Page 18 of Wild Fire
“Aw come on, Daddy, let me play with him…”
His hands on my hips are harsh, and my legs feel like Jell-o. My head hurts, and I try to push away from him, but his grip is too tight. I reach for Michael, but he doesn’t reach back.
Why isn’t he reaching back…
“Make it quick,” he says. “I’ve only got the room for an hour, and you know I hate waiting.”
The man behind me, whose name I can’t remember, drags me away, my feet moving like lead and panic hits me hard as I realize I can’t fight him because I’m wasted as fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“There you are,” another voice says, one that sounds vaguely familiar, though I can’t place it.
I blink, but everything is so fucking blurry between the lights and my pounding head.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Sorry I’m late,” they say, and the man behind me tenses.
“Fuck off, August, he’s already claimed for the night.”
August? Who the hell is August?
“You’re right about that. He is.” I feel warm hands on my wrist and my body is pulled away again, into someone else.
“You know the rules,” the asshole behind me says.
“So do you,” August growls. “And judging from how fucked up he is, I doubt you even bothered to explain them to him.”
Rules? What rules?
Before the guy can answer, August tightens his grip around me, and the warmth of his body is like a cozy fire…
Fire…
My legs feel like deadweight, and I stumble, but his grip only tightens and he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, Bright Eyes, I got you. You’re safe now.”
And I think I must be drunker than I thought, because I swear when I look up at August, I’m hallucinating.
Because August looks an awful lot like AJ—the fireman who saved me.
I fall against him, my legs giving out, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lets out a low, raspy sigh and his hand splays over the small of my back. We’re almost the same height, I think.
Or maybe I’m just spiraling because I’ve had too much to drink…
My head’s a mess, and I don’t have the energy or the ability to argue with him, so I don’t. I lean against AJ, letting out a moan of misery because I think I am going to throw up.
“Sick,” I groan, just as a rush of cold air hits my face, and I push away from him.
“Oh, fuck,” I hiss as I drop to my knees and my bad decisions find their way back up and out the way they came.
“It’s okay,” AJ says, his raspy voice somehow warm and smooth. Like silk.
His fingers rub my back and it’s strangely comforting. I groan as another wave of vomit makes its presence known.
“Just let it out.”
I groan and whimper because this is not how I planned on spending the night.
