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“On what?”
“You, of course.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. He can let me know what you’re up to, if you’re sneaking around with any guys.”
“Wow. So, first, I’m clingy, and now I’m cheating? Anything else I should know about myself?”
“You’re using that mouth quite a bit today.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hoping it covers everything, both the momentary lapse in sanity—that’s what that kitchen scene was, insanity—and my behavior afterward.
Pulling me into him, he says, “I’ll forgive you if you use it on me.”
“To…?”
The moment he jumps into describing the kind of blow job he expects, I tune out, my mind wandering out the door and down the stairs to my new housemate. What’s he doing right now? What’s he touching? What’s he thinking?
It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. I’m in here with the one constant in my life since it was turned upside down and that’s what matters. Guy matters. Without him, I’d have nobody.
Khaos is only interesting because he’s new.
And hot.
And irritating beyond imagination.
But also hot. So hot.
And skilled.
Somehow, I drift off and it’s not to thoughts of an impending BJ, but the memory of seriously wicked fingers.
I don’t know what Kota and her boyfriend have been doing but they’ve been in her room for hours. And hours. They don’t have anything better to do than just…
What are they doing up there? I know the girl’s delicious but come up for air already. Jesus.
I’ve stayed downstairs all day because the last thing I want is to hear their fuckfest.
Actually, the last thing I want to do is see them fucking. Only because Guy looks like he fucks with his boat shoes still on. Dude dresses like a divorced dad. The only thing uglier than his clothes is his hair.
What does Kota see in him? Dollar signs? It’s not like her mom doesn’t have enough of those on her own.
After a workout in this place’s gym, I wander to the kitchen to make a protein shake when a door opens somewhere in the house.
Who’s coming down? Her? Him?
Them?
I hope not.
They’re probably looking for refreshments, too. They’ve been at it long enough.
I linger in front of the walk-in pantry where the drink fridge is because this mansion has multiple fridges—one for drinks and at least two for regular food. While one of the fridges was practically bare, both the freezers were stocked full.
Nobody joins me, but I do hear the front door open, close, then a minute later, a door upstairs closes as well.
Did that douche with the fuck-ass mullet finally leave?
