"No. A woman who knows what she wants."
My glance shifts upstairs, toward Brendon's room. "True."
"I know I've told you a million times, but don't let anyone tell you what you want is wrong. Not me. Not Mr. Brooding Bad Boy. Not your teachers. And not Dean. If you're into freaky shit—"
"Like what?"
"I dunno. Having your toes sucked. Dressing like a baby. There are tons of fetishes. And it's always the quiet ones. Like Brendon. He's into whips and chains and all that stuff. I've heard the guys talking about it a million times."
"Oh?" God, my cheeks are burning.
"Don't tell me I scared you. I mean, you're getting hand jobs in—" She gasps. "Did this happen at karaoke."
"Maybe."
"Oh my God. This is what I get for touching up my makeup in that shitty bathroom with no light." She shakes her head with regret. "I could have seen the signs."
"Oh. Well. It was fast."
"Yeah? He's that good?"
"Better."
"You know he has that piercing. Did you see it? Tell me you saw it."
"No. It was just him."
"Dean's a gentleman?"
"I guess so."
"Are you into it?"
"Huh?"
"The piercing."
"Oh. Maybe."
She laughs. "Oh my God, Kinky Kaylee! You're into it."
"What? No. I... I mean, sorta."
"So, when are you—" She adopts Dean's I'm fucking with you voice. "Popping that cherry?"
"Tomorrow." He said tomorrow. I'm demanding tomorrow.
Her jaw drops. "Already? We're not prepared. We need makeup. And lingerie. And I need to go over this with you. You're not gonna have some shitty first time. You're going to come, even if you have to explain it to him."
"Is it that serious?"
"Hell yeah." She turns back to the batter and scoops a spoonful onto the pan. "Good thing I have you all night. And after we'll get ice cream and you'll tell me if the rumors are true."
"Huh?"
"About his Prince Albert."
"Oh. Yeah. Sure."
"You promise you won't hold back on details?"
"About the sex? No. I promise. I'll tell you everything."
I barely manage breakfast or lunch.
I struggle to concentrate on studying for next week's Latin quiz.
My creative writing project remains a blank page.
My Kindle offers no solace. I read the same line twenty times before I give up on concentration and sit in front of the TV.
I can't even think about Grandma. I stare at a dozen ticket options. There are too many airports here and near Grandma's place. LAX or Long Beach or John Wayne. Newark or JFK or La Guardia. Nonstops. One stops. Two stops. Red eyes. Early morning flights. Ones that leave in the afternoon and get in late.
I give up on figuring it out now. Tune to Days of Our Lives. The soap grabs almost none of my attention.
But it's enough to take the edge off the nerves fluttering around my stomach.
Today.
It's happening today.
Soon.
With every commercial break, those nerves smack into each other a little harder.
I nearly jump when the door handle turns.
He steps inside all tall, tattooed, and handsome.
He's in his usual outfit. Black jeans. Black converse. And a v-neck, a powder blue one that matches my glasses.
Wicked I'm going to have my way with you smile on his beautiful face.
He kicks the door closed. Tosses his keys on the table. "Hey."
"Hey." My voice barely eeks out. "How was work?"
"Fucking awful."
"Oh."
"Couldn't stop thinking about you." He leaves his shoes by the door. "It took me forever to do a fucking heart tattoo."
"An anatomical heart?"
He shakes his head. "A tiny black outline." He holds his fingers in the shape of a heart. "You own my thoughts. You know that?"
"You do too."
He closes the distance between us.
I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
He presses his palm into my lower back, holding my body against his. "You think about anything besides fucking me today?"
Fuck, the pressure from his palm—
The intensity in his dark eyes—
The demanding edge to his voice—
I only barely manage to respond. "No."
His voice softens. "You're nervous."
"A little."
He slides his hand over my ass and thighs then traces the hem of my dress. "I'll walk you through it."
I just barely nod. It's too much. Too intense. And too many other thoughts are screaming for my attention. I need him erasing them. I need him making me forget.
He leans down to brush his lips against mine. It's soft. Barely a kiss. Barely a taste.
He brings his lips to my ear. "I want you so lost in me you forget yourself." His breath warms my skin. "I want you to follow my commands without thinking. I want that much of your trust."
I slide my hand under his t-shirt and press my palm against his back. He's so hard and strong. He could tear me in half without a second thought.
But he wouldn't.
I already trust him not to hurt me.
Trust him with almost everything.
I want to give my body over to him.
To be his.
To lose track of everything but his words, his touch, his kiss.
He pulls my dress over my thighs. "What do you want, angel?"
The pet name makes me blush. Words rise up in my throat, but they're a tangled mess. I want everything.
"You want your hands around my cock?"
"Yes."
"Your lips?"
"Yes."
"You want to come on my cock?"
"Everything, Brendon. Everything."
"Then go to my room, take off your dress, and wait for me on the bed." His voice drops back to that demanding tone.
His expression changes. More in control.
More everything.
He gives me a long once-over. "Don't make me ask twice."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kaylee
Now. I'm going to go to his bed and strip now.
Why does that set me on fire?
I'm hot everywhere.
Every part of me is desperate to strip in Brendon's room. To wait for him. To be on display for him.
It's scary how much I want to follow his orders.
But it's too exhilarating for me to care.
I make my way up the stairs, down the hall, into his room.
It's quiet. Empty. Just that big four-poster bed, the dresser, the desk in the corner.
I undo my zipper, step out of my dress, and sit on the bed.
My reflection is there, staring back at me from the mirror opposite his bed. I never thought about its placement, but now it makes perfect sense.
It's so he can watch.
So I can watch.
I stare back at reflection Kaylee. Her eyes are on fire. Her knees are pressed together. Her chipped nails are sinking into her thighs.