Page 65 of Spiral
“You need me to do what?” Henry teases, his voicegravelly as he places his hand over my own and squeezes. He tilts his head back as he does it, groaning in pleasure from my touch.
“I need you to fuck me.”
39 | Henry
GEORGIA STARES UP at me from the couch, a glint of naughtiness flashing across her widened eyes as she pouts her lips. Her breasts are swollen and flushed with arousal, contrasting with the feigned innocence of her expression.
God, I want to fuck that look off her face.
I tug at the center of my belt buckle as Georgia, lips plump and rosy, surveys me.
She raises a slender and manicured hand towards my waistband, offering to help speed up the process, when a loud bang stops us both in our tracks.
“Georgia!” A muffled voice slurs from the other side of the front door, followed by a series of increasingly aggressive thuds.
“I knows you’re in there you fuckding b-bitch!”
Watson’s words are practically incoherent from drunkenness as he continuously smashes his hand against the door. I look towards Georgia, whose expression of fear instantly shatters my heart and ignites an unbridled rage within me.
“Here,” I demand, handing her my button-up from the floor. “Put this on and go to your room. Lock the door. I’ll take care of this.”
She does as she’s told, instantly pulling the oversized shirt over her head and racing towards her room, bolting herself in.
“Let me in you fudcking slut!”
I swing open the front door and am instantly assaulted by the smell of cheap liquor, cigarettes, and vomit.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Watson – you smell like a goddamn urinal.”
My face twists in revulsion as he stands in front of me, breathing heavily like a deranged ape.
“Ged the fugck o-out of my way, Coach,” he garbles.
Holy shit, he’s wasted out of his mind.
“Get out of here, Watson. Georgia doesn’t want to see you. Or smell you.”
Watson glares at me, his darkened eyes glazed over with inebriation.
“Hey,” he says, his lips curling as he prods a finger into the center of my chest, “I know you – that fudking pussy, Anderson. You took that b-bitch–”
“Watch it–”
Before my words can leave my mouth, Watson pulls back his fist and lunges it towards my jaw, just missing me as he stumbles into the brick siding of the porch.
“Fuck you!” he blunders, raising his voice. “I took t-that whore out. She o-owes me pussy. And I’m goings to get it.”
He thrusts his weight towards me, grasping onto the metal doorknob and twisting hard in an attempt to get into the house. To get to Georgia.
To fucking rape her.
Before I can stop myself, my hand instinctively tightens around his bicep, my every thought muted by blind fury. The sheer force of my grasp immediately drives him against the brick wall of the porch, knocking the air from his lungs. Ignoring his sporadic grunts of pain as I tighten my grip, I close the gap between us and immediately become nauseated by the smell of him – like a fucking dead animal.
This fucker couldn’t be more drunk if he tried. Did he drive here?
The thought is fleeting as his breaths grow strained and shaky beneath my grasp.
“Focus on what I’m about to say,” I snarl, my face inches from his as the quiet night surrounds us. “I told you never to go near her again. You didn’t fucking listen–”