“I can’t. I can’t do it.” “You’re not doing it,” I remind Cara. “I’m doing it.” I swipe an alcohol swab over the golden skin of her torso. “Two inches from your belly button. Guess I can’t use my cock to measure, huh?” I snicker. “You’ll be able to in two five seconds, ’cause I’m gonna chop it off and shove it down your own throat.” “Baby,” I warn lowly, dialing her Gonal-F pen to the right dosage. “Don’t make threats that only hurt us both.” “What is that? What the fuck is that?” She points at the needle with one shaky hand, the other pressed over her mouth, eyes gigantic. “Emmett, that can’t
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