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Because, apparently, you like it.

“You’re a little…overeager.”

“I’m not even hard yet.”

I noticed.

A series of dings saves me from a rebuttal I don’t have.

Guy sniffs the air, and I half expect him to make a comment about my odor.

“You burned it.”

Oh. The popcorn. Technically, the microwave burned it since I pushed the Popcorn button.

“Oops,” I say unapologetically. “Good thing you’re full.”

Guy laughs. “Snacks during movies don’t count. Everyone knows that.”

“Just not all snacks, huh?”

“You really want your pussy licked, don’t you?”

Arms crossed, I shrug. I honestly don’t know if I do. He said I taste bad. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I subjected him to that?

But it would be nice if he wanted to. I’d settle for him just acting like he did.

“Tell you what. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning. As soon as we wake up, when I’ve got morning wood and will do anything for release, I’ll try then.”

I don’t want my boyfriend to have to work up to something that should be mutually beneficial. I want to be held down and devoured, fucked, worshipped without hesitation.

“Can you grab the drinks?”

“I can quench your thirst, babe. Just say ‘ah.’”

I draw out “I” to sound like “ah” before adding “Will be in the theater.”

Guy’s chuckle follows me out of the kitchen. What can I say? Finding out I’m to blame for my boyfriend’s cunnilingus aversion practically killed my sex drive.

Again, I find myself wanting to escape somewhere quiet, away from everything and everyone. If sleep was a guaranteed relief, I’d go upstairs right now.

The pool flashes in my mind. I found a reprieve there, if only a brief one.

But I wasn’t alone. Khaos was with me.

I didn’t know that at the time, never could’ve guessed he’d follow me in. The man who said I tasted tragic. Did he mean bad?

If that were the case, why would he act like he enjoyed my scent the very next day? Realistically there was no identifiable trace of me on his hand that long after, yet Khaos inhaled his palm like there was and he wanted to savor it like fine wine. Was that really just to torment me?

I don’t get it. If my pussy gives off a man-repelling stench, shouldn’t I have picked up on it by now? I’m a cheerleader. I’m around all kinds of body odors. All. The. Time. Whenever I’m stretching and my face goes near my crotch, I’ve never picked up on anything foul. No one on the team has ever said a word. Thank God. Not to mention, I’m showering twice a day, every day while cheer’s in session.

As for taste, I don’t know how to tell that. I guess I’d have to try it myself…

Halting on the stairwell, I quickly check the top before sticking my hand down the front of my underwear and dragging my middle finger through the wetness that gathered there moments ago when I thought Guy was…um…going to fuck me.

The coating on my finger doesn’t have any smell—literally none—so I give it a tentative lick. Not tasting anything, I suck the digit clean. It’s not bad. It’s not good. It’s just nothing. I haven’t worked out today, so maybe that’s the difference. But if that is what makes me unpalatable, why doesn’t Guy ever go down on me? I do have days off. I’m not a machine.

I traipse down the rest of the stairs and head for the theater, only to freeze when I pull open the door.