No. I’m most definitely not okay.

I’m trying to ignore the way his hard body is pressing against my back and the big hand that’s splayed across my belly, but it’s like telling a blind person to look at the stars.

“I think so,” I manage to squeak out. And then because I’m a frazzled mess, I blurt, “Do you have a craving for anything in particular?”

My heart beats double time when the hand on my belly tightens as his nose finds the spot just under my ear and he inhales me.

“You know, food-wise,” I whisper, hoping it breaks the spell he’s got me under.

His voice is a low rumble. “Whatever you order is fine.”

A moment later he backs away and resumes his mopping.

I’m about to leave, but then I remember. “Thanks for teaching me how to drive.”

It’s clear I’ve taken him by surprise because he bristles. “How do—”

“I had another flashback.” Giving him a cheeky grin, I run my fingers along the doorframe. “And I’d get us mint chip ice cream for dinner, but you don’t actually like it.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “I do now.”

Past…

“Goddamn, I love your tits,” Oakley groans as he slides his dick between them.

For a moment I wish I wasn’t tied to his bedpost so I could touch him.

Then again, I would have missed out on all the fun—and orgasms—I’ve had while being at his mercy tonight.

“Oh, yeah?” I sweep my tongue along my lower lip suggestively. “Why don’t you show me how much.”

Shooting me a wolfish grin, he squeezes them in his big palms and thrusts harder. “Well, I was planning on coming in your mouth…but…” His face strains with pleasure. “I definitely don’t mind coming all over these.”

It shouldn’t be so hot watching him blow his load all over my boobs, but holy shit…it is.

The deep, gruff noises he makes while his lips part and his eyes close as he comes undone…

It’s utterly mesmerizing.

He’s like a potent narcotic—dulling all the pain—but slowly turning me into an addict.

“Christ,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over mine. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I mock gasp. “For a non-blonde, right?”

There’s a playful glint in his eye when he tugs on my hair. “Asshole.”

I try to close the distance between us and kiss him, but he edges away.

“We aren’t finished yet.” Smirking, he drags his thumb between my cleavage, scoping up some of the white fluid on my tits before bringing it to my mouth. “You have to clean up your mess.”

Meeting his gaze, I suck his thumb, lapping up the salty liquid.

His eyes turn smoky. “Fucking hell, baby girl.”

My heart beats like a drum as he trails open-mouthed kisses down my body, stopping right above my scar.

I inwardly flinch because I hate whenever someone draws attention to the imperfection.

The one that reminds me of the day my world was torn apart.

The pad of his finger gingerly grazes it. “What happened?”

My first instinct is to lie, but I don’t want to. Not with him.

“Car accident.”

I expect him to press me about losing my kidney, but he doesn’t.

He simply sweeps his lips over the scar and murmurs, “You’re still here, though. Which means you’re stronger than what tried to break you.”

Emotion clogs my throat and my mind reels as I process his simple, yet profound statement.

My mother’s illness might have tried to kill me, but I was stronger.

Because I survived.

Somehow, Oakley always manages to say something that not only steals my breath but makes me think of something in a whole new light.

Then again, he’s got a way with words.

“Oakley?” I whisper, hoping what I’m about to say won’t ruin the moment between us.

He looks up. “What’s up?”

“Remember when I set your weed on fire a few weeks ago?”

His jaw tics. “Yeah.”

Here goes nothing.

“Well, I sort of…kind of…looked inside your notebook and—”

“What?” he barks, shifting in bed.

“I know it was wrong, but your poems are—”

“Emo bullshit.” The tendons in his neck stand out as he thumps his chest. “But no matter how stupid they are, they’re personal and they’re mine. You had no fucking right—”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, even though I know it won’t ease his anger or take back what I did. “I just…I couldn’t help myself.” I hold his gaze because what I have to tell him is more important than my pride. “And your poems aren’t emo bullshit…not to me. They’re amazing and—”

“Get the fuck out.” His jaw tics. “Now.”

My stomach bottoms out when I see the look of utter betrayal across his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Get out,” he repeats, harsher this time.

“I can’t.” I eye the restraints tied around my wrists. “I’m still tied up.”

The fact that he won’t even acknowledge me as he unties me, hurts like hell.

I mentally curse myself as I scan the floor for my clothes because me and my stupid big mouth just ruined everything between us.

And that’s when it occurs to me why he’s so mad.

It’s more than me reading his poems.

It’s because I stumbled upon something so personal to him.

Something that—for reasons I’ll never understand—humiliates him and makes him feel vulnerable.

And while there’s one secret that can’t ever leave my lips…

There’s also another, more sinister secret I’m keeping.

Something I never, ever want anyone to know because not only would they never understand…

They’d label me as sick and twisted.

And they’d be right, because what I did was wrong.

Even though my intentions were good.

My palms begin to sweat and my stomach churns with nerves.

Telling him will change everything between us, because there’s no way he won’t judge me.

But for some reason, I feel the need to give him this so he can see I’m willing to be vulnerable for him, too.

Even though I’m positive he’ll think I’m a disgusting mental case and want nothing to do with me afterward.

“Oakley,” I whisper.

My head is spinning so much I feel like I could pass out at any moment from the anxiety coursing through me.

He must hear the emotion in my voice because he stops tugging on his sweatpants and looks at me. “What?”

“My first kiss was with Liam.”

I regret the words the second they leave my mouth and I instinctively slap my hand over my lips, wanting nothing more than to suck them back in.

Oakley’s expression gives nothing away, and for some reason that only makes me want to elaborate, as if I can somehow fix what I said…even though it’s impossible to undo it.

“He was really upset while talking about our mom and the bullies at school and…” I draw my knees to my chest, attempting to shield myself. “He started saying stuff like how he’ll never get married, or have a girlfriend, or get kissed and I…I don’t know.” My voice cracks as tears blur my vision. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted him to know how much I loved him and try to fix it…but he got so angry with me. So fucking angry.” Bringing my hands up, I try to hide my face, my shame, my grief. “Three days later he killed himself.”