Y O U RÂ Â D O G
@lizbernationâ
â« I donât wanna be your little pet At the edge of every bed you sleep in â©
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She nearly choked on the brandy she was downing upon hearing his comment. If he was already two shots in, she wanted to catch up. Although that wouldnât take much. The girl couldnât help the twisted, disgusted expression at the taste of the distilled spirit. She had always hated alcohol â how it bubbled on her tongue and dried out the back of her throat. The world was consuming flavoured hand sanitizer, and she had fallen for the trap, despite never understanding why.
Samaire didnât understand a lot of things. She didnât understand why she had been convinced she had to go to Oxford. She didnât understand how she said no to him last Christmas. She felt like she didnât understand who she was anymore, a stranger trapped in her olive-skinned flesh prison. Â
She understood Ryder though. Familiarity trickled over their being together, her fuzzy-socked toes extending to poke his thigh. âNuh-uh! I took a shower today,â she claimed with child-like pride. After lifting the inside of her shirt collar to her nose, the brunette knelt on the brown, leather couch right next to him, their knees kissing. Her arms lifted high, a stupidly playful grin spread across her lips as she willfully forgot they were angry with one another. âSmell my armpits.â
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