I once said if Faylinn's p***y tasted as good as her lips, I'd become an addict. Now that I've tasted her, I'm not an addict . . . I'm a f*****g fiend.
It takes every ounce of self-control I have to stay in front of this grill and cook because the only thing I want to eat is her. That is authentic Irish food. Mmm, I groan and tilt my head back to look up at the darkening sky. The longer she's home, the more I feel like I'm twenty-two again— just a walking hard-on, but only for her.
"Please tell me you made enough for company," a deep voice says.
I look up to find Grey and Willow walking around the side of the house. I try not to smile at the fact she's dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, her hair in a neat up-do. Willow isn't like any clubwhore I've ever met. She's quiet a
