I wake up early in the morning. Even earlier than I do when I have to get into the office.
It might be because I fell asleep at eight-thirty the night before. Or it might be the birdsong right outside my window. It’s not louder than city noise—I can usually hear traffic sounds or muffled thumps from the neighboring apartments in my building. But I’m used to that.
The birds are shrill and insistent. Not an unpleasant sound, but one that cuts right through my sleep because I haven’t heard anything like that before. Not right outside my window, first thing in the morning.
The sunlight seems different, too. Brighter and more direct. Not filtered through buildings. Pale yellow.
There’s a certain energy that comes from waking up in an unfamiliar place. I feel alert and curious. Wanting to see more of everything in full daylight.
I slip out of bed and put on some of the clothes that Bo lent me the night before. She’s almost as tall as me, and close to the same build. There’s definitely more muscle on her frame. The ranch is more strenuous than the gym, I guess.
I pull on Bo’s jeans, worn comfortable. Her shirt is likewise soft and clean, with that fresh laundry smell. I pull my hair into a ponytail. I don’t have any of my usual supplies—my four-hundred-dollar hair-straightener is probably a lump of melted metal now, so I can’t make my hair sleek and smooth like I usually do. In fact, in the humidity, it’s heading past wavy into almost curly.
I hate when my hair gets unruly. It makes me feel powerless. If I can’t control my own hair, then how can I control anything in my life?
It’s frustrating not to have any of my things here—clothes, underwear, eyeliner. I keep thinking that if I go back to Chicago it will all be there waiting for me, but I know that’s not true. It all burned up. The only thing waiting is the enormously daunting task of filing an insurance claim for everything I lost. Some of which can never be replaced.
At least I didn’t have anything truly priceless at my place. Nessa got grandmother’s ring when she married Mikolaj, instead of it going to me as the oldest daughter, as was tradition.
I don’t regret telling Mom to give it to her.
At the time I was certain I’d never get married. I mean I am still certain. And it always suited Nessa better. She loves things that are beautiful, vintage, and sentimental. Things that have history. That’s why she loves living in Mikolaj’s ancient mansion. I think the place is creepy as fuck, but she adores every inch of it.
Anyway, the ring was meant for her.
What would my perfect house look like?
I thought it was my condo. Because it was a space that belonged only to me.
Now the idea of buying another place like the one I just lost . . . it doesn’t excite me. In fact, it makes me feel a kind of empty dread that I don’t quite understand. I loved that apartment—why don’t I want another one? Am I afraid of being there alone? Afraid of someone pouring gasoline under my door again?
I don’t think that’s it. But I feel confused when I try to think what I want in the next month, or the next six months. Usually my path forward is so clear. I know exactly what I want to accomplish.
All of a sudden I’m strangely lost . . .
Finishing the messy ponytail, I brush my teeth and wash my face, and then head downstairs.
Raylan’s already sitting in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in front of him and another steaming mug in front of the empty chair next to him.
“Is that for me?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
I sit down and take a sip. The coffee is rich and dark.
Raylan looks more himself than ever. His scruff is almost becoming a beard. There’s something wild and animalistic about his hair, the way it springs up thick and black from his forehead, the way his dark brows look devilishly pointed above his bright blue eyes, and the way his facial hair outlines his lips and jaw like bold strokes of ink.
I can’t imagine him without that hair. It’s as much a part of him as the blue of his eyes, or his wolfish white teeth, or the shape of his hands resting on his blue-jeaned thighs. His hands are large, rough, calloused, and scarred in spots. A shiver runs up my spine, looking at them. One of his hands tenses slightly against his thigh, as if it can feel me looking at it.
I pull my eyes away, taking a sip of hot coffee so hasty that it burns my mouth.
“You want some breakfast, too?” Raylan asks me.
I can hear that he’s smiling, even before I look at his face.
“Did you already eat?” I ask him.
“Yup,” he says. “I’ve been up a while. There’s oatmeal on the stove, though.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“Well,” he says, pushing back his chair from the table. “You want to come out for a ride still?”
“Of course,” I say.
I’m trying to sound confident, but I’m regretting what I committed to last night. I am curious what it’s like to ride a horse, but I’m also realizing how totally out of control I’m going to be, sitting on the back of an animal five times my size. Or more—fuck, I have no idea what a horse weighs.
