Tia Williams

Good girls were supposed to want a prom kiss from the quarterback, not a face fuck from the hot psycho. But she supposed she wasn’t good, ’cause she was on Shane in seconds, ripping down his soaked jeans and boxers—draining him till he was weak, and she was full.

“Don’t die, baby.”

“Gimme a reason.”

“Me,” he rasped. “Stay for me.”

“Selfish.”

“I am.”

“Stay. I’ll make it worth it. I’ll make it so fucking good, Genevieve. You’ll be so happy, I swear. Just gimme your pain; I’ll take it all. Promise to stay, and I’ll never leave. Me and you, forever. Promise me.”