Page 38 of Poison's Promise

Her lips parting in a moan, her back arching as she rode me.

I can almost hear her voice, whispering my name with that sassy tone that always got me going.

“Polly...” I groan, stroking myself slowly at first, then faster.

My hand moves in rhythm with the thoughts racing through my head.

Her hands gripping my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.

The way she would bite her lip when she gets close to falling over the edge.

“Goddamn it,” I breathe, tightening my grip.

I imagine her here with me, her body pressed up against the shower wall, water streaming down her perfect form.

Her breath hot against my ear, her hips grinding against mine.

“Yes, Ash,” I hear her say in my mind. “Just like that.”

I pump harder, faster. The pressure builds, the need for release overwhelming.

Polly’s face, her body, everything about her consumes me.

I picture her beneath me, writhing in pleasure, calling out my name as she comes undone.

“Fuck, Polly!” I cry out, the tension snapping as I explode, release washing over me.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, the water still pouring down, mixing with the evidence of my desire.

Spent, I lean my forehead against the cool tile, letting the water rinse away the last traces of my release.

But even as the physical need subsides, the longing for her remains, gnawing at me, an ache that no amount of self-satisfaction can soothe.

God, Polly. What are you doing to me?

I step out of the shower, water dripping from my hair and onto the cold tile floor.

My mind’s still tangled up in thoughts of Polly, her voice echoing in my head.

I grab a towel, rubbing it briskly over my skin, trying to shake off the lingering heat that thoughts of her always bring.

“Get a grip, Ash,” I mutter to myself. “She’s not here.”

I pull on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, the fabric clinging to my damp skin.

The tour bus rocks slightly as someone moves around outside.

I can hear the distant hum of the highway, the occasional chirp of birds—definitely not L.A. anymore.

“Where the hell are we again?” I ask the empty space.

Oregon. Right. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere with nothing but trees and rain.

We’ve got a show tomorrow night in Portland, which means today’s a rest day.

A whole day to kill with nothing planned.

As much as I love the road, these dead days drive me nuts.

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