“You taste like beer,” I murmur with a drunken giggle as I kiss him back, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt as we back toward his bed with our beers still in our hands.

“And you taste like Bacardi,” he mutters against my lips, and then suddenly he’s pulling away. “Wait, how wasted are you?”

I roll my eyes. “First of all, even if I was wasted, it wouldn’t matter. You can’t take advantage of me when I’m yours,” I say and this lustful look flares in his eyes. “And second of all, I’m not that wasted. I’ll remember everything we did in the morning.”

“I do like your logic.” He takes the unopened beer from my hand and sets it down on top of the dresser along with his. “But are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

That’s all the convincing he needs. With one swift tug, he jerks my dress over my head so forcefully that he tears the corner of the fabric and sends the pins in my hair flying through the air.

He pulls a “whoops” face, but I cover his mouth with my hand. “It’s just a dress.” Then I crush my lips against his, his lip ring searing hot against my mouth as my hair falls down and brushes against my shoulders. Minutes later, all our clothes are on the floor and we’re lying on his bed, him on his back and me straddling him. He thrusts his hips up to me halfway as I slide down on top of him. His eyes shut as I grip onto his shoulders and I gasp when he sinks farther into me. My hair falls loosely down my back as I slant my head back and shut my eyes. Gripping onto my hips, he rhythmically thrusts inside me over and over again. Our bodies bead with sweat as my mind drifts further away. Helpless energy channels through me and I dig my nails into his flesh, needing something to hold on to. Finally he takes my hands and I grasp on to him until I come apart. I cry out his name and every single worry I had disappears and all that’s left is the blissful contentment that only Micha can make me feel.

Chapter 8

Micha

I’m lying in my bed, thinking about how to tell Ella about the tour when Ethan kicks everyone out of the house. Darkness has settled into my room and the noise and voices slowly dwindle until the house becomes silent. I sit up, but only to turn my iPod on, selecting “I Can Feel a Hot One,” by Manchester Orchestra, then lie back down. Ella is naked beside me, flat on her stomach, her hair scattered all over her back, the sheets pulled up halfway over her body as she sleeps soundlessly.