I could ask Raylan, I’m sure he knows. But that will make me look even more ignorant.
All I can do is follow him out the back door, out into the sprawling grounds behind the house.
I see a large vegetable garden, and another garden full of fruit and flowers: raspberry canes, rose bushes, lilacs, and apple trees.
Then, beyond that, I see the stables, two barns, and several large paddocks.
Everything looks clean and well-maintained. The barns look freshly painted, and the fields are nicely mowed. No trash or tools lay out of place anywhere in sight.
I can see two horses standing next to the stable, already saddled and bridled. One is huge and dark gray—so dark he almost looks black. The other is a pretty caramel-colored horse with a black mane and tail. Her coat is so smooth and shiny that she almost looks metallic.
“The big one is Brutus,” Raylan says. “The other is Penny. She’s a sweetheart—the nicest horse we’ve got. So you’ll ride her, while I take Brutus. He’s not as nice, but he gets mad if Penny goes anywhere without him.”
“Alright,” I say, giving Brutus a wide berth. He looks over at me with his large black eye, on which I can’t see any white. He doesn’t seem friendly, but he’s not aggressive at least.
Penny, by contrast, eagerly puts her velvety nose into Raylan’s palm, then rubs the side of her head against his shoulder, making a gentle snuffing sound.
“You miss me, Penny?” Raylan says, in his low, husky voice.
I don’t know why, but hearing the tone he uses with the horses has an effect on me, too. It sends little prickles down my arms.
“Alright,” Raylan says to me, calm and confident as ever. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna get you set up on Penny first . . . you’re gonna put your left foot here in the stirrup, and you’re gonna grab this little knob here on the saddle, it’s called the pommel. And I’m gonna help you swing your right leg over the horse. I’ll kinda help boost you.”
Trying not to show how nervous I feel, I slip my left foot into the closest stirrup. Raylan is holding Penny steady, though I suspect she would have stood there patiently either way. Even though she radiates gentleness, and she isn’t nearly as massive as Brutus, she’s still much taller than I expected. I don’t quite see how I’m going to get my other leg over her back, when that back is higher than my shoulder.
However, as I step up into the stirrup, Raylan puts his large hands around my waist and helps lift me up. With his boost, my right leg swings easily over the saddle.
Now I’m sitting on Penny’s back, and it’s damned high up. She’s wider than I expected—I’m lucky that I’m relatively tall and long-legged, otherwise, I‘d have a hard time getting my thighs around her. But the saddle is comfortable. It smells nicely of leather, and Penny smells nice too—like clean hay and sunshine. Beneath that, a not-unpleasant scent of animal sweat.
Raylan passes me the reins and shows me how to grip them.
“Just sit tight one second while I get up too,” he tells me.
He hops up on Brutus’s massive back in one smooth motion that looks as easy as stepping up on a curb. I can see this is second nature to Raylan. He sits comfortably on the large, dark horse, directing Brutus with the smallest motion of his hand on the reins, or his heel against the horse’s side.
“Give her a little tap with your heels like this,” Raylan directs me. “Don’t worry, you won’t hurt her.”
I give Penny a gentle tap, and obediently she starts walking forward. She’s probably following Raylan and Brutus more than listening to me. Still, I’m glad to see that she doesn’t take off galloping.
Even walking jolts me around more than I expected. Her shoulders and haunches roll beneath me in a way that isn’t quite regular. It’s hard to catch the rhythm so I don’t bounce around in the saddle.
“You’re doing great!” Raylan says.
I have to laugh at that. We’ve only taken a couple of steps. I’m not doing great at all.
Raylan stays close to me, Brutus just a little ahead of Penny so that it’s clear who’s leading. He keeps the pace slow to start. We amble across the meadow. The grass is a little higher here, and full of tiny white butterflies that flutter upward in papery clouds as the horses swish through. The early morning sunshine makes the dew sparkle. The grass smells sweet, and the air is fresher than any I’ve tasted before. No hint of exhaust like you’d taste everywhere in the city.
It’s cool—maybe sixty degrees. But I don’t feel chilly with the sun shining on my head and warm horseflesh beneath me.
After I’ve gotten used to walking, Raylan shows me how to trot. This is less comfortable—I have to stand up more in the stirrups, and I feel ridiculous bouncing on the horse.
