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Because this is what I need.
My arousal seeps down the length of Tyler’s cock, lubricating his movements as he drills harder and faster into me. His fingers are digging into my ass through the fabric of my dress, guiding me as I rock against him and chase that elusive, delicious pleasure.
Every time I come down, my skin meets his with an obscene sound.
My eyes drift upward, above Tyler’s head, at the blank wall behind the sofa. Until yesterday, a collage frame with photos of Mom and me from various stages of my childhood hung there.
It’s gone, but the reminder is still outlined in a thin layer of dust where the frame sat. And the large, empty space might swallow me whole if I stare at it long enough.
I peer over my shoulder and make eye contact with one of the onlookers. “You. Come here.”
He hesitates, looking at our audience before inching forward. But I don’t have time for his sudden onset of shyness, nor do I care.
Grabbing his hand, I bring it up and place it around my neck. He’s standing at my back as I ride Tyler, and his fingers are shaking.
“Choke me.”
“W-What?” he sputters.
Someone lets out a low whistle, and a couple of guys start whispering to one another.
“I said, choke me.”
My fingers close over his hand, forcing him to apply pressure to my neck.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice jumping an octave.
”Yes, I’m sure. Now fucking choke me.”
I press down on his hand until I’m satisfied he understands. My hips continue to gyrate against Tyler as I chase my release, and with a hand wrapped around my neck, it’s within reach.
Closing my eyes, I forget the empty wall and lose myself to the onslaught of sensation. The way Tyler’s shaft creates friction against my clit. How darkness plays at the edges of my consciousness when my breathing is cut off.
Yes, I’m close. I’m so, so close.
This is how I want it—raw and filthy.
It’s not normal teenage behavior, but I’m not a normal teenager.
I’m a girl who had to grow up too fucking fast.
Chapter 2
Willow
The only family I have left now is my father, although calling him family is a stretch.
He’s more my sperm donor than anything. He wasn’t around much when I was a child because he was off pursuing his career with the Department of State, rising in the ranks until he landed an ambassador position in Andarusia.
No one wants to go to Andarusia. It’s a place you go to pay your dues before landing an influential ambassadorship in Japan or a cushy post in The Bahamas.
This country is so far away from Texas it took four separate flights to get here. The airport in Olininburg, the capital, is small but clean. There’s only one terminal, and it isn’t busy. The signs are translated into English from Russian and German, so it’s easy to find my way to baggage claim.
People wait on the other side of the security gate for new arrival passengers. I look for my dad, but I gloss over him twice before recognizing him.
His hair has a salt and pepper hue to it, though it’s heavier on the salt. He didn’t come home for Christmas last year, so his aging is more pronounced. But he is leaner than I remember, and his muscles are more defined. If he wasn’t such a workaholic, I’d say he’s been going to the gym.
Ew. Who’s he trying to impress? He’s almost fifty.
