Abel
There I was again—losing control.
I dragged a hand over my face and leaned back against the wall, forcing myself to breathe, to steady the storm inside me.
I thought I could handle it. I thought I was stronger than this. Turns out I wasn’t even close.
My eyes dropped to the hard length, straining painfully against my pants.
“Calm down,” I muttered under my breath. “You’ve got this. You can hold it together.”
Just one more year. One year wasn’t that long anymore. I could wait. I had to wait.
And if you’re wondering why—why I’m fighting this so hard, why I refuse to touch her beyond what I already have—it isn’t because Clara isn’t of age. She is. In our world, she’s old enough.
The problem… is me.
It’s my family.
It’s the history I refuse to repeat.
My mother got pregnant at
