“I’m, uh, still a little hot,” I said, staring up at the ceiling with him poised in front of me. Oakley chuckled, pulling away from me. I’d expected him to start working at the buttons of my skinny jeans, but instead he went over to the glass of water and took a cube of ice out of it with his fingers before plopping it in his mouth.

I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing when he started kissing my neck again. I gasped at the cold ice mixed with his hot tongue trailing over my skin. He trailed lower, licking at my collarbone and cleavage. Reaching behind my back, Oakley then unclasped my bra, letting the thin material fall to the ground.

“Still hot, Solver?” he asked.

“N-nope,” I stammered. He wrapped his lips around my nipple and sucked. Oh holy mother of trash television.

His hands moved lower and lower, unbuttoning my pants as he moaned against my skin. I writhed against him as he worked my jeans over my thighs and off my body. The only thing I was wearing were my pink hip huggers.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” I asked as he peppered kisses on my thighs.

“Because I’m in charge,” he replied. My breath hitched when he sucked on a tender sliver of skin on my inner thigh. My legs started to shake. “Put your hands on the window, Solver.”

I did as he told me, turning around and leaning forward on the glass where anyone could see us. It was still dark in his apartment, but it wouldn’t be difficult for someone to see me. Oakley was on his knees at my back, and I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him grab the fabric of my panties with his sharp teeth and drag them down my legs.

“Oh my Pornhub, you’re, like, really good at that,” I said. I pushed thoughts of practice makes perfect far from my mind.

“You always like to be in control, Amanda,” he said before dragging his teeth along the cheek of my ass. “I think it’s time for you to let go. Spin around.”

I did as he asked and looked down at him. Seeing Oakley on his knees in front of me was a powerful feeling. Also, from this angle, I could tell that he had ridiculously long lashes. Why did guys always get pretty lashes? It seriously wasn’t fair—

“Get out of your head, Amanda Matthews,” he ordered, lifting my left leg up and placing my thigh over his shoulder. He was eye level with my cave of wonders, and a flash of insecurity spiked through me. Did he like shaved girls? Did I have any razor bumps? Oh my God, I should have eaten some pineapple this morning. Wasn’t that supposed to make you taste good? Please kiss me. Holy son of a motherfucking—