Page 94

“And you can’t…touch me. I can touch you.” I’ll probably have to. “But you can’t touch me.”

“Okay.”

“First, let’s—”

“Can I make a suggestion of my own?”

“They weren’t suggestions. And no.”

“You can’t talk about strokes—”

“That’s what they’re called.”

“—or being on your knees, especially when I can see your soaking wet panties clinging to every dip of your cunt.”

He could see through my panties? I guess there is a difference between swimsuits and underwear.

“Okay,” I attempt to say with the same nonchalance he used, except with a face that has to be at least a hundred degrees hotter. Why don’t boys blush like girls? Life would be so much more entertaining.

“For the record…”

“You’re talking.”

“I like it when you take charge.”

Outwardly, I ignore that comment while positioning us so we’re face-to-face, about three feet between us. Inwardly, I’m burning up. Why isn’t the cold water helping? Like at all?

“Not enough to watch Dommy porn, but…I like it.”

“I’ll dunk you.”

Khaos laughs and puts his hands up innocently.

“For your information, Guy watches all kinds of porn.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend Guy’s porn preferences. They’re his.

“With you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You watch porn?”

I lift my arms in a loose W. “If that’s what he wants.”

“What do you want?”

To reenact the scenes I read in my books.

“Right now? To teach you how to swim.”

Thankfully, Khaos lets the topic go.

Even though I’m very comfortable in the water, I do all the exercises alongside him. So we end up splashing our faces before submerging them up to our eyebrows, once while blowing bubbles, then again holding our breath before blowing water off our lips when we come up.

“Add that to the suggestion box.”

There is no suggestion box, more like a trash can because everything I put in it keeps being tossed out.

“What?” I ask, genuinely lost.