The heart wants what the heart wants . . .

When Ryker lifts his arms over his shoulders to pull off his shirt, it’s my turn to admire the view. The lines and cut of his body are pure perfection. I’m fascinated when his nimble fingers quickly unbutton and unzip his jeans without missing a beat. And when he stands up only long enough to kick them off, I already miss the weight of him surrounding me. Subconciously, I hear my mother’s voice, ‘the heart wants what the heart wants.’ And without a doubt, mine wants all of him. The good, the bad and everything in between. I am so far gone, I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.

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