Chapter Eight
Twelve Years Ago
Sheridan
Trey growls when I pop the button of my jeans, then shimmy them down my hips. Young she-wolves are warned against fooling around with pubescent boys—they can easily lose control, but Trey’s not a boy.
He’s all beautiful man and other than the growl, he’s showing major restraint, considering I just gave him the green light.
He kisses my p***y over my panties, gently bites my inner thigh. He rubs his thumb over the satin, finding the place that makes me squirm. It’s unbelievably intense. I’ve never been touched there by another person and the urge to shove him away before I lose myself is almost as great as the searing pleasure his touch brings.
“Trey,” I moan.
“f**k yeah, baby. You can say my name like that any time.” He slips his thumb under m
