At fifteen, I took on the role of Popper out of necessity, forgetting the person I was. That’s when I became the lead singer of a grunge metal band.
Now at twenty-two I’m cocky, a pessimist, and violent. My shrink is even fed up with me, suggesting I try something radical to appreciate the value of life.
She gives me a card that leads me to him, and ultimately I find . . . me.
He lets go of my legs to tangle in my hair, pulling his fists taut as his chest abrades my nipples. Then he gets to work. Fucking me. He fucks me into the mattress. It’s hard and powerful. Luscious and smooth.
“What do you want?” he rasps against my cheek.
I move my hands to his back, nails digging into flesh. “Everything.”
“Not everything. Not yet,” he gasps, pulling away from me. Breaking that delicious friction he has with my chest to pull my thighs back to the bed.
His pace speeds up, so fast I can only stare, my eyes wanting to close but I can’t miss a second. Then he pulls me farther up, my ass and lower back in the air and I explode.
My eyes slam shut, my body arching, thrashing as he holds me down.
“Fucking, yes, yes, give it to me, baby,” he gasps between thrusts as I feel him harden impossibly further, then pulsing inside of me.
I expect to take his weight after he comes, but he rolls to the side. My legs move more slowly. Sore. I am definitely going to be sore tomorrow.
He gasps beside me, lying on his back. One hand is over his head, bicep bulging. Fuck, can I keep him?
As if he hears the thought, he sits up with another groan, getting off the bed. He disappears in the bathroom, and I try to regulate my breathing. Getting rid of round one for two? I may be ready for that. Maybe.
But when he comes back, it’s not to the bed, but his clothes. I sit up and watch silently as he pulls first boxer briefs, then jeans over his muscular thighs. Finally he turns to me and licks his lips, his hands on his hips.
“What’s your name?”
God. Damn it. Way to ruin the mood. What did I really think I was getting here? I knew but it’s always a wake-up call.
With a single chin lift, he’s gone.
Brandace Morrow is a full time mom of four, and currently stationed overseas with her sexy soldier. Her recent obsessions are Maroon 5, Luke Bryan, The Pretty Reckless, rum and coke, and reading, in no particular order. Despite being terribly awkward with social media, she’s everywhere. Frequently subjecting the public to pictures of her minion’s messes, and everything that is momdom in the Morrow house.