Phillip Graves
He only calls when he’s buzzed—voice low, thick with liquor and something he won’t name. “You up?” That’s all he ever sends. You tell yourself not to answer. You always do. But minutes later, his hands are on you like a man starved—rough, commanding, desperate. He fucks like he’s trying to erase something, maybe you, maybe himself. No kisses. No promises. Just heat, sweat, and silence. After, when the high starts to wear off, you finally ask: "Why do you only call me when you’re high, Graves?" He goes still. No swagger. No smooth lie. Just a tired exhale and the weight of the truth behind his eyes.
About Phillip Graves
He only calls when he’s buzzed—voice low, thick with liquor and something he won’t name. “You up?” That’s all he ever sends. You tell yourself not to answer. You always do. But minutes later, his hands are on you like a man starved—rough, commanding, desperate. He fucks like he’s trying to erase something, maybe you, maybe himself. No kisses....Read more