For Keeps. For Always. HALEY JENNER (literature books to read .TXT) 📖

murmur to myself.

“Hm?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“Talk to me about the Philippines,” I tell him, blinking slowly.

“You’re tired,” he hums.

“Mm,” I agree. “But I haven’t gone to sleep next to you in too long.”

“Okay.” He readjusts himself, lying down before launching into his travels, lulling me into a peaceful sleep. I don’t know how long he talks before I fall asleep, but the call has ended when I wake up, and I feel emptier than I care for.

Grabbing my cell, I inhale sharply.

Brooks: I’d kiss you slowly, taking my time. The uncertainty of when I’d be able to do it again would be too much for me to bear, so I’d savor every taste of your mouth. 

I release a long-drawn-out breath. Every nerve in my body is tensed, pushed to the limits of excitement I haven’t felt in too long.

I’d kiss you slowly.

I remember vividly how delicate his lips felt. Like cotton candy, soft enough to mold with mine.

I’d savor every taste of your mouth. 

It’s been so long since I’ve felt the love of someone’s mouth on mine. I miss the intoxicating intimacy of kissing. The simple pleasure of sliding your eager tongue against another’s.

A good kiss can turn you on, claim your heart, and break it all at once.

I think about how I’d react at being given the opportunity to taste Brooks again. Would I do as he said and savor him? Would I go slow, afraid if I rushed it that it’d be over too quickly and I’d be without him once again?

No.

Henley: My kiss would be hurried. It’d be frantic. The uncertainty of when I’d be able to do it again would be too much for me to bear, so I’d make sure I tasted you as much as possible. 

Brooks: Fuck, Squirrel. 

I smirk to myself.

Brooks: Don’t you DARE give that kiss to anyone else, Henley. I want it. It’s mine. 

I want it. 

It’s mine. 

My kiss. My lips. My desperation.

Deep down, he knows he didn’t need to demand that. He knows me. Knows that I couldn’t think of anything worse than sharing what I need from him with anyone else. Still, his brusquely text command has only heightened the way I needed him.

Henley: It’s yours. 

Brooks: For. Fucking. Always. 

Brooks: Don’t forget that, Henley. Our names are carved together on a rock for a reason. 

20

BROOKS

My dick is hard.

I readjust it in my boxers, breathing through my nostrils, but it's no use.

Fuck. 

I glance at the picture again.

Henley.

Red bikini top.

Tits pushed together.

Cocktail in hand.

Sent to me.

Not posted on social media.

Sent to me. Privately.

I swallow.

Man, I’m deprived. My dick is hardening over a picture of tits in a bikini.

No, not anyone’s tits.

Henley’s tits.

I type out a text. Deleting it, only to retype it once again.

I shouldn’t.

Brooks: My dick is now hard. 

I shouldn’t have.

But I did.

I’m fucking horny.

And lonely.

And wanting the one person the universe has decided I can’t have.

Henley: Show me. 

I sit up straight.

Brooks: For real?

Henley: I want to see. 

I glance around my hotel room, certain I’m being fucking played.

The thick line of my cock is visible through the white cotton of my Calvin Kleins, and I shrug. Grabbing the granite line, I angle my phone, taking a photo and sending it over.

Henley: Take it out, Brooks. 

Henley: I. WANT. TO. SEE. 

I swallow.

A dick pic. I smirk.

Brooks: See what?

This is fun.

Sexting. Who would’ve fucking thought?

Henley: How hard *I* make you. 

Reaching into my boxers, I grab hold, stroking myself once or twice, groaning aloud.

I’m so fucking turned on right now.

I’d give anything for Henley to be here. In this room. Her beautiful lips kissing my crown. Licking the droplet of cum beading at my head.

Ensuring I get a decent angle, precum included, I do as she asks, sending her an explicit image of my overeager cock.

Henley: Jesus, Brooks. 

Brooks: You like?

Henley: I want. 

Brooks: Are you drunk?

Henley: Tipsy. And alone. And horny. 

Brooks: Same, baby. Fucking, SAME. 

Henley: Will you video yourself? Stroking it. I want to watch you come. 

I almost come right then and there. My dick jerking in my hands at her dirty little message.

Brooks: Will you do it for me? Send me a video of your fingers in your pussy. 

Henley: Maybe. 

Good enough for me.

Closing out of our message app, I open my camera.

Hitting record, I keep my right hand held tightly around my base and squeeze, groaning long and loud.

Fuck.

I’m no stranger to pulling my dick. But this is different. It’s a helluva lot more enticing. Jesus, knowing Henley will watch this. Knowing that she’ll see the way I jerk my cock just for her. Knowing she’ll watch my cum spill from my tip.

All. For. Her.

I rub myself leisurely. Moving my hand up and down in slow, measured strokes.

“Fuck, Henley,” I breathe. “Look how hard I am for you.”

Will she touch herself to this?

Will it make her wet?

Will she rub her fingers over her tight little clit and feel it swell for me?

I growl at the thought, my fist moving faster, harder. 

“Baby. Shit. I’d give anything to have you here.”

My balls feel heavy. Tightening under the strain of my dick.

“Would you take it in your mouth?” I pant.

I jerk at the thought of her hot, wet lips. At the image of her pink lips stretched to accommodate my size, her tongue dancing out to taste me.

I move my hand faster, climbing toward my climax.

“Fuck, Henley, I’m gonna come,” I groan, thick ribbons of cum spurting out before I’ve finished the sentence.

I don’t stop my hand, slowing my strokes to drag along the semi I’m still sporting before ending the video.

I send it to her before I can second-guess myself.

What’s the worst that can happen?

I hold myself back from taking my phone with me to the bathroom. Using a towel, I wipe myself off, cleaning the jizz off my stomach and hand.

A small ding sounds, and I drop the towel to the ground.

Henley: I would’ve taken you in my mouth. 

Henley: Deep enough to gag. I want you to touch the back of my throat with your hands buried in my hair. I want you to lose control and fuck