Page 7 of The Soldier

“Total playboy. No thank you.”

Although, what I would never tell a single soul was that at night, when my vibrator roared to life, it was Marshall that I imagined crouching between my legs licking my pussy.

His large cock that stretched my entrance and filled me while he yanked on my ponytail and then slammed into me.

God, the orgasms that man has unknowingly given me.

I tried to sleep with a man I dated recently. Complete fail. He had his hands inside my panties rubbing away and while, sure, I was wet, it wasn’t getting even close to climax.

“Suck me off.” He then told me.

I wasn’t impressed but by this point I was ready for it to be over, so I dropped to my knees while he unzipped.

Confession: In my fantasies Marshall’s cock is tattooed. It’s not completely clear to me what the design is, but when I came face-to-face with...well, something less than my imagination...yeah, I felt a little uninspired.

My eyes lifted to his and I think we both knew at that point that things weren’t going well.

Then life intervened.

Thank god.

My fire alarm went off, and he left.

I felt immediate relief but then irritation that Marshall had destroyed my night. Without even being there.

That’s how annoying he is.

I shouldnotbe fantasizing about a man like him. With an imaginary tattooed cock.

What if he does though?

And afterhehas flirted withme, Marshall has the audacity to chat up other women. What I said to Briar is true. He’s a playboy and his typical Californian blond hair coupled with a Texan drawl has women dropping at his feet.

So sickening.

Do they have no pride?

When Briar had gone quiet that day, I couldn’t help glance over at her in question.

“What?”

“Does he though? I know he gets a ton of attention.” She shrugged. "I'm just not sure he acts on it."

I’d gasped in horror.

Did she not see him lift that woman over his shoulder the week earlier? She might have been trying to get close to Savannah, but I would put money on him getting her phone number.

“Of course he does. I mean, look at him. Blond, six foot one thousand, and those stupid blue eyes.”

Briar snorted. “Six foot one thousand isn’t a measurement.”

Fine.

“Well, he’s tall. Stupid tall. Who’s that tall? It’s ridiculous.” I’d clenched the steering wheel tightly, knowing how dumb I sounded, but that was how much Marshall Adams unraveled me.

It infuriated me how he could get under my skin without barely doing anything.

Well, except breathing.

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