Tyed(40)

Damn, I've missed those lips. My tummy dips.

"There's something real and unapologetic about you,” he says. “You're funny and engaging. In other words, you have a fully human range. Sure, a hot girl can keep me busy for an hour. You? I want more of what you got. I'm not sure what exactly, but a whole lot more than just an hour of your time."

I let out a soft, unintentional moan when his unbelievably rough palm cups my cheek. Blood roars through my veins when his lips touch mine. This time, Ty shows zero patience and I have zero doubts. After a week of withdrawal symptoms, I just want to eat his face. We kiss passionately, gotta-have-you-now kisses while his hands move to the small of my back, pressing me harder against him.

I arch my back, my hips searching for his groin until they find what they were looking for. Just the thought of me being responsible for his hard-on makes my head spin. I fist his black tee until my knuckles go white and he takes the hint. Ty climbs on top of me, his legs straddling my waist and pinning me to his floor. And I'm gone. Completely, and utterly gone while our bodies grind together in perfect harmony.

I'm done resisting. I want this. Want him.

His hand cups my right boob and I immediately stiffen involuntarily. Cupping leads to touching other body parts, and I'm afraid I'll disappoint him if he finds out how unbelievably uneducated I am in bed.

"Is this okay?" He unglues his mouth from mine. It's ripping me apart emotionally, knowing that he really cares, that he notices every tiny reaction I have to him.

I nod, pressing my lips to his tattooed neck, and he groans his delight. His hand quickly disappears under my shirt and underneath my bra. He's tugging and teasing my nipple. This time he doesn't ask for permission. I think it's pretty clear that I'm minutes away from coming just from feeling his bulge against my groin.

In the middle of this make-out session, I feel his thumb stroking my cheekbone intimately. He pulls away, catching my eyes while still on top of me. He leans on his elbows, careful not to crush me under his weight. I'm panting like crazy, while his athletic stamina allows him to stay collected and so much cooler than me in this situation.

"No more running, got it?"

I nod, breathless.

"No more running."

After we dry hump on the floor like two teenagers, he somehow convinces me to watch Rocky with him. Maybe it's because he let me talk about music for hours, because I feel privileged to return a favor. But something changes in me. I suddenly become more self-aware than I ever was around a guy. I'm super careful not to breath too loud, and I wonder if I still smell like citrus and coconut from the shower I took before getting here and what my hair looks like.

What the hell? I never pay attention to what my hair looks like.

I'm lying on top of him, my head pressed to his chest. He tickles my back as we watch the classic movie. I catch him mouthing the words, his eyes glued to the screen, like a five-year-old.

Heart aches like its been broken, which is ironic, because for the first time in forever, I feel truly happy. With every kiss he plants on me, I taste more of his emotions and less of his rage. I’m shell-peeling a delicate soul, so I try to tiptoe my way into his heart. We end up falling asleep on the sofa, arms tangled, legs entwined. Tied.







I think I have a boyfriend. I mean, I may have a boyfriend. We haven't discussed it yet, though. Tyler and I are always together. When we're not together, we text each other. When we're not texting and not together, I think about him. All the time.

Sometimes I ask him to help me out with my assignment. To read a new paragraph I wrote, to explain things I didn't quite get about the XWL or about the differences between the martial arts. What I adore about him is how he takes this so seriously. How he acts like my work and my school matter.

On the day I ask him to go over the first draft of the whole article I wrote, he shows up at Ned's unannounced, orders a Bud Light and takes out the article that he printed from his duffel bag.

"Can I get you anything else, cutie? It's on the house." I wink at him while he sits at the bar.

He lifts one finger, gesturing for me to wait, his eyes skimming through the text. "I'm reading this fascinating article a chick I know wrote. I think she may be talented on top of being seriously hot. Lethal combination."

"Tell me when you're done." I walk toward the other side of the bar so he won't see how incredibly pink my face is every time he gives me a compliment. What am I, like, five now?

Bree shoves a finger down her throat in amusement when I inch closer to her, far enough from Ty, and points at me with a superior smile. "Doomed, girl. You're doomed."

I offer her an exaggerated bow, confirming she is right. Maybe I am. Hell, maybe I want to be. Just because he looks like a bad boy, is rumored to be one and acted like one when we first met, doesn't mean that he is. He's been nothing but amazing so far, even when I wasn't, and I definitely wasn't anywhere near amazing to him when I ran away from that date and then proceeded to disappear for a week.