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Just fffuuuuuuuck.
I grab her wrists. Drag her hands to my neck. My squeeze opens her fingers, forcing her to lose the ice. Then I switch her grip, digging those pretty nails into the meat of my throat.
“If this isn’t real, end it now.” Careful not to hurt her hands, I choke myself out with her softer skin.
“Reese!”
Yeah.
I like that one so much better.
I don’t try to breathe.
Just stare in her eyes, holding, waiting for her to see.
The cracks go all the way down.
All she has to do is squeeze.
Figure then she’ll end it clean.
You’re off the roster, kid.
Sol shifts in my lap.
I’m ready for the hit. Instead, I get her whip. “Stop.”
My fingers freeze. She bats my hands away.
“Breathe.”
I suck in a saw-toothed breath.
Her hands fall on my bare chest. I can only follow her orders.
My panting slows under her fingers—under her care.
Sol lifts my chin, leaning forward in my lap to check the damage. “It’s going to bruise.”
Hope fucking so.
“Doesn’t hurt.” I tip back, bracing my arms. Sol’s weight drags down the hard shaft that shows just how good I am, until her thighs squeeze my sides and her heat settles right where I need her.
“Idiot.” Sol claws my shoulders, fucking blazing. “If you don’t take better care of yourself—”
“Don’t know how.” No one gave a fuck about me before I found the field and Dutch and her.
Once, I had a fever so bad I passed out in the yard at home. Got lucky it rained, or I might never’ve woken up.
My so-called parents were there.
They just forgot I existed, the year they found out about meth.
All I know is working ’til I bleed. “You want it changed, you’re gonna have to take one for the team.”
Her fire softens. “I can’t even take care of myself.”
“Easy.” I lean into her hands. “I’ll take care of you. You take care of me. Fair trade.”
