Page 52 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

“You mad at me, Blake?” I murmur, inching closer to her.

She stands her ground. “Furious.”

“Wanna take it out on me?”

Her mouth twitches, surprising me more than anything, her eyes practically glowing in the dim light. I figured she’d deck me in the face or knee me in the balls––both of which I deserve––but instead, she’s…amused?

Suspicion flares in my chest, but I stay quiet, my curiosity leading me to the slaughterhouse without any hope of stopping it.

As if realizing the ball is still in her court, she tilts her head to one side and asks, “Are you gonna fuck me now or what?”

My head jerks back a few inches, a flush of adrenaline surging through my body.

What did she say?

There’s no way I heard her right. Not a chance. I guess I need to have my ears checked. Either that or a CT scan because I’m definitely going crazy. I make a mental note to check into a psych ward as soon as I muster up the discipline to walk out of this room. Clearing my throat, I scratch at the scruff on my jaw, stalling. Because I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know how I should react or if I hallucinated in the first place. This is Blakely Thorne. Baby Thorne. Innocent Blakely. The little girl who used to tag along with her older brother anywhere he went. The girl who snuck into my room and stole cinnamon bears from my secret stash. The kid who kept up with the guys just to prove she could. There’s no way she just asked if I’d have sex with her.

“I’m sorry, is that a no or…?” Her voice trails off, and she bats her lashes, looking innocent yet tempting at the same time. Like she has all the time in the world as she waits for my brain to stop short-circuiting.

“W-what did you just say?” I rasp, sounding like I’ve gargled gravel or some shit.

“I asked if you’re going to fuck me, or if I need to find Burrows again. Or hell, maybe Austin will do.”

I rush toward her, shoving her back against the door as the players’ names slip past her pink, pouty lips. A soft whoosh of air slips out of her, but the bullshit she’d been spewing ceases as she glares up at me.

“You’re not gonna sleep with anyone on the team,” I grit out.

“I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want because you don’t own me, Theodore Taylor. You didn’t own me when we were playing Strip Pong, and you sure as shit don’t own me in this room, either. Right now, you’re nothing more than a means to an end, and you have something I need.”

“Something you need?” I scoff. “And what’s that, Baby Thorne?”

Her chin dips toward my dick straining against my jeans. It’s been standing at full attention ever since I saw her in the damn white, lacy bra. Taunting me. Torturing me as all the thoughts of what it would be like to take it off the girl in front of me. How smooth her skin would feel in my hands. How tight her little nipples would be as I sucked on them. My balls tighten at the thought.

“I need the thing between your legs,” she clarifies.

I chuckle and step even closer, framing her feet with my own as she leans her upper back against the door and looks up at me, more confident and sexy than I’ve ever witnessed. She’s so small like this, though. So fragile.

“You want my dick, Blake?” I ask.

“Yours. Burrows’.” She shrugs one freckled shoulder. Her bra strap slips down, though she doesn’t bother to fix it. “Hell, I’ll take Austin’s right now if I have to,” she adds, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’d say Tukani might be a good fit, but the guy’s massive and would probably rip me apart, so…” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth like she’s actually considering her options. “I might have to pass on him. For now, anyway.”

My frustration burns as I lean down, closing a bit of the distance between our heights. “So any dick will do, huh? I thought you’d want a good guy––”

“You assumed I’d want a good guy. But what I really want is to get rid of this stupid thing so I can move on with my life and so can everyone else around me.”

“You want me to take your virginity so you can get on with your life,” I repeat, reeling that we’re even having this conversation. Her familiar scent of cinnamon tickles my nostrils as I take a slow, shallow breath. She’s standing so close. So fucking close. With my elbows resting against the door, I cage her in, the last of my restraint seconds from snapping. “Am I hearing you right?”

Her eyes dance with determination as her fiery traits spark to life in front of me. “What I want is to not question whether a guy really likes me based on a bet he made with his friends in regards to my freaking hymen, which, thanks to you, they all know about.” Her chest heaves, brushing against my own. “So, yeah. I want to get rid of it.”

“I’m not going to pop your cherry, Bla––”

Her dry laughter cuts me off. “Then, I’ll find someone who will. It’ll take me what? Two minutes? Maybe five?” She twists around and reaches for the door handle, ready to put her money where her mouth is.

I press my chest to her back and pin her against the door, refusing to let her walk away. Not after her bullshit comment.

Fuck, she feels amazing against me. Her skin like silk. Her body heaving as she sucks in shallow breaths. Like every nerve in her body is aligning with mine. I haven’t even touched her yet, but if I slipped my fingers between her thighs, I have no doubt she’d be dripping. And it wouldn’t be for Burrows. Or for Austin. Or for fucking Tukani. It would be for me.

Leaning closer, I touch the shell of her ear with my lips and growl, “You think I’m gonna let a random guy touch you, Blake?”

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