Stupid Dirty (Possum Hollow, #1)

by Erin Russell

“First of all, please don’t lump me in with the normies when you’re assuming shit; I worked long and hard to become the white trash wackadoo you see before you.

And if I’m spoiling him with attention, so what? He fucking deserves it. He deserves everything I have to offer, so I’m not going to hold back because of whatever arbitrary decisions society has made about men needing to be independent. Fuck that and fuck you for suggesting it.”

I rescue you, you rescue me, and every time we end up crammed into a teeny tiny bed together. It’s the circle of life, apparently. So hakuna matata and go the fuck to sleep.”

Sometimes it feels like I was created specifically to undo every shitty thing that’s ever been done to Silas. Every smile gives me a bigger sense of accomplishment than anything else in my life, and it’s literally my job to save people’s lives.

Maybe me and Silas are too intense around each other and lack boundaries. Of course, he said that without knowing about our exciting new bedtime activity. The one that is weird and confusing and so fucking hot that it eats boundaries for breakfast and spits out the bones.

If I could hollow out the space inside my ribs and place him there for safekeeping, I would.

“You want me to fuck you? To be inside you and fucking own you? Because I thought you were mine before, Cade, but this-” My voice is a dry rasp. I push my fingers back into him, making him gasp. “This is something else. This isn’t something I can forget about.” “Do it.” He sounds so sure. “Fuck me. Own me. You already do, I just didn’t realize it.”

“I mean, how have I gone twenty-two years without realizing I had a magic orgasm button inside me?”

Stupid dirty fuckhot’ was a compliment,

I’ve had sex before, sure, and the occasional girlfriend, but this kind of soupy, lusty miasma? This feels like something new, and I want to swim around in it forever.

He’s mine. My job is to take care of him and keep him safe, like no one has before.

“I swear, Silas. A few more years and I’m gonna start leaving a fruit bowl full of condoms next to the door, where most people leave their keys. Just grab and go. Or maybe I can paint lamb’s blood on the door like in the bible, and the puberty fairy will just skip us.

Hold me. Promise you’ll never leave me. Be my family and let me be yours. I can only breathe because you’re still here.

This is my life right now. One foot in his world, one foot out, with the thought of if I’m welcome constantly shifting like sand beneath me, making it impossible to find my footing and just exist for a minute.

For three months, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, while telling myself it’s just my abandonment issues talking and everything is fine. For once, I owe my abandonment issues an apology. Everything is obviously not fucking fine.

This is where we belong. This is because he belongs to me. Covered in me. Filled with me. Tasting and smelling and drowning in me until we’re so tightly woven together that no one can break through that connection to hurt either of us ever again.