“It’s actually more comfortable to gallop,” Raylan tells me.
“I don’t know about that . . . ” I say hesitantly.
“Just grab the reins like this”—he shows me—“and lean forward more, so you’re closer down to her neck . . . ”
He helps me get in a better position. Then he shouts, “HA!” and the horses take off.
We’re out in an open field, bright green and velvety. The ground is soft underneath us, so I’d probably be alright if I fell. But I don’t want to test that theory. I cling to Penny with my knees, leaning low over her neck, gripping tight on the reins until they almost cut into my hands.
Her hooves thunder beneath me. Raylan is right—it is actually easier to follow the rhythm of her movement at a gallop. The wind streaming into my face is cool and clean and invigorating.
Brutus seems thrilled to be running. He’s stretching his neck out low, his powerful legs churning, not even seeming to feel the weight of Raylan on his back. The two horses run in tandem, only a couple of feet between them.
It’s beautiful, utterly beautiful. The vast stretches of the ranch seem endless all around us. The sky is like a huge, inverted bowl, brilliantly blue like Raylan’s eyes, almost cloudless. My heart is racing—partly from fear, but also from exhilaration. My hair comes loose from the ponytail and it streams out behind me like Penny’s tail. I’m not gripping the reins so tight anymore. I’m squeezing Penny with my legs, wanting her to run faster and faster. Wanting to feel exactly this, more and more.
Raylan’s right beside me. He lets out a whoop, partly to urge on the horses, and partly out of pure happiness. It’s the most gorgeous day I’ve ever seen. These animals are powerful and brilliant. They love to run. They seem to know how pleasurable it is for us, too.
Raylan keeps looking over at me, making sure I’m comfortable and safe. Making sure I’m enjoying this as much as he is.
I’ve never felt anything like this. A lot of the things I do for pleasure—swimming, running—are meant to calm me down. Put me in a zen state.
This is the opposite. I feel enlightened. I feel alive. I feel terrified and exhilarated and thrilled, all at once. I can see every golden hair on Penny’s smooth coat, every blade of bright green grass, every bird soaring overhead. I can smell the trees and the grass and even Raylan’s skin more acutely than ever.
My muscles are aching from the strain of doing something so foreign to my usual activity. But it feels good. I feel powerful like the horse. Limitless like the open space. Wild like . . . like Raylan, I guess. He always seems like a force of nature. Like he could never belong to a city or a place. He’s just himself, at all times. Wherever he might be.
At last Raylan makes a clicking sound and pulls back on the reins. Brutus reluctantly obeys, coming to a trot and then a gentle walk. Penny matches his pace exactly. I can feel her rapid breathing, and the heat of her body. I’m the same—panting and sweating. But exhilarated. Not wanting to slow down.
“Why are you stopping?” I ask Raylan.
“There’s a stream up here,” he says. “The horses can have a drink.”
He leads us over to a thicket of trees. Sure enough, I can hear water running through. The trees grow in a double line on either side of a small river. It’s like an oasis in the grass.
The day is heating up, the sun coming more directly overhead. I’m hot from the ride, as are the horses.
Raylan gets down from Brutus’s back and helps me dismount. He takes off the horses’ saddles and rubs them down. They roll around briefly on the grass, which alarms me for a moment as Brutus flops over abruptly, then rolls with his legs in the air like a dog would do. I laugh, amused to see such a massive animal behaving that way.
Penny does the same as soon as the saddle is off. It makes me happy to see them enjoying themselves, after they carried us all this way and gave me an experience like I’ve never had before.
Once they’ve rolled around, they drink from the stream, and then start cropping the soft grass, pulling up mouthfuls.
“Can they eat that?” I ask Raylan.
“Of course,” he says.
“I don’t know anything about horses,” I admit. “Or any animals, really.”
“You rode so well,” Raylan says. “I can’t believe you’ve never done it before.”
“I think it’s easier on Penny.”
“It is,” Raylan admits. “We’ve had a lot of good horses. But none as intuitive as her.”
Raylan is sweating, too. I can see the clear sweat running down his neck into the open collar of his shirt. I can smell his scent, warm like the grass, strong like the horses.
“Are you hot?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I admit.
“The water’s clean,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls it open and strips it off, so he’s standing there bare-chested in just his jeans.
