3
Ricky
The little dancer left a wet mark on my jeans, and I’ll admit to taking them off the second I got in my hotel room and sniffing her musk deeply into my starved lungs. I f****d my fist right there, back against the door as guilt ate at my soul, filling my fist with spunk.
Casey sure as f**k wasn’t my Annie—far from it—but she’d taken over my goddamn head. Her sweet as peaches scent. Her satiny skin. Her warm breath caressing my lips. The gentle touch of her palm on my cheek and the tightening of her fingers in my hair... f*****g siren bent on wrecking my goddamn brain.
Guilt over forgetting Annie in that moment had made me set Casey aside, and I cursed myself fifty times over after getting back to my hotel. Why the f**k I didn’t just bury myself in her tight heat beat the hell o
