Her fingertip slips up low in my belly, and there’s an itch she almost reaches.

“A little…farther,” I gasp. “Curl your finger into me a little.”

She presses against me from the inside, burying herself to her knuckle, and I have to force my toes not to curl as pressure hits the spot.

“Oh, God, that’s it,” I tell her.

Yes. And in a moment, we’re kissing, panting, and she’s rolling her hips into me in time with her finger sliding in and out, caressing my G-spot.

She kisses me hard, bites my neck, licks my lips as her hips piston harder and faster, pushing her finger inside me with each thrust.

Where the fuck…?

I narrow my eyes, even as my orgasm starts to tease. “Where the hell did you learn all this?” I growl.

That fucking new girl Chloe wants her bad. I saw that with just one look.

I don’t think Clay would do that to me while we’re…

But she’s fucking good. How did she get so good? We’ve only done it a few times.

When she doesn’t answer, I grab her jaw. “Where the fuck, Clay?”

She startles. “I…I watched a…a movie.”

“A movie?”

She breathes over my mouth, thrusting into me and groaning herself, because everything is turning her on, too, and she’s liking this.

“Porn, okay? I watched a couple of porn videos.”

I cock an eyebrow. She’ll have to show me those. Most lesbian porn is made by men who do what they think looks good on camera instead of what actually feels good to women.

“Two fingers,” she says. “I’m going to put two in.”

“Clay…” But I don’t have to time to brace myself before she enters me again, this time thicker.

“Oh, God,” I moan.

She grinds into me, sliding in and back out and then in again, kissing and biting until the room is spinning.

“God, you’re so wet,” she whispers. “So hot.”

I yank her shirt up over her head, peeling it off before I pull down her lacy, pink bra.

I caress her breasts as she fucks me and leans down to suck on mine.

Her thumb rubs my nub, and I move into it, our rhythm growing faster.

A phone ring pierces the air, but neither of us stop. Her mouth on my nipple, I thread my fingers up the back of her scalp, under her hair, and kiss the top of her head.

“Would that be your boyfriend?” I whisper, teasing. “Hmm?”

God, what I wouldn’t give for Callum Ames to see his prom queen between my legs.

She thrusts, her tongue licking my hard nipple, and I hold her close. “Fuck me, Clay.”

The ringing keeps going, the pulse in my clit hammers, and heat pools in my belly as my orgasm crests. I brush my lips gently over hers. “He doesn’t need to know,” I tell her. “Just fuck me, Clay. Fuck me harder.”

I’ll still be sneaking off to screw her ten years from now, because that’s how much I love this with her. It’s perfect, and I hate how much I’ll sacrifice to keep it, but I know I won’t be able to stop.

She shakes, and I burst, crying out in the dark house, my orgasm exploding as her hips jolt into me like a car crash.

I press my mouth down on hers, her own cry filling me as she comes, and I taste the sweat on her lips.

I kiss her for a long time, her soft, wet skin feeding me food and water and air and I don’t need anything else.

I caress her face, my muscles burning and my skin overheating.

When her phone rings again, she pulls it out of her skirt and hurls it at the wall. I smile as she lays her head on my chest, and even though my arm is spaghetti and barely holding us up, I would never ask her to move. Not in a million years.

She breathes into my neck. “I don’t want to ever stop this,” she says.

I hold her to me and kiss her head again, my damp skin sticking to hers.

Whether it ends badly or it ends at all, I’m not sure I would do anything differently if I could. This feels too good to not have had it at all.

• • •

I wake with a start, blinking my eyes open in the dark.

It only takes a few seconds, but I register the sheer white canopy overhead, the frigid air conditioning, and the scent of Clay everywhere.

Her bedroom. Clay lays plastered to my body, more on top of me than off, our naked skin pressing together and her head resting on my shoulder. Our legs are entwined, and I look down at her face, feeling her breath on my chin.

I kind of have to go to the bathroom, but I don’t want to move her. My arms tighten around her, and I lightly brush my fingers down her smooth back.

God, her bed feels like a cloud. I could get used to this.

“You’re drunk!” a man yells somewhere down the hall.

I freeze, training my ears. Did Clay lock her door?

“Keep your voice down,” a woman snaps.

I glance over at the clock, reading one-oh-eight a.m., and try to be as still as possible. I should get out of here before her parents find me.

“Is she even home?” the man—Clay’s dad, I assume—asks. “Are you sure? I don’t think you know anything that’s going on with anyone but yourself!”

“How dare you!” Gigi yells. “How dare you! I’m the one here. You’re gone! You’re always gone!”

I hold Clay, wondering how often they don’t guard their volume to save her from hearing them.

“Grow up, Regina!” Mr. Collins growls. “I support you. I pay for that closet full of handbags and shoes. Now I gotta dry your tears because you need attention like a five-year-old?”

“I hate you!” she sobs.

I stop breathing for a second, hearing the tears and agony in her voice. Like she wishes he was dead.

“You don’t hate me,” he replies. “You hate that I finally decided not to let you drag me down with you.”

I swallow, but my mouth is dry. Clay’s breathing has changed, and I look down at her, just making out her eyes staring up at me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, hearing everything I just heard.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” I hold her face and tuck her in close. “We all got our shit.”

“I finally gave up on you, because you know why?” her dad fires back. “We lost a son. We lost a son, and I needed you, and you know what you did? You went to a spa! You got a prescription! You spent Henry’s college fund redecorating this house and buying Clay a car! You wouldn’t come to me. You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t go to therapy with me. You’ve barely let me touch you in four years, Gigi, and when I did, you aborted the only chance we had to be a family again! I needed you! I needed that baby! I lost Henry, same as you!”

I hear her sob, and I try to picture it, but Clay’s mom has always seemed like an icicle, and I can’t.

“I run to her bed,” Mr. Collins continues, “because if I didn’t have that to look forward to, I wouldn’t be able to stick this out with you until Clay graduates.”

A slap reverberates through the door, and Clay buries her face in my neck, breathing hard.

A door slams and then moments later, another farther away, and a beam of headlights flashes out the window before disappearing.