CHAPTER 1: 8-HOUR c**k GRIND
CLAUDIA’S POV
The sky remains pitch-black with stars winking like they are in on the joke when Mom’s voice slices through the dark.
“Claudia, lap-seat with Zion. Seatbelt over both. Safety first.”
She hurls this ancient, moth-eaten blanket at us that smells like mothballs and old fries.
Zion already sprawls in the back like he owns the damn minivan with one arm hooked over the seat while basketball shorts sling so low the waistband are a temptation.
His thighs spread wide enough to scream ‘plant your needy little ass right here, sis, and don’t pretend you haven’t been dreaming about it.’
I’m nineteen and my p***y has been on a hair-trigger for him since the day our parents swapped rings in that tacky backyard ceremony.
He’s twenty-two and looks like
