And then I’m sprawled, naked, in the dirt. Caramel’s sitting across from me, knees bent, a thick silver braid hanging over her shoulder. She peels off her T-shirt and hands it to me. I catch a strong whiff of patchouli.

I struggle to sit and take the shirt. It’s so hard to wrangle it over my head, but I’m freezing. My teeth are rattling even though my core is on fire.

I ease myself to rest on my hip so there’s no pressure on my pussy. It throbs. I press my thighs tight together. I can’t meet Caramel’s eyes. I’m a mess, dirty and caked with dried blood.

“So you’ve...