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Khaos’s fingers are like a twister of talent, the tight circles over my clit don’t stop once. Warmth intensifies beneath his swirls until it bursts into one bright flame of euphoria.

My lips fall open as a silent scream makes its way up my throat.

Khaos’s eyes roam my face, my neck, my chest, even dipping briefly to where his hand is still moving, just slower now.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Finally withdrawing his hand from my bottoms, Khaos brings those same fingers up to my mouth. When I try to rear back, his hold on my head tightens, preventing me from going anywhere.

“You want to taste yourself? See what’s not to like?”

My eyes meet his, and dropping my jaw, I let him crook his glossy fingers into my mouth, the pads of his fingertips depressing my tongue. I’ve tasted my arousal before, but this is mixed with Khaos’s spit and there’s a warmth to it that’s addictive.

Moaning, I close my eyes and suck on the digits.

“Do me a favor and don’t swallow, okay?” Khaos’s breath tickles my forehead.

I open my eyes, latching on to his.

“You see… Nothing’s wrong with you. Nothing. You’re perfect any time of day or night. Now come here.” He beckons me with a jerk of his chin.

Before I’ve even fully released his fingers, he’s sealing his lips to mine, his tongue tangling with mine as we share my cum.

Each time we kiss, it feels like a gift we only have for the moment. Like it’s temporary.

“Anything Guy failed at was his issue, not yours. Do you understand me?”

I never thought of that as Guy’s failure, only my own. I really thought I was the problem. Guy made me think I was the problem.

He always did. Even last night. He blamed me for him and Lisann being together in his car, with a blindfold. Why did he have a blindfold tied around his neck?

Out of my head!

“I understand,” I tell Khaos.

Glancing down, he says, “This is mine, too,” then pulls the hoodie up my torso and over my head.

I huff out a disbelieving laugh, making his eyebrows dip in the center.

So he wasn’t talking about the hoodie before. He was talking about me. I thought I would like that but…why does that piss me off? Like royally. Probably because of our conversation upstairs.

“But you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you have no claim to me.” I step back.

“After the months I spent waiting for you—”

“That was your choice. You could’ve gotten laid anytime you wanted to.” I’m glad he didn’t, but still, the option was there.

“I’d rather spend months yearning for you than thirty seconds inside anyone else.”

We stare at one another. He doesn’t want to be my boyfriend but he says things like that. That’s confusing. Seriously.

But…if I’m being honest, maybe it’s better if we aren’t together-together. Our parents are married. We can’t have a lasting relationship. Maybe it feels temporary with him because it is.

Realizing that, I try to lighten the mood.