I can’t help staring. I’ve seen Raylan shirtless several times now, but this is the best he’s ever looked—his muscles swollen from riding, his skin bright with sunshine and sweat, his waist looking impossibly tight compared to his broad shoulders and his worn blue jeans.
Raylan isn’t as massive as Dante, but he’s aesthetic in a completely different way. If Dante is a bull, then Raylan is a stallion. He looks fast as well as strong. Lean, and capable.
He’s exotic to me like no man I’ve met before. I’ve known gangsters and businessmen and high rollers of all kinds. But I’ve never known a man with Raylan’s charm and authenticity. I’ve never known a man who’s good at so many things. Dean was the best thoracic surgeon in the city, but he couldn’t fix his kitchen sink to save his life. I think you could put any tool in the world into Raylan’s hands and he’d figure it out.
Maybe I’m losing it, after all the things I’ve been through the past few weeks. But I find myself staring at him in awe. Thinking I’ve never seen a more attractive man.
That’s when he starts unbuttoning his jeans.
“W—what are you doing?” I stammer.
I never fucking stammer. I’m a lawyer. I’m endlessly articulate. But as Raylan unzips his jeans, I couldn’t form a sentence to save my life.
“I’m gonna cool off in the water,” he says, his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Care to join me?”
He drops his jeans. Then, keeping his brilliant blue eyes fixed on mine, he hooks his thumbs in his boxer shorts and pulls those down, too.
His cock hangs down between his legs, thick and heavy and uncut. It’s even darker than his tanned body, with trimmed black hair around it, as thick as the hair on his head.
My heart is hammering against my ribs so fast that it feels like one continual beat. My mouth is salivating, and I can’t stop staring at his cock. I’m flushed with heat and I feel an aching, clenching sensation between my thighs.
I have never felt this response to a man’s cock. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen one that big. Or that animalistic. It’s making me respond like I’m in heat.
This is so unlike me. I’m never rabid. I’m never out of control.
I rip my eyes away from his body. I’ve seen Raylan nearly naked several times. But completely naked . . . that’s a whole different thing. There’s something about seeing him stripped down outdoors, in his natural element. It’s vastly more powerful.
I’m in his space now. On his land. In his control.
As if sensing the same thing, Raylan says, in his deep, commanding voice, “Take off your clothes.”
He’s never ordered me around before. Nobody orders me around.
My natural inclination is to toss my head and tell him to fuck off. That’s what I’d usually do.
But then Raylan takes a step toward me, and more gently—in the same tone he used with Penny—he says, “Come on. Strip down. Get in the water. You’ll like it.”
And like he’s fucking hypnotized me, I find my fingers unbuttoning my shirt. Baring my skin to the sunshine and the breeze. I take off my shirt, and the bra underneath.
I can feel Raylan’s eyes roving hungrily over my bare breasts. My breasts are small and extremely pale. The nipples are light pink, barely darker than my flesh.
I unzip my jeans and pull them down, my underwear too.
I have a tuft of trimmed hair as vibrantly red as the hair on my head. Men go insane for it. They obsess over it.
I look at Raylan’s face, to see what he thinks of my body.
His eyes are so bright that they look as if they’re on fire, like the blue flame under a gas burner. His lips are parted hungrily, and I see a glint of those sharp white teeth.
“Come on,” he says huskily.
He steps down into the stream, to a place where the river widens and flattens, creating a small pool. The water is perfectly clear, so you can see the smooth stones beneath.
Raylan gives me his hand to help me down.
His touch is like an electric jolt. The energy runs up my arm, and I can feel my nipples stiffening. Every step I take seems to make my pussy lips rub together. I’ve never been naked outside before. I’ve never been nude in front of a man like this—a man I’m not supposed to be dating or fucking.
The water is cold, but it doesn’t jolt me nearly as much as Raylan’s skin. I can barely feel the water on my flesh compared to how intensely I feel his eyes roaming over me.
I’ve never seen him look so ferocious. His warmth and humor have all burned away, replaced by an intensity I never would have guessed he possessed.
I sink down into the stream, hoping the cold water will help cool my lust.
Raylan does the same. He splashes the clear water on his face and chest, washing himself clean of sweat. He dunks his head under and shakes the sparkling droplets out of his thick, black hair.
