THE TRUTH TASTES LIKE MY BEST FRIEND’S TONGUE
I couldn’t move.
Damian’s knot was locked deep, pulsing another lazy spurt of c*m into me every time my walls fluttered in panic. Chloe’s hand was still on my bare thigh, her manicured nails tracing lazy circles an inch from where her father’s c**k stretched me open. The credits rolled on the screen, some cheesy pop song playing while my entire life cracked apart.
I waited for the screaming. For the tears. For Chloe to grab the wine bottle and smash it over her father’s head.
Instead she smiled.
Not the bubbly, innocent smile I’d known since freshman year. This one was slow, dark, knowing. Like she’d been waiting years to take the mask off.
“Sel,” she whispered, voice syrupy, “you’re shaking. Breathe, baby.”
I couldn’t. My lungs wouldn’t
