She is not the cause for the rock sliding between my slippery hand.
She isn’t the reason I’m pumping my shaft at a rate faster than I’ve ever fucked.
She isn’t the trigger for my breathless state, tightening balls, and the glistening of precum on the crest of my shaft.
I’m not thinking about her.
I will not think about her.
She. Will. Not. Make. Me. Cum.
“Argh,” I grunt when a stream of hot, thick spawn rockets out of my cock.
The crystal clear memory of Savannah smiling in the seconds leading to her sucking down on my crown makes my climax one of the longest and most brutal I’ve ever had. I come like I’ve never come before, a climax that has my knees buckling more than my grueling late-night workout.
While resting my free hand on the tiles above my head, I slow the speed of my pumps. My breaths are even more ragged than they were when I climbed the stairwell of my apartment building, and my body is covered with sweat. That was intense—wrong—but oh-so-fucking-good.
Although pissed Savannah’s face was the first and last one to enter my mind during my pursuit for release, I’m not surprised. It didn’t matter how many times she sucked my cock when we were teens, she awarded me the same smile every single time. I used to think it was because she loved the effect she had on my body. Only now do I realize it wasn’t about that—not in the slightest. She wasn’t worshipping my cock because she loved the taste of my cum; she did it because she loved me.
I rarely had a moment of peace my entire life. . . except when Savannah’s lips were wrapped around my cock. That is the one time the focus was solely on me and my pleasure. I didn’t have to impress anyone or place anyone’s needs above my own. It was all about me.
She sucked my dick because she loved me. Then she broke my heart because I told her she wasn’t good enough.
I was a fucking idiot.
For years, I’ve blamed Savannah for every bad thing that happened in my life. Not all the blame belongs on her shoulders. What I did was dumb and naïve, but the steps Savannah took afterwards were just as stupid. I can forgive her for ignoring me; I can forgive her for breaking my heart. But I can’t forgive her for what she did to Chris.
She should have been there for him. She should have been there for me—but she wasn’t.
She has no excuse, either. I used money I didn’t have to place notices of Chris’s funeral in every newspaper in the country. It was plastered over social media and shared by the mutual friends we had amassed over the years. I didn’t do that because I wanted to see Savannah again; I did it so Chris would know he was loved.
He died thinking he was unloved. He killed himself because he couldn’t see what was directly in front of him. I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted him to see that he was loved—is loved. I wanted to ease the burden weighing heavily on my shoulders since that day.
My best friend killed himself because I exposed secrets I never should have shared. I did that because I was hurting. I shifted my anger onto Chris to save myself the agony.
I killed my best friend because Savannah broke my heart.
I am a fucking idiot.
Chapter 12
Savannah
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” roars a voice at my side, a very angry and tormented snarl.
I stop twisting a daisy stem between my thumb and index finger to crank my neck to the voice. Although the late afternoon sun is shadowing his face from my view, I know who is accosting me in a cemetery without needing to see his features. He hasn’t left my thoughts since I ran into him last month.Ryan.
While rising from my seated position, my hands sweep at the wetness sitting on my cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t realize time had gone by so fast. Brax said you don’t usually arrive until five.”
“You’re talking to Brax now?” Ryan replies, stepping out of the shadows.
The sneer in his voice matches the snarl on his face. His beautiful features are hardened with anger, and his blue irises are hidden by lowered lids.
I dust my dew-stained hands on my backside. “Ah. Yeah. Long story.”
I wish I could offer a more confident reply, but I’m so unaccustomed to this side of Ryan, I’m void of a better response. I’ve never seen him so aggressive. I didn’t think he knew how to snarl, much less direct it at a woman. I guess it isn’t just my personality that’s done a complete one eighty the past ten years. Ryan’s has been overhauled as well—regrettably.
“I’m sorry I broke your tradition. I just wanted him to know he is in my thoughts.” My eyes drift to Chris’s headstone during my last sentence.