I try not to stare at him. But every movement flexes the muscle on his broad frame. When he turns, I can’t help but stare at his wide back and his tight, round ass cheeks. When he rinses his hair, his biceps bulge like softballs, and I can see the narrow bands of muscle running across his ribs and down his torso.
And then there’s that heavy cock, that swings and hits his thigh with an audible thwap. It doesn’t shrink in the cold water. In fact, when Raylan runs his eyes down my body again, I think it’s swelling with arousal.
I can feel the cool water between my thighs. The flowing stream runs between my pussy lips. No matter how I try to shift to stop the stimulation, it only becomes more intense. I can feel the flush on my pale skin. I know Raylan can see it, too. He can see my rock-hard nipples and my flaming red face.
I tell myself we’re just skinny dipping.
I tell myself that nothing is going to happen.
Raylan is a professional. He’s my bodyguard. That’s all, that’s it. He knows I don’t want anything else . . .
But of course, that’s a fucking lie.
I want him. I want him right now. It’s all over my face. I can’t hide it.
“Are you still dating Dean?” Raylan asks me bluntly. His voice is low and intent. His eyes burn into mine.
“I . . . I . . . ”
That fucking stammering again. I should lie and tell him we’re still together.
Raylan is tempting in a way that terrifies me. I’ve never been so aroused by a man. I’ve never felt this desperate.
I’m used to being pursued. I’m used to having the upper hand.
I have no advantage with Raylan. If I let go right now, if I give in to this desire, I’ll be completely out of control. I’ll be in totally uncharted territory. I don’t understand my desire for him, or how I feel about him as a man. Sometimes he drives me insane. And sometimes I admire him, against my will. None of that is normal for me. None of it is comfortable.
He scares me. My only protection is pretending I don’t want this. Pretending I’m committed to another man.
But I can’t lie to Raylan. He’s too honest, too open. And too damn perceptive. He’ll know if I lie. It’s pointless.
“I broke up with him,” I admit.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Raylan growls.
“I wanted you to think I was taken,” I confess.
What the fuck am I doing? Why am I admitting that?
“Why?” Raylan says.
I lick my lips, tasting the cool, clear river. “You scare me,” I say.
I’ve never admitted to being intimidated. I’ve never admitted to being afraid, period.
“This . . . scares me,” I say, gesturing between the two of us.
Raylan steps closer to me, closing the gap between us. I can almost hear his heart pounding as fast as mine. I’m sure I would hear it, if not for the noise of the running water.
“I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you again without your permission,” he says.
I swallow hard.
“But that was a stupid fucking promise,” he growls. He grabs my face between his hands, and he kisses me hard, harder even than he did in the gym. His bare, burning-hot chest presses against mine. His tongue thrusts into my mouth. His beard scratches my face.
I kiss him back, my hands thrust in his thick, black hair. His hair feels hot from the sun, thick and coarse and alive like animal fur. The scent of his skin is sharp and wild.
He lifts me up and throws me on the riverbank, in the sun-warmed grass. Then he climbs on top of me and kisses me even harder, grinding his naked body against mine. I can feel his cock standing straight up now, harder than a poker.
His lips devour mine, then they run hungrily down my neck, down to my breasts. He sucks and nibbles on my nipples, making me moan and arch my back. Meanwhile he’s touching between my thighs, stroking my pussy lightly at first, then a little harder as his fingers become slick and wet.
I’m soaking wet. Wetter than I’ve ever been before. It started the moment I saw him naked, and it only got worse. The river couldn’t wash it away. My pussy is swollen and aching, throbbing at his touch.
I grind against his hand. I’m rabid for him. Ravenous.
He reaches up with his other hand to caress my face, and I seize his fingers between my teeth and bite them, then suck on his index and middle finger, taking them all the way into my mouth.
I’ve never behaved like this in my life.
Quite honestly, I’m a selfish lover, doing only what I personally like. I don’t get down on my knees and suck men’s cocks—that would be degrading. I let them worship me, but I don’t respond in kind.
With Raylan, I have no pride. He’s unleashed a hunger in me that I never knew before. I’m fucking wild for him. I would do anything for him right now. I want to taste him, touch him, lick him absolutely everywhere. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything before.
I want that cock. I want it inside of me right now—anywhere, anyway.
