweet scent still lingers on my shirt.
I zip my leather jacket and shove my hands in my pockets. My mind is still filled with images of Story getting off under my hands. It was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Like that first hit of a drug, I’m now utterly addicted. I don’t know how I’ll wait a full week to see her again. How I’ll settle for just watching now t
