Shane is no longer carefully building anticipation. He gorges on my mouth, sucking, nibbling, moaning. If Fletch wasn’t holding me, my legs would collapse beneath me. But he is holding me. Murmuring how good I taste, how my tongue was like candy in his mouth. Every fantasy I’ve had about sex pales in comparison to what just kissing these boys is like. Heat explodes inside me, rippling through my veins like rivers of lava.

The kiss grows darker, rougher. Shane moves one hand to my ass and lifts me until I’m notched against him and can feel how hard he is. Fletch pushes me from behind so I’m grinding on Shane. This is not a lesson anymore. This is full make-out foreplay.

My breasts are smashed up against Shane’s chest, my nipples hard little points. I bet he can feel them even though we are separated by layers of clothes. Fletch starts pushing with enough force that Shane starts walking backward until he is shoved up against the fridge and me between them. “Fuck,” he growls and rubs into me harder. “So fucking hot.”

Fletch has got the back of my head in his hand now and sort of mashing me more into Shane’s face. He grunts his approval, like he likes watching me take Shane’s tongue deep in my mouth. That this sharing is just as hot for him as it is for me.

And then suddenly, he’s gone. The absence of him startling. Shane lets go shortly after.

“Jesus, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and everybody’s still dressed. Little bit, you’re some kind of sex witch.” My smile feels shaky. “Hey,” Shane catches my eyes with his, “you okay?”

I nod, dazed. My lungs are still trying to catch up and my brain long since left the building. “Yeah, I’m just...”

There probably aren’t words for what I’m feeling.

“Yeah, me too. Fletch?”

Fletch is bracing himself against a counter across the kitchen with his back to us. He’s breathing hard and all his upper body muscles are tense and sharp. “Fine, man.” He mumbles something about a shower and he’ll grab a plate later and he’s out of the kitchen leaving Shane and I openmouthed at his abrupt departure.

“Well, that was weird.”

“He’s going to take a cold shower, Penelope. Not so weird. I better see some furious note-taking happening after all this.”

My face scrunches up in confusion, and then I realize I’m still clutching the notebook. THE notebook. “You don’t get to read my notes.”

“We’ll see.”