Cover by: @authornataliaava
🔞🔞WARNING {18+}🔞🔞
Sequel to: In Need of a Muse.
⚠Book Two CAN'T be read as a standalone.
Timay finds herself back where she started, distracting herself with meaningless sex, the only difference this time, she's runn...
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I'm not even going to think about what I was thinking kissing Noah like that. Scratch that, I don't even want to think about it, it was a lapse in judgement granted an amazing lapse in judgement, but it won't be happening again.
I don't believe in kissing but sure why not just straddle him and kiss the shit out of him, it's totally normal to do that. Completely and utterly normal.
It's just and I know how cliché this is going to seem but there was this undeniable pull I felt in that moment. It's almost like I needed to kiss him. I needed him like I need air, but it won't be a problem again, from here on out it'll be strictly business.
We'll work on my manuscript together as discussed and once it's done; he will return to New York and I'll stay here, trying to figure my life out.
Fuck, the way his fingers – no, nope, not going there.
His lips.... Yum!
Fuck, I want to do it again, all of it. I want to kiss him, touch him, make lo – no, where the fuck did that come from?
I want to fuck him, not make lo – lov – lo, lov – love to him.
Oh, wow that was difficult.
L-Love.
Such an easy word.
Four letters... Four puny letters, but the meaning is anything but puny and I know, I've been over this before, but that word is supposed to hold meaning – life changing meaning – and it isn't meant to be thrown around lightly.
How dare I think about it so loosely.
Make love to Noah, the fuck is wrong with me?
I don't love him...
"Timay!" Naomi hits her hand down hard against the bar counter in Déjà vu, the sound penetrating my thoughts and I look to my right with wide eyes at her knowing expression.
"What?"
"Have you contacted Andrew yet? There's something going on with him and he refuses to talk to us... He only wants to talk to you." I look down at my empty glass in shame. I wave the new bartender over, one that I haven't seen before with his ash-blond hair tied into a manbun. Not many men can pull this look off but with his tanned skin, hazel eyes, neatly trimmed beard lining his square, rugged jaw, he pulls it off, almost like he created the look.
"Where's Fred?" I raise a brow, not-so-subtly checking him out, admiring the way his white, tight as fuck tee highlights his washboard abs.
"Who's asking?"
"An old friend."
"Does this old fried have a name?" He leans his elbow on the counter, quirking a brow.
"Timay," I smirk.
"Timay... My uncle told me a lot about you."
"All bad things I hope," I wink, and he chuckles. I lean forward – thank fuck Nay forced me to change outta my leggings and tee into a hot red number that's been collecting dust – allowing my cleavage to pop out the straight neckline of the red material and his eyes travel down.
