Page 103 of A Wreck, You Make Me

I jerk, my muscles spasming. God, it’s been so long. So, so long since he called me that. Since I’ve felt this. This deep sense of belonging, surrender. This deep,deepsense of rightness. That he’ll take care of me no matter what. It’s been so long since I’ve felt safe all because he chose to wrap his fingers around my neck and give me a choking necklace.

“Anytime,” he continues, squeezing his fingers around my neck. “Anywhere.” Another squeeze. “In front of my family. Your family. The whole world.”

Fear skitters down my spine and I grip his t-shirt. “No.”

He leans closer and squeezes my throat harder. “Fuck yes.”

I dig my knuckles into his waist as my core buzzes. “No, you c-can’t.”

“That’s what you’re afraid of, aren’t you? That we’re family now.” He squeezes my throat again, making me whimper and gasp. “That it’s sofucking complicated.And Godfuckingforbid, we have to sneak around and lie and keep secrets. And what if they find out that you’re going to pieces just because you’ve got your big brother’s fingers wrapped around your throat like a choking necklace.”

He’s right. I am going to pieces. I’m shaking. I’m shivering. I’m fucking floating above the ground, because what is this? What is thisfeeling? How can he do this to me? This isn’t love, is it? This is more. This is love on goddamn crack. His words, his touch. His scent. Everything is turning me on and turning me inside out.

“Shepard—”

“So then what if I help you out and make things easy for you?” he goes on, digging his thumb in my fluttering jugular. “What if I spill your secret and show them? Show them all what a fucking whore you are for me. All I have to do is call you my good girl with my hand around your throat and you’re ready to come for me like the little slut you are.”

I tug on his t-shirt. “Shepard, I?—"

His fingers shift, and then along with my neck he’s grabbing my jaw, his thumb digging into my cheek. “Stop talking.”

Even though it’s hard, I shake my head. “But?—"

He leans even closer, his nose almost grazing mine, his large, sweaty, delicious body almost touching my trembling one. And then I feel a tug. Down below, on my belly. And I know, without even looking, that he’s hooked his pinkie in my belly ring, his favorite.

“I can smell you,” he says. “And no, I’m not talking about your fucking perfume.”

“W-what?”

He licks his lips and I feel it in my core as he rasps, “I can smell your pussy.”

I suck my belly in. “You c-can?”

“She’s all wet for me, isn’t she? She’s fucking leaking for me.”

I shake my head. “Stop. You need to?—”

“If I stick my finger down there, I’ll come out dripping, won’t I?”

I clench my eyes shut because this is too much. He is too much. His touch. His words, and all I can do is whimper, “Yes.”

“It’s better than any perfume of yours,” he keeps going. “The smell of your pussy. It’s better than any perfumeperiod.” He actually closes his shiny eyes and takes a whiff, a growl emanating from the center of his chest. A moan even, very low, very rough but unmistakable, and I think it makes me come a little bit. Or maybe it’s the words he speaks next.

“I wanna bottle it up and rub it on my body, your pussy juice. I wanna make you come”—he opens his eyes, his pupils looking all blown up, his cheeks flushed—“On my fingers. And then I wanna make you ride my thigh and hump my stomach. And if I’m doing all of that, I’m also going to make you sit on my face and ride my tongue. I’m going to make that pussy come and come andfucking comeuntil I’m covered in you. Until I don’t have to rub you on my skin, you’re already seeping in. You’re already in my bloodstream. And then I’m gonna return the favor. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yeah, you do. I have a list.”

“List of what?”

“Of all the places I wanna come on your body.”

My eyes go wide. “You…”

“And then I’ll do the same thing. I’ll come and come and fucking come until I don’t have to rub my cum in your skin. Until I’m already there, getting under it. Seeping into your bloodstream...”

He trails off as if he’s already imagining it. I don’t blame him because I’m doing the same thing. I’m imagining myself, all naked, lying on the floor. My hair all spread out, my freckled skin bared to his eyes as he kneels over me and covers me in his cum. As he paints me like a filthy painting, and I take it because who am I to stop an artist like him?