I grab Raylan’s cock in my hand. It’s so thick that my fingers don’t close all the way around the shaft. It feels like it’s two hundred degrees of burning heat. I can feel it throbbing like a live thing.
I shimmy down in the grass so I can close my mouth over the head.
I’m literally salivating. I want to taste Raylan. I need it.
I close my mouth around his cock, and I start sucking. Immediately, my mouth is flooded with thin, warm pre-cum. It tastes fucking delicious. I’m ravenously hungry from skipping breakfast and riding around all morning. That pre-cum tastes like the most satisfying thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. It’s salty and rich and it tastes like Raylan’s skin and sweat. It’s like a drug—the more I get, the more I want.
I attack his cock with my mouth, sliding my tongue up and down the shaft, sucking hard on the head. I use both of my hands, alternating between sucking him off, and taking his balls in my mouth while I slide my hands up and down his slippery shaft.
This is the most enthusiastic blowjob I’ve ever given. It’s the most I’ve ever enjoyed oral sex. Raylan is groaning, his hands thrust in my hair. His powerful hips are pumping toward my face, and that huge, thick head of his cock is banging against the back of my throat. It’s sloppy and wet and primal, and the fact that it’s happening outdoors in a field makes it all the more animalistic.
Raylan grabs my hips and twists me around so we’re facing opposite directions. Now I’m on top of him, with my pussy over his face. He pushes my thighs apart and buries his face in my cunt.
I always thought 69s were stupid. Now, for the first time, I understand the point. When you’re completely lost in oral sex, you just want more, more, more. I want more of his taste and scent. And more of our bodies grinding and touching.
Raylan is eating my pussy like a ten-course dinner. He’s licking and fingering and shoving his tongue inside of me. It feels fucking fantastic. And at the same time, my mouth is full of his cock, and the taste of his pre-cum that comes in spurt after spurt, like a reward for sucking him off just the way he likes.
Sucking his cock upside down is more difficult, but the angle helps his cock slide even further down my throat. I relax my jaw and try to take as much of it as I can. I can’t bob my head up and down as much, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s thrusting his hips and doing a lot of the work himself.
Which is good, because I can barely concentrate. I’m lost in the insanely pleasurable sensation of his tongue lapping at my clit, and his fingers thrusting in and out of me. His fingers penetrate my pussy at the same time as his cock thrusts in my throat. He’s stimulating me orally as well as vaginally. The dual sensation is wildly intense. I never knew that a blow job could feel good for me, too. I never knew my lips and tongue could be so sensitive.
Our bodies are pressed tight together, my thighs wrapped around his face, and his cock skewering my throat. I can feel Raylan pumping even harder, getting closer to the edge.
I’m close, too. The orgasm building inside of me is totally out of my control. I’m grinding on his face, squeezing my thighs, but Raylan is the one teasing the climax out of my body. It’s his fingers rubbing on the perfect spot inside of me, and his tongue pressing against just the right place on my clit.
The pleasure is thrumming through my whole body. I can feel it pulsing down my legs and arms, all the way to my fingers and toes. My whole frame is vibrating with one, long, endless sensation.
I moan around Raylan’s cock. I start crying out, my mouth still stuffed full.
I’m cumming harder than I’ve ever cum in my life, with an orgasm that twists my body in knots.
And while I’m cumming, Raylan is too, deep down in my throat. His cock is twitching and pulsing, unleashing thick white cum, a torrent of it. I usually never swallow, but right now I have no choice. His cock is shoved in too deep in my throat to pull back.
And I love it. I want him to cum as hard as I’m cumming. I want it to feel as good for him as it does for me.
I feel his thick load pulsing into my throat. I’m choking and gagging on it, and I don’t give a fuck. Because I’m still cumming too, all over his tongue.
It goes on and on and on. Time stretches out. The pleasure stretches and increases and stretches again.
Then, finally, it’s over.
Raylan takes his cock out of my mouth and I roll limply onto my back, bright flashes popping behind my closed eyelids.
Raylan rolls on top of me, kissing me. I can taste my pussy on his lips, and I’m sure he can taste his cum in my mouth. This is totally unsanitary—something that would disgust me usually. But I do not give one single fuck. I’m still in a state of blissful eroticism, where everything is sexy to me, and nothing seems wrong.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” I moan.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Raylan says.
