The Storm that Follows Brixton

Brixton

***As she lowers herself against my body, her soft brown hair sweeps across my bare chest. My hand finds her throat and squeezes it, relishing the sensation of her veins pulsing frantically against my fingers. My grasp extends to her hair, which I fist, craning her neck and exposing her delicate throat to me. I express my rage by seizing her lips and kissing her ravenously—***

I'm awakened by the ferocious wind hammering against my window. And then I hear them—the distinct sound of my little bird's cries. The roaring breeze broke up the dream I was having about the things that happened last night. I can hear her from inside my room, despite the fact that we are a few apartments apart from one another. I bolt out of bed, noticing the rain barreling down outside... again. Is this shit ever going to clear up? Fuck. I get out of my warm bed and feel a bitter chill spread across my body. I shiver as a strong whiff of Harley's scent that is still clinging to my skin hits me. My cock