Page 63 of Overdose
My jaw goes slack. My vision fuzzes. My chest heaves as I stay there, buried to the hilt, wrapped in her heat like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
She’s panting. Glowing. Wrecked in the best fucking way.
Her smirk returns—bruised and dangerous. “Guess your tongue wasn’t the only thing pierced.”
I grin, crooked and half-feral. “Told you you’d love it.”
She barks a breathless laugh, lips curling with that signature bite. “Yeah, well… I’ve had worse surprises. Like your attitude. Or your fucking morals.”
Then she rolls her hips again—slow, deliberate, smug as hell—andfuck, I almost spill again, already half-hard inside her.
“Jesus,” I rasp, head tipping back.
But when I look at her again, the heat starts to slip into something else. Something heavier.
I wrap my arms around her, not like I’m trying to pin her, like I’m trying tohold her together. One hand at her nape, the other on her lower back, grounding us both.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice raw now. “I’m sorry.”
She stills.
“I should’ve told you everything from the start. About Brynn. About what happened. About why I kept you at arm’s length.”
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t pull away either.
I brush my knuckles along her cheek. “But you need to know something. I don’t want you using anymore. I don’t care if you’re sad, or numb, or angry, or you just want to fucking float—don’t go to the pills.”
My grip tightens slightly, protective. Fierce.
“If you want to feel nothing—come to me. If you want to feeleverything—fuck, come to me. Just… don’t poison yourself to get there.”
She blinks, lips parted. Caught off guard.
I hear the irony in my own words.A drug dealer preaching sobriety? Fucking rich.
But when it comes to her?
I won’t risk it.
Ican’t.
Because I already know what it feels like to lose one sister. I won’t lose the other. Not when she’s the only thing keeping my hands steady in a world that’s shaking itself apart.
A knock hits the door, sharp and urgent.
“Dagger,” Link calls. “Bruh, we gotta handle some shit. Now.”
Blair’s still draped across my lap, flushed and smug, lips parted like she’s ready to go another round.
She glances at the door. “What shit?”
“Just… drop shit,” I say, standing as I speak. My tone’s flat, casual, like I’m not internally replaying Dante’s voice saying he’d kill her to relive Brynn’s death. Like I’m not mentally preparing to murder someone before sunrise.
I grab a shirt from the chair, toss it at her as I reach for my jeans and tuck myself back in. My cock’s still hard, twitching against the zipper, but I grit through it and button up.
When I look back, she’s wearing it.
My shirt.
