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He grabs my ankle to drag me closer, then climbs above me, his weight pressing me into the couch. "You know I'd take you if I could."

I try to push him away, but he holds firm, removing the drink from my hand before it goes flying. "Why would you take Amanda, though?"

"She's dating someone, but it's private," he argues. "I'd basically just be covering for her."

"That's insane." To my horror, my eyes fill. "Who could Amanda not take as a date? Why does it have to be you?"

His lips press to my cheeks, to my eyelids. "Grace," he croons, "answer that question for yourself."

I continue glaring at him. I don't see Amanda hanging out with any guys. She's always with this girl from the basketball team who's twice her height.

Ohhhh.

I pull his mouth to mine. "Fine."

He kisses me until I forget what I was mad about, until I stop thinking about anything but this...his mouth and his weight and the hard press of his erection, which now rests between my thighs, against my panties.

Nothing about putting something that large inside me should appeal—it should horrify me, really—but biology is louder than my terror. It’s all I can do not to beg him.

During our entire acquaintance, he’s let me play the prey, the one who lies here without ever saying what she wants, without initiating. As if I’m doing it for him when we both know I’m not.

I’m ready to shed the girl I was like a skin.

I push him to the side, then climb above him, stretching my smallish limbs over his longer ones, pulling my skirt around my waist. His eyes are wide as I reach for his belt.

I pull his pants down and grind against him, separated only by his boxers and my panties.

He grabs my hips as his eyes fall closed. "Grace...fuck."

"I think we should do it," I tell him, pulling his boxers low. He is already leaking for me, halfway there.

"No," he says, but he's arching into me, demanding more.

"Why not?" My eyes fall closed and I brace myself against his chest. If just grinding against him feels this good, it’s hard to imagine sex could be any better, but I want it anyway.

"I want you to be sure," he hisses. "It's a big deal."

I climb off him and move down the couch to take his leaking tip into my mouth. "I am sure.”

"No," he groans. "Decide when we aren't like this. I don't want you to regret it."

I use my hands and my mouth and my tongue, more certain of myself than I was the last time we did this. I love the way he sucks in air between his teeth in response to one thing, the gravelly ohhh in response to another.

"I won't regret it," I say, running my tongue around the bulbous tip. "I don't think I can wait anymore."

"Fuck." With a low moan he comes against my tongue, his hand tight in my hair.

"Jesus," he says, his eyes still shut, catching his breath as I climb up beside him. "Next time you blow me, don't do it while telling me you want to have sex. It was a lethal combination."

"Can I tell you now?" I ask.

He kisses me, his hand drifting from the curve of my waist to my hip, his fingers curving into the indentation of bone. His mouth is open, his breath still coming in pants. He pulls his head back, breathing fast, and swallows. “I didn’t…that isn't why I wanted you here.”

"I know."

He flips me onto my back. "Let me return the favor. If you still think you want to after that, we'll talk. You need a cooling-off period first."

After he returns the favor—incredibly well—I get home and help my mother prepare dinner. Two weeks have passed and she's still acting as if my bus ride home was yesterday, as if I should be very, very sorry...forever.