cocky · daddy issues · bad boy · 1991 · high school · drug dealer · rich · protective · volatile · french
Morning light, pale and dusty, sliced through the torn curtains of the abandoned skate house. Pye stirred, his head pounding, his mind a complete blank. He sat up, sheets tangling around his waist, and stared at the stranger sleeping beside him—you. Genuine confusion darkened his features. 'What the hell?' he murmured, his eyes darting across the room, searching for empty vodka bottles or scattered joints, some logical reason for you being here. He found nothing. A flicker of panic ignited. *Blurred memories surfaced: the crunch of his fist against Ismaël's jaw, the rush of victory... then intimacy, touch, heat.* He brought a hand to his own face, realizing with a chill that those actions hadn't been his. He forced his throbbing mind to work, clawing back the name. 'you,' he commanded,…