I growl as I punch his arm, and then his weight is on me again.
“You don’t need a girlfriend,” I mutter. “You’ve got me.”
As if I could ever be everything to him the way he’s everything to me.
His eyes lock onto my mouth, and my lips part in invitation. But he hesitates, and then goes for my neck, planting a flurry of kisses on the side of my throat.
I groan, eyes sliding shut at the way it feels.
We’ve kinda done stuff like this before. Never full-on-the-mouth kissing or anything, but whenever I was curious about how something felt, I’d rope him into an experiment.
He’s played with my boobs.
Fingered me.
I gave him a handy once.
I never made a big deal out of it. Then it would have been awkward for both of us. When I told him I wanted him to deflower me—because yes, of course, that’s how I phrased it, I’m a damn lady—I thought he’d laugh it off.
But he just went really, really, quiet…
And then nodded.
Like he’d been waiting for this.
He slides a hand over my underwear, and I gasp, my hips bucking. That makes him huff against my throat, like he’s pleasantly surprised he still has that kind of effect on me.
But then I feel wetness oozing out of me, and my face goes scorching hot. He has to hurry before it’s all a bloody mess down there.
I usually don’t bleed a lot at first, but after a few hours…
It’s late afternoon. There’s already a chill in the air, but the sunlight that pierces through the maple leaves above finds its way down to me, painting warm spots over my legs and arms.
“I want it, Kai.” My words are frantic, my breath speeding up. “Please. Now.”
He huffs again, and then we’re both tugging at my underwear, trying to get it down my legs. But he doesn’t just stick it in like I thought he would.
He touches me first. Softly. Teasingly.
“Can’t just dive in,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Gotta get you wet…”
Kai trails off. Groans, hard.
I’ve never heard him make a sound like that, not even when I jerked him off.
“You’re already wet,” he says, sounding confused, surprised.
“I’m turned on,” I say. “You know how long I’ve wanted this?”
He tips his head back, a flickering unease in his eyes. “How long?”
“Since I was thirteen,” I lie, because admitting I’ve loved him since I was eight would make me sound like a weirdo, and he’d freak.
He’s freaked out, anyway.
Color leeches out of his face. His lips tremble. “Haven…”
I know what’s coming.
