1642734778_punk-57-pdf

And I feel the same way. I always did. I couldn’t go out with anyone
without comparing them to Misha. He had every right to date, and I’m sure
whoever she was—or they were, because there were probably more—they
weren’t bad people, but I still felt territorial. I knew him first. No one was
going to know him better than me. I know I had no right to feel those things,
which is why I never told him. Until now.
“I started fantasizing about you that rainy night. It was the first time I
ever daydreamed about you.”
“What did you do?” He pushed his two fingers in deep, rubbing my spot
and grinding himself on me. “Did you want to be her?”
I shook my head. “I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to see me and
want me so much. Not just my letters, but my body, too.”
“What’d you do?” he whispers in my ear.
I moan, feeling a wave of pleasure fill my thighs and pussy, and I back
up into him, wanting to be filled. “I laid in bed,” I say, “and I couldn’t stop
thinking about you. It was so dark, and the AC wasn’t running. The more I
thought about it, the hotter I got…until...”
“Until what?” He pumps my pussy faster, grinding his dick harder.
“What’d you do?”
“I pulled up my shirt…”
“Yeah?”
“And imagined you were standing in the corner of my room, hidden in
the shadows, watching me finger myself.”
“Don’t stop.”
“My skin was damp with sweat, because it was so hot,” I whimper,
reaching over my head and holding the back of his neck, “and I slid my
hand down my panties…”
“Did I like what I was seeing?”