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Jordan buries his face in my neck, his hot breath sending chills down my spine. With every roll of his hips, my bones liquefy, and the coil spiraling around my insides tightens until I’m one big knot.

“Jordan . . .” I drag his face back to mine, moaning into his mouth, desperate and incoherent. “I need . . .”

“I know, princess.” He snakes a hand between us and uses his fingers to drag me closer to the edge.

My breath stutters as every nerve ending in my body comes alive, lighting me up like Christmas morning. He deepens his strokes until I feel him everywhere. I arch into him, rocking my hips to meet every thrust as I chase my release.

“More,” I plead. I don’t even know what I’m begging for—I just want him. All of him.

Jordan groans and deepens our kiss, swallowing my incoherent ramblings as I teeter on the precipice. I’m close. So close to flying apart under his weight—his touch—I can taste it.

His fingers slide over my swollen flesh, driving me higher and higher until the air is too thin, and my legs tremble as I gasp for breath. The bands wrapping my insides thicken, the tension building to the point of breaking.

“Let go, princess,” he whispers into my hair. His voice is rough, as if he’s barely holding himself together while he pulls me apart, piece by glorious piece.

He brings his mouth to my breast, sliding his tongue across the hardened peak, and the coil finally snaps, shattering me into a million pieces.

The rain finally stops, but with less than an hour to sunrise, I’m in no hurry to leave Jordan’s bed. I text my mom to let her know I’m safe, and her only concern is whether I remembered to bring condoms.

“Your mom’s something else.” Jordan shakes his head as he reads Mom’s text over my shoulder.

“She means well.” I cringe into his chest. “She’ll be disappointed we didn’t use her condoms.”

“It’s not too late,” he murmurs, nuzzling my ear. “If you want to christen a few of those, too.”

I laugh. “I’d rather not. That’s too weird.”

“You never told me why your mom is so hell-bent on you losing your virginity.” He rests his chin on the top of my head.

“It all goes back to my dad.”

He lifts his head, clearly confused. “Your dad?”

“Indirectly. He left my mom for a younger woman, and now she feels like she wasted her entire life on the wrong guy. She gave me this whole speech about grabbing life by the balls and not putting my eggs in one basket.” I glance at Jordan’s unreadable expression.

He absently coils my curls around his finger. “That’s kinda sad. What does your dad say about the whole thing?”

“Nothing.” I shift in his arms, shrinking away from the topic. “I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

Jordan’s fingers still in my hair. “How long?”

“Almost eight months. Not including the three words he said to me on my birthday.”

“Damn, princess, that’s a long time. Why would he stop talking to you like that?”

“It wasn’t him; it was me.” I clear my throat before launching into a rushed explanation. “He left us. Broke my mom’s heart. And in a way, he broke mine, too.”

Jordan unwinds his arms from around me and sits up. “And he was okay with that? Not seeing his daughter?”

“Not at first.” My stomach twists as I relive the painful memories. “He tried . . . for a little while anyway. He sent Mom money, but she sent it right back. Accepting anything from him means admitting we’re not capable of surviving without him. And then I found out he’s marrying her, and he wants me to go to his wedding. I can’t even begin to unpack how I feel about that.”

“And you won’t even try to work things out with him?” Jordan’s eyebrows shoot up as shock registers on his face, putting me on the defensive.

“He’s the one who left. He can’t show up again whenever it’s convenient for him—thinking he can buy my love with cars, fancy clothes, or college funds so I’ll accept his new life . . . new wife.” A shudder runs through me. “I feel dirty even thinking about it.”

Jordan’s mouth hangs open for a long moment, and the air between us thickens. “You’ve had a college fund this whole time?”

“Not exactly.” I squirm under his intense gaze as a ribbon of unease wraps around my throat. “I guess if you want to get technical, I do, but it’s not like I have access to it. My father controls the money. And even if I wanted to use it, which I don’t, any time I as much as bring it up, Mom starts crying.”