“Youarea pathetic whore,” he breathes in my ear. “But you’remypathetic whore.”
“Fuck!” I clench around his fingers, so close already it’s downright shameful.
“You’remydesperate trailer trash girl,” he murmurs.
Hearing those words in his voice—so possessive and reverent and dark—shoves me over the edge. I come with a strangled cry, shaking apart against him while he works me through it and whispers filthy praise into my hair.
“You like that, Miss H? You’re being such a good little slut for me.”
When I can breathe again, I reach for his belt.
He doesn’t try to stop me.
I pull his cock free, wrapping my hand around him, and he’s so hard it must hurt. His head falls back as he groans, eyes squeezing shut when I stroke him.
“You want it to happen again?” I whisper. “Both of us, in his bed, doing whatever he tells us?”
“Heavenly.” I can’t tell if it’s a plea or a protest.
“You want it, don’t you? Just fucking admit it.” I twist my wrist, dragging a broken sound from his throat. “You want him,you fucking simp. You want to watch him fuck me like the fucking psycho he is, while you sit there with your dick in your hand?—”
He comes with a groan that he fails to stifle, spilling hot cum over my hand while I fist his cock. We stand there for a long moment, breathing hard, our arousal palpable in the cool shadows.
“You’re so fucked in the head,” Kai finally says. I’m not sure if what I hear in his voice is disgust or admiration.
I wipe my hand on his joggers—he grimaces but doesn’t complain—and tuck him back inside.
“We’reso fucked,” I correct him.
When our eyes meet, there’s no regret in either of them.
Just resignation…and a flicker of anticipation.
Chapter 18
Kai
I’m deep in the comments section of a video about a bar fight in lower Riverside. Locals ripping into each other because someone called someone else’s mother a whore.
Idiots.
I swipe.
YOU’RE ALL CAUGHT UP
The little checkmark mocks me. I’ve doomscrolled to the bottom of the pit…and that’s pathetic as fuck.
I should sleep. My eyes feel like they’re full of sand, and my head is throbbing with the kind of headache that usually signals a hangover, even though I haven’t touched a drop tonight.
I tug out my earbuds and lock my phone screen, plunging the Airbnb into darkness.
Silence rushes in, heavy and suffocating.
Beside me, Haven shifts. A soft puff of air escapes her lips, and she burrows deeper into the pillow. She’s been out coldsince around ten. After two days of midterms and an afternoon spent aggressively sewing patches onto a thrift store jacket, she crashed the second her head hit the mattress.
My eyes flick up.
Our costumes are draped over the chair in the corner, a sequin catching the faint glow falling in through the kitchen’s lace curtains.
