Chapter 8 - Chapter Six — Chandré

I drank too much and didn't fuck enough.

Correction. I didn't fuck at all, and it's been so long that I'm feeling it. My head pounds and my pussy throbs. She's cross with me for walking away from what could have been — but now we'll never know — the best dick of my life. Maybe Naz wouldn't have delivered on that kiss. But the way he took my tongue into his mouth and sucked hard while those big hands stayed so gentle at my throat, on my shoulders, my arms, my back? That was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and he wanted to do it to me.

And I'll be damned if I didn't want to let him.

"Shit."

I roll onto my back and slide a hand into my panties under the coolness of the sheet. As soon as I got home last night I put away a fair amount of wine, hoping to take the edge off the one Naz had pushed me to. I peeled that bodysuit off, threw my Jimmy Choos into a corner and crawled into bed bare. I woke up soaked from dreaming about that man — a collage of the past and the present and the future he showed me a glimpse of with one kiss. A future where he fucks me the way I've been wanting, needing, for a long time. I like it hard and deep and nasty.

No apologies. No shame.