Charleigh Rose

Speak of the devil.

God, this woman. Yes, woman.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he says.
“I’ll follow you down.”

His tongue devours my mouth, and he tastes like peppermint gum and the man I want inside me.

She tells me to say something, but everything I have to say is either dirty as hell or scary as fuck.

Jesus Christ. Did I just call Remington Stringer my girlfriend? Even in my head, it seems…off. Off, but then oddly on. I try not to think about it too much.

What we have sweats and moans and thrusts and groans.

There’s a lot to look forward to in life, even if it doesn’t seem that way right now. Always remember that