His Kind Of Woman
Jane Writes
"Zayne-" I try to push him away when he grabs me by the waist and puts me on the counter. Letting out a gasp, I rest my hands on his shoulders as his warmth lingers on my body. His eyes are slightly red as if he was crying.
And before I realize it, he leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder, breathing in my scent. "Myla," He calls, his voice intoxicating. I hate how he has the power to make my knees go weak whenever my name comes out from between his lips. "I never craved attention until I tasted yours."