Tyed

“This is what I have on my mind twenty-four-f*cking-seven, Barbie.” His voice touches everything inside me.

My teeth are chattering. Everything, and I mean everything, tingles. I stifle a moan into my forearm, worried my screams will make his roof fly sky high. I feel high. I have zero control of my mouth, my legs, yet strangely I’ve never felt more connected to my body.

My orgasm comes crashing in waves. It washes over me from the top of my head to my curling toes. A scream escapes my mouth and Ty rushes back up to shut me up with a rapturous kiss before the neighbors call the cops on us. He forces me into tasting myself. I pant heavily as his weight crushes against me and he grazes my chin teasingly.

“Shhhhh.” He plants feathery kisses over my lower face. “You'll wake the dead.”

Well, for once, I'm actually speechless. Sex with Ty is like nothing I ever imagined. It keeps getting better and better. And it’s made me realize some not-so-fun facts:

No matter what I previously thought, I never had an orgasm before I hooked up with him.

Every guy I dated previously had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

I, myself, had no idea what I was doing.

Selfishness aside, Ty Wilder should totally give out orgasms for a living.



He is lying on the other side of the bed, lips glistening sexily. I want all of him, so badly. There’ll never be enough of him to keep me satisfied. I want to drink him in, to gorge on him, to have him every second of the day. Hell, I want to know that he is mine.

I shoot him a glance, digging up my courage. “You make me happy, Tyler. Which is weird, because you’re not even my type!”

Ty smiles his blazing hot smile, half his face still smashed against the pillow. “Yet you’re here.”

“Yet I’m here,” I agree. “Guess you had me at ‘I won't hit you, but I'll hurt you'.”

“You had me at ‘Keep walking, cowboy,’” he rasps.

The room is so hot my eyes are burning like I’m standing too close to a bonfire that’s about to get out of control. Beads of sweat glue my hair to my back and both our bodies shine under the yellow light in a caramel hue.

“Really?” I laugh, repositioning myself on his bed so I can lean and watch him closely.

He nods, picks up a bottle of water from underneath his bed and takes a swig. “When I first met you, I thought you were pointblank crazy. You’re less than half my size. I could have killed you just by blowing air in your direction. But I liked how feisty you were. Also, you were pretty funny.”

"Thank you."

"And sexy. I wanted you before I even knew your name."

"Buttering me up, are you?" I grin and crawl my way to his side of the bed, shamelessly nuzzling. "So, do we still need to have that talk about me not telling you about Shane?"

“No, but you really need to work on that honesty thing."

"Are you one hundred percent honest with me?" I ask. He exhales sharply, the mist of his body heat and luscious scent prickling my face.

To my surprise, he shakes his head. My heart plummets when he stops the caressing and straightens up against the headboard. "I need time to sort some shit out,” he says. “I got myself into a sticky situation before I met you. I guess I need to share this...I just don't want to do it right this second.”

I knew this was too good to be true. This is not a love story. This is a Blaire-story. Happiness doesn't live here.

The he looks straight into my eyes. “I need to know that you’ll stick around ‘till shit blows over, that you won't bail on me.”

Brain shuts down. Hormones have their backs against the wall, and Heart is taking over mouth before I have time to think it through.

“I love you, Ty,” I hear myself saying, and feel the flow of panic pumping through my veins.

Shit. What the hell? What made me put myself in such a vulnerable position? I run my hand over my face, acting as if my confession was HIV positive related and not a love declaration. It's not even declaration, though. More of a fact. I just do. I love him.

He pulls me into his strong shoulder and kisses my forehead. No. No, no, no, no, no. I did not just say that after dating him for less than two months. This is crazy talk.

“So stick around.” He shoots me a dimpled smile.

And he doesn’t say it back. Why would he? He’s had a longer relationship with his freaking mail lady.

“Yes,” I say gruffly, deflated. “Yes, I will.”



Chapter Eleven



I get a text message notifying me the grade for my assignment has been posted online on my student page. I rush to check it on my laptop. I’m outside on the library steps. I’ve been studying for my last exam. My computer has been slow lately, but when I finally manage to log in, a yelp escapes my lips.

I got a freaking A.

I never shine academically. Scratch that—I never shine, period. It feels nice. Different, but nice. I busted my ass on this assignment, and for once I actually feel worthy of the good grade.

I want to yell, announce my grade to my parents on a helicopter banner or take a picture of the proof and post it online on social media so everyone can see. Then I remember that I have, like, eighty Facebook friends, so instead, I send a message to my loved ones: Ty, Izzy, Mom and Shane.