Charlie doesn’t stop. “He’s contaminated. Disease-ridden—” “Charlie,” Farrow warns. Before Donnelly shifts his gaze away, I catch his anger and his hurt. He loves the Cobalts. “—you fuck him, you die,” Charlie tells me. “You understand that; I know you do.” Because Charlie has read most of my smut, including the ones with my favorite trope. “Now isn’t the time to fall for him.”
