Page 47 of Overdose
Cocky. Defiant. That sharp little tongue of hers part of what dragged me in to begin with. Most girls in my world bend whenyou push—Blair bites back. It makes me want to break her just to see how far I can go.
“Keep talking shit,” I growl, crowding her close. “I’ll make sure your mouth’s too full to finish another sentence.”
Her brows lift, lips twitching into a bratty grin. “You wouldn’t. Not here.”
I lean in, breath hot against her ear. “You don’t know me well if that’s what you think. You really believe any of these fuckers would stop me from taking what’s mine?”
Her breath hitches, just a little. I tilt her chin up, force her to meet my eyes.
“Now tell me who sold you that shit.”
She glances to the side—barely a flick of her lashes—but I follow it. See him. Some greasy-looking runner near the wall, barely old enough to be holding, let alone slinging to girls like her.
I nod once. I’ll deal with him later.
But right now?—
I kiss her. Rough. Deep. My teeth scrape her lower lip as I tug, my grip hard on her waist.
When I pull back, her lips are glossy with spit and smeared color.
“Next time I say no,” I murmur darkly, “you listen. You don’t need that shit.”
She licks her lips, teasing. “You gonna punish me if I don’t?”
I slide my palm down her stomach. “You asking for it?”
Her lashes flutter, breath catching as I cup between her thighs, my fingers brushing the thin strip of her panties beneath that short skirt.
“Want me to show you?” I whisper, voice low and rough against her ear. “Remind you how good I can make you feel, little relapse? Want me to make you cum right here, on my fingers while the bass drops?”
She moans. Quiet. Shaky. Lips parting like she forgot where she is, like the sound spilled out without her permission.
I don’t stop.
My hand drags back up between her thighs, slow and deliberate, pressing the heel of my palm against her clit in a lazy circle. She gasps, her hips bucking back into me, and fuck if I don’t feel my cock throb in sync with the beat. She’s soaking through her panties, slick, hot and perfect and I’m not even inside her yet.
“You want the high?” I murmur, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”
She nods but there’s that gleam again. That bratty little fire she carries like a badge of honor. Wicked. Defiant. Daring me to ruin her.
God, she makes me want to ruin her.
My fingers trail lower, curling beneath the edge of her panties, and I feel her body tense as I hook them, dragging the fabric aside like an invitation. She’s still dancing, like we’re just another pair in the crowd, but I feel the shift, feel the way her rhythm falters, the way she leans into me like she’s begging without words.
I slide a finger inside her.
She clenches around me, and I bite back a groan, my hand gripping her hip as I pull her flush to me. My mouth crashes down on hers—hot, punishing and possessive. She moans into it, fingers curling behind my neck to hold on. Like she’ll fall without me.
Like she wants to.
“Tell me, little relapse,” I rasp, dragging my lips down her throat as I curl my finger inside her. “Do you need another hit?”
She rolls her hips down, grinding on my hand like the answer is obvious. Like she’s beyond words now—just heat, rhythm and need. The bass pounds through the floor, through our bones,and I fuck her with my fingers to the beat of it—deep, relentless, like I’m trying to replace whatever high she’s chasing with something she’ll never forget.
Her breathing turns ragged, chest heaving, sweat slicking the curve of her neck. My name slips from her lips in a whimper. Twice. Three times. And then she tightens around my fingers—hips stuttering, thighs trembling—and I feel her break.
She cums for me.
