Chapter Twenty-Three - George Atwood - 23 yrs old

George carefully avoided celebrating this victory too quickly. But he now sat only a foot away from Ana and now, with her and her baggage in the apartment, it was beginning to smell like her.

He found himself enjoying that scent and the scent of his infused scotch a little too much. She was becoming far too much of a distraction. George couldn’t even tell anyone what they spoke about after a while. She spoke, and he listened.

The only way this could be better is if they were lying naked in bed together after a hot and heavy round of fucking. That ponytail of hers begged to be used as a leash, as he drilled her from behind. His pants would never fit right again if he kept letting images like that pop into his head. He wanted her, but there was no way they could. The best he could do was keep her alive the best way he knew how, and keep her company like this.

No matter how painful it became for him. He’d have to learn to live with blue balls