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... m the fridge. Tonight it was simple—last night’s spaghetti and meatballs, reheated, with a little sprinkle of parmesan on top. My phone lit up the room as I sat down at the table, fork in hand, shoveling a bite into my mouth.
Even while chewing, my mind wandered. Jasmine. I couldn’t shake the image of her from earlier—more than ten rapid climaxes, that oil working its magic. Just thinking about it made a shiver run through me, pressing against my jeans.
Then there was Kayla. That ...
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