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“—he isn’t playing with your pussy—”
“Yes, he is.”
“—correctly.”
The response lost somewhere in a forest of truths I’m not quite sure are true, all I do is huff.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“And it left this.” I flip him the bird.
“You better rest that finger if you want to try for a fifth.”
“I wouldn’t use my finger for that.”
“What would you use?”
“My hatred for you,” I shoot back with the kind of speed I wish I had for the first part of this conversation.
Khaos’s serious expression cracks in half to make room for a laugh.
“Gives the word hate-fuck a whole new meaning.”
Now I’m the one chuckling.
When my feet are spread wider than Khaos can reach, he trails his hands down my calves, knees, then thighs, all while lowering himself to his knees.
Guy’s observation about this very thing has me fighting to close my thighs. Not even two barriers between my pussy and Khaos’s nose are enough to alleviate my concern. I never used to be self-conscious about this. Now I don’t think I’ll ever not be.
Which is going to make practices hell if that’s all I’m focused on.
Khaos uses his elbows to keep them pried open as far as they can possibly go, then with a voice thick with humor and…something else, he rasps, “Don’t tell me you’re tapping now.”
“I might…”
“Are you serious?” He stops. “After all the shit you’ve been talking?”
“I’m not tapping.” I would never tap over a split. “I just…think I might not be…the…you know.” The entire time I talk—ramble—I struggle against his hold. Khaos isn’t pushing my legs anymore, but he’s not letting me close them either.
“No, I don’t know. What the fuck?”
“You know, it’s the end of the day and I worked out earlier…”
“So?”
“So…I could be, like, sweaty. Or something. You know? If you could just…not be…so…close.”
I press on his forehead as if it’s a button but all it earns me is a frown.
I might use that trick again in a less dire situation. It’s fun.
“You might be sweaty?”
“Yeah. Probably. And you like to point that out, so I just think—”
“Are you wet and just don’t want me to know?”
“I’m not wet like that.” I most definitely am, but that’s not what I’m worried about. “I just don’t want to…you know.”
