“I need it. I need you,” I moan, barely recognizing my voice. Or my actions. I’m frantic, tilting my hips and squirming until my clit is flush to North’s shaft, rubbing shamelessly. Rubbing until I’m a mindless servant to my own pleasure, sobbing, grinding my hips down into North’s lap, his hands clutching my bottom and helping me, pushing me down as he thrusts upward with loud grunts, his eyes blazing into mine.
Another climax ripples through me, pulling my sore tummy muscles and making me cry out loudly, my thighs trembling around his hips, a sensual earthquake passing through me. Our mouths lock and kiss desperately, my heart pounding wildly in my ears. changed forever. I’m his, utterly, completely. No going back. There’s nothing but this. But him. I’m obsessed. I’m one half of a whole now. That truth engraves itself on every inch of my soul.
North twists, throws me down on the leather.
Pins me and thrusts once, twice, nostril flared. Muscles flexed. “I hope you’re on the pill or something, Gracie. I can’t pull out. You’re so tight and wet from comin’ fah me.” His Boston accent is thicker than I’ve ever heard it. It endears him to me so completely, I can’t help but pull him down for a kiss—and our tongues entwine desperately, eagerly, his body pumping faster and faster into mine. On the verge of an obvious precipice. Riding me for broke, our sexes smacking wetly. “I’ll care for my kid if you get pregnant. Same as I’ll care for my beauty. You know that, don’t you?”
“My mother made me go on the pill,” I gasp. “N-never needed it until now. Until you.”
His eyes flash with possession. “Until your man. Until your Daddy.”
I cry out. “Yes.”
North punches high and deep one last time, burying his mouth in my neck and making choked sounds, his incomparably strong body weak on mine for the moment, lost in sensation, shaking, harsh grunts leaving his throat, moisture filling me in warm, heavy spurts. His hips flex, his back muscles rippling beneath my soothing palms, my inner thighs running up and down his heaving ribcage. “Mine,” he growls, his teeth raking my neck. “Mine.”
Yes. Forever.
Somehow I know that for sure. At our age, there isn’t a lot that feels certain. Our futures are an abstract thing that we’re moving toward because it’s the only next step. The next thing. But I’ve never been more positive of anything as I am about North Whitlock being part of my future. And as he lifts his head and looks down at me with unabashed idolatry, I know he’s thinking the exact same thing. Our fates have been sealed.
Lurking in the back of his golden eyes, however, is also the knowledge that we’ll eventually have to fight to keep each other. To maintain a relationship between a rich girl with Harvard on the horizon and an underground boxer raising his little sister in Southie. But I vow then and there to do whatever it takes to keep this.
To keep us from being pulled in two directions.
Ignoring the sense of foreboding in my stomach, I snuggle into North’s side and let him stroke and kiss me back until it’s time to walk home.
Eight
North
School has never seemed all that important to me. I show up every day because I want Tulip to follow my lead. Get her diploma without dropping out, like our parents did at my age. For the last week, though, since I met Grace, I’ve been paying more attention. Wondering if she’s learning the same things as me. Wanting to be book smart like her. I’m sitting in English Lit right now and God, I can’t stop thinking about her. I never stop, not for a second.
Every day since Sunday, she’s come to my place after school. Tulip is usually at a friend’s house studying or at basketball practice, giving me time alone with my girlfriend. And goddamn, I take advantage. As soon as she walks in the door, looking so fresh and perfect and sweet and beautiful, I’m ripping her panties down. I’ve tried, I’ve fucking tried to wait. To talk or watch television or bring her out for food, but every single time, we end up in my bed. Immediately. Straining, clutching, panting, biting, fucking. The things I’ve done to my girl in that bed should be criminal, considering she was a virgin less than a week ago.
Daddy.
It’s the magic word.
As soon as she says it, I’m an animal.
I’ve heard of people with this kind of relationship before, but it seemed to belong with older couples. Or men and their mistresses. With us, it’s different. It’s like we stumbled upon something we weren’t supposed to know about ourselves and it’s too late to turn back now. Now that I’ve heard her whimper “Daddy” while I rake my tongue all over her tight asshole, I can’t live without it. Can’t live without the responsibility the title gives me. The ownership of this girl who is my flat-out obsession. One that will stay with me every second of my life.