~~~This is a prequel, spin-off from Ties~~~
Briar Hayes has lived her entire life being polite, never daring to express the crazy and wild thoughts running laps in her head. At almost twenty-five, stuck in the throes of monotony, she finally snaps...
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* "Good morning," Trey says as the mattress dips next to me.
No chance I'm exiting this dreamlike state, or abandoning the high-thread-count sheets that are like cool silk against my naked body. Clothing was not happening after that breakthrough last night—if that's what you wanna call it.
I grumble into the pillow at Trey's repeated attempts to wake me, inhaling a mouth-watering medley of fabric softener and his citrus-meets-wooded-area scent. Versace, Versace, Versace—apparently it's my kryptonite. Not that I can pluck the name of a cologne from mid-air. I saw the bottle in his room, and I'm sticking a gold-star on it.
After the ass to face—as far as my ass goes—on Tara's couch, all bets were off. I'll be honest, I'd never been a huge sixty-nine advocate, but as luck would have it, it was quite alright. Once we recovered from the mutual mouth manipulations, we made our way to the bedroom and banged it out.
And then again.
And again.
Then once more... for good measure.
Four times, I shit you not. I couldn't walk right now if I wanted to. It wasn't as timid as our first encounter, and not so frantic as the second round gone straight sploogus interruptus.
Trey divulged that on top of the stuff I'd said in his truck, which I admitted I meant—obvi—that he'd never hit it raw before. Sames. Anyway, both previous occasions had a certain degree of intimacy, sure. Honestly, unlike anything I've experienced. But last night? Last night was intimate in a totally new kinda way for me.
As we rapidly grow more comfortable with the other, and even ourselves, seems we're both game for a little... exploration.
I had no clue a pinky slip had the capacity to make fireworks, actual fireworks explode inside my body. In case you missed the references, that's what happened.
How can this be? How in the hell did I go from nonexistent to consistent, with one person? My list isn't miles long, but I've had... partners. Why could none of them deliver me to the destination Trey practically autopilots to?
It's also beneficial that he recognizes the sensitive bud, happy button, swollen nub, devil's doorbell, the sweet spot—let's call it what it is: the clitoris. Okay, the clit. No need to get too technical. And repeated side note: the internet is fucking wild. He understands its importance, and I am so fine with the close attention he pays to that detail.
Seriously though, how's he so flipping good? My mind rewinds to Chaz saying he's only slept with one other person. There's no way. Is there?
His husky voice says my name, and his featherlight touch traces down the length of my spine.
"Nuh-uh," I mumble, not wanting to open my eyes, and for sure not wanting to open my mouth. Nobody should be subjected to morning breath. Nobody.
