Page 28 of Overdose
Come on, Blair. Say no. Push him off. Tell him this isn’t what you want. Because five goddamn minutes ago, you were grinding on Dagger like he was your next fix and now here you are, getting railed in some crusty back room by his arch-nemesis like it’s a goddamn hate-fueled porno. Real cute. Real classy. Gold-star slut behavior.
But of course I don’t.
Because I can’t fucking lie. I want it. I want every jagged edge. Every cruel thrust. Every ounce of this fucking war they’re waging with me in the crossfire.
I’m clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering, every thrust knocking the air from my lungs, every grind of his cock dragging me closer to that sharp, crashing edge.
“That’s it little addict, ride the bass. Cum like you’re mine and the whole damn club’s listening.”
My orgasm hits me like a car wreck. Violent. Shattering. My scream tears from my throat, my legs locking around him, cunt clenching down so hard he groans loud, raw, and feral. He fucks me through it, deeper, harder, like he’s trying to pound every thought of Dagger out of my body.
“Blair—shit—fuck?—”
He pulls out just in time, panting as he strokes himself through it, hot ropes of cum striping my stomach, my thighs. Heslams a hand into the wall beside my head, panting like he’s been chased through hell.
Silence.
Then his fingers catch my chin, and he tilts my face toward him. Kisses me again, slow this time. Almost tender. Almost.
“Almost enough,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “Just enough to dull the ache.”
I don’t understand what the fuck he means.
But I don’t fucking care.
He says it like a confession, all low and broken. I roll my eyes. I’m way too high for this sentimental bullshit.
Then he steps back, grabs his hoodie, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and gives me a smirk that could kill a god, and just like that—he’s gone.
Leaving me panting. Panties askew. Thighs sticky. Covered in his cum.
Thoughts wrecked.
What the actual fuck.
And why do I already want to chase him down and do it all over again?
Because clearly, you’re a pathetic, dick-drunk mess, Blair. Congrats. Gold medal in being a walking red flag. Get your shit together.
I don’t move at first. Just slump against the wall and try to remember how to breathe, how tofunction. My legs are jelly. My heart’s still punching my ribs.
Eventually, I glance down at the mess on my skin, the wetness slicking my thighs, the ruined state of my underwear, and grimace.
Fucking hell.
There’s an old T-shirt hanging from a rusted hook on the wall, probably abandoned by some raver weeks ago. I grabit without thinking, wipe myself down in silence, the fabric scratchy and cold against my skin.
Noir didn’t even say goodbye.
Of course he didn’t.
Just left me like this. Used. Wrecked.Wanting.
Fuck him, and worse—fuck me for wanting more.
This? This isn’t normal. This is obsession on a timer. I don’t even know which one of them I want more—Dagger or Noir. Or maybe I just want one of them tochoose me, so I don’t have to keep pretending I have control over any of this.
I was never supposed to be this girl. I was a good student. I had plans. I had rules.
