Sweet Flames✔️(Editing)

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I fished my phone out of my bag and dialed his number, a sly grin spreading across my face. When he answered, his sleepy voice sent a flutter through my chest - I also adored his morning voice!

"I looove your voice..." I cooed, trying to sound as seductive as possible.

There was a pause on the other end, and I could almost hear his brain scrambling to catch up. "Are you drunk?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and wariness.

"YES, you asshole! Bastard! Motherfucker! Cheat!" I unleashed a string of insults, my anger and hurt pouring out like a torrent.

"Are you done?" he asked, his voice calm and collected, which only fueled my rage.

"Bastard!" I repeated, my voice rising.

"You've already called me that one, remember?" he pointed out, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"JERK!" I spat, my fury boiling over.

He let out a heavy sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Where are you?" he demanded.

"None of your business," I shot back.

"If you don't tell me," he growled, his anger simmering just below the surface, "I'll make sure to fuck every last bit of you the moment I get my hands on you."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I blurted out "360". The line went dead as he hung up, my pussy was throbbing.

As I gazed out into the crowd, my heart skipped a beat as I spotted him striding into the club, his eyes fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. The memory of our first encounter flashed through my mind - how he had captivated me with his chiseled good looks and charisma.

Now, he towered over me, his presence commanding and imposing. "Stand up," he ordered, his deep voice firm.

I defied him, my voice firm but shaking slightly. "No."

Without hesitation, he swooped down and scooped me up in his powerful arms, lifting me off the stool as if I weighed nothing. I let out a startled squeal, drawing the attention of nearby patrons, who turned to gawk at the spectacle.

"Dick." I cussed as we came out of the club.

"The only dick I want you riding is mine, so shut the fuck up before I do something you're never going to forget for the rest of your life."

I squirmed in him grip and kept quiet.

He put me in the back seat. "I'm not alone." I managed to tell him. Clyde went back inside and came minutes later with Brenda in his arms and Mira trotting after him.

The car ride was a blur of pain and discomfort, my head throbbing with every bump and turn. But when we finally arrived, I realized that we weren't at our place - Clyde had taken us to his apartment, a two-bedroom apartment.

He carried Brenda's limp form to the guest room, Mira trailing behind them, her tired complaints echoing through the silent space. I slipped off my boots, feeling a sense of discomfort as I settled into the couch.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I bent forward, my head spinning, trying to ward off the dizziness. But it only seemed to worsen, my stomach churning with a violent intensity.

I heard footsteps approaching, but I couldn't muster the strength to lift my head. "Are you okay?" a voice asked, but all I could manage was a weak whisper: "I wanna throw up."

"Come here." He murmured and before I knew it, he had scooped me up, carrying me to the bathroom as if I weighed nothing. The moment I saw the bathroom, something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet with a force that left me gasping for breath.

I slumped down on the cold bathroom floor, drained and spent, I made a vow to myself: "I'm never drinking again."

But Clyde's gentle chuckle told me I'd made this promise before, and broken it. He handed me a toothbrush, already loaded with toothpaste, and I took it with a weak smile.

"Thanks," I whispered, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. In that moment, I was struck by my own vulnerability, and the familiar comfort of Clyde's presence.

He nodded and returned with a familiar black shirt, one that held memories of our past. He handed it to me with a hint of awkwardness, his eyes avoiding mine, and quickly left the room. I gazed at the shirt, wondering if I should put it on.

It was a reminder of our time together, when he would lovingly gaze at me and say how sexy I looked in it. The memories came flooding back, and I couldn't help but wonder if wearing it now would be a nod to our past or a attempt to recapture what we once had.

After a refreshing shower, I slipped on the familiar black shirt, its soft fabric a gentle caress on my skin. I emerged into the living room, feeling a sense of trepidation.

Clyde's eyes snapped up, locking onto me with an intensity that made my heart race. His gaze roamed over my body, lingering on the curves of my figure, his expression a mix of longing and desire. The air seemed to vibrate with tension as he rose to his feet, his movements fluid and graceful, his eyes never leaving mine...

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