SIN SO SWEET
The aerator bubbles tickled my ribs, fizzing against my skin like tiny electric shocks.
The smell was worse in the dark, thick, alive, rotting. I could taste it on my tongue. Fish scales stuck to my arms, my stomach. Something soft and slimy bumped my calf, shit. A dead pogie, probably.
Jame’s hand found my throat in the dark, holding on possessively.
“You sure?” he whispered. Voice low, rough, almost lost under the engine drone and the slap of waves on the hull.
I answered by grabbing his belt. The buckle clinked loudly in the confined space.
Bab Populer