Page 130 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

His eyes snap back to mine. “Raya,” he grits, like a warning signal.

But I don’t stop. I speed up, going up on my toes to press my mouth to his jaw, trailing soft kisses down his neck, feeling his pulse against my lips.

“Baby…” he trails off, his hands moving up, fingers brushing my nipples. I shudder, arching into him, but just when I think he’s about to surrender, he curses under his breath and steps back.

I feel it instantly. A cold emptiness.

He stares up at the ceiling, his body heaving with deep breaths. He’s trying to get himself under control, but that’s not what I want. I want him reckless. Off center.

I stare at him, my own breathing heavy, my body aching from the loss of his touch. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he wants, and it’s putting me back on the edge.

Nobody wins when I’m on the edge.

Without a word, he snatches his towel from the hook and wraps it around his waist before shoving past me and stepping out of the shower.

I stay there, barely feeling the water pounding against my skin, my hands clenched into fists like I’m holding onto something that isn’t there anymore.

35

Ace

I can’t sleep.

And it doesn’t help that she’s fifteen feet away from me. Laying in bed. Naked, or close to it.

This shit is torture.

I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling hard. My body is tense with need, my mind restless.

I pick up my phone.

2:49 a.m.

I could be inside her by 2:52. No teasing, no hesitation. Just my hands on her thighs, spreading her open, feeding her dick, tongue in her mouth to shut her up when she inevitably starts talking shit. And I know exactly how she’ll feel…tight, wet, and perfect.

But to what end?

A nut?

It would feel good, but it wouldn’t be goodforme. I meant it when I said that to her.

I blow out another breath and check Instagram, scrolling mindlessly through cookie cutter thirst traps on the pages of a few OnlyFans hoes I follow. Oiled up. Asses arched. Titties pushed up. Same tired come-fuck-me poses.

I feel nothing. No spark. No pull.

This shit is boring.

Frustrated, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes before I decide I need to see her. I’m not getting out of my bed, though. That’s too dangerous. I go to TikTok instead.

There she is.

I wonder when her follower count went up. She’s over two-thousand now. Damn. I click on her latest video, debating on if I wanna unmute it or not.

Her face fills the screen, flawless, like always. Baby girl’s so fucking pretty. She’s applying something to her eyes, talking at the same time, making that shit look effortless. That’s a skill I don’t possess, I'm afraid. I can’t even hold a conversation while I’m clipping my toenails.

Aight.

I’ll see what she’s talking about.

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