He didn’t let me leave after the first time.
Kai cleaned me up with a T-shirt from the floor, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap like the party on the other side of the wall didn’t exist. I was still in my shirt, jeans gone, his release cooling on my thighs. His hand stroked idle circles on my hip, possessive in a way that should have made me panic.
It made me stay.
“How long?” he asked.
“How long what?”
“How long have you been filming yourself thinking about me.”
I stared at his throat. “Since October. After the mixer. You said my name when you asked for the charger and I went home and—yeah.”
Kai’s laugh was low. “A charger. That’s what did it.”
“Don’t make it cute.”
“It’s not cute.” His fingers slid between my legs again, lazy, collecting the mess he had
