The purest form of pleasure erupts through me in tingling waves. I’m encapsulated in euphoria, floating through starlit skies. Bliss coats Win’s features followed by a gasped moan before he collapses onto me in a dazed heap.
We lay like that for an eternity, staring at each other in awe and disbelief. This kind of quiet, filled with breathy pants and white noise, doesn’t scare me.
It feels safe.
Peaceful.
Win watches me closely. “You feeling better?”
I peek at him through my lashes, cheeks burning.
“What do you think?”
He peels off me to look at the mess we’ve made of our pants before flashing me a smirk.
“Hmm, not sure.”
My brow arches. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”
He’s fucking preening now. I roll my eyes and haul him back on top of me.
“Seeing as I’m not sobbing anymore, I’d say your experiment worked.”
The brightest smile I’ve ever seen on his face blooms. “So what you’re saying is, I made you come hard enough to rewire your brain?”
He shifts and I momentarily lose focus when his damp crotch rubs my thigh.
“For the moment, but we’re running against the clock.”
“Are we now?”
I nod solemnly. “Permanent results require many, many,manyorgasms.”
A laugh rips out of him. “Greedy for more already, baby?”
I slap his ass, earning a surprised gasp.
“Stop gloating and kiss me, you idiot.”
He only laughs harder, but I’m laughing too, riding the high for however long it lasts.
18
Win
I’ve entered a level of hell customized specifically for me. It’s decked out with every kind of liquor imaginable, questionable vape pens boasting fruity scents and dark corners where I’ve counted a minimum of five drug deals. But even though my hands are shaking uncontrollably and my mouth is watering for a hit or a bottle of something, my vices aren’t the main attraction at this theme park of torture.
Hands that aren’t mine slide up the smooth, toned expanse of Remy’s chest. Fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt as someone else's thigh slots between—
Nope.
I can’t stand here, strangling a bottle of water, watching someone rub all over him.
Whispers in my mind slice through the music.
One drink will take the edge off. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want your broken, pathetic, miserable ass. You’re not worthy of him anyway. Too damaged. Too heavy. Too traumatized. If you bump a line, you’ll forget you have nothing to offer but baggage—
“There you are!” Andrea’s friend shrieks.
