Page 47 of Virgin Skin

We’re not fooling him for a second, but I’m not about to admit to anything. I send a sunglass guy emoji for him to puzzle over, then I toss my phone onto the coffee table and get back up. I can smell the coffee brewing, and the cum drying on my skin is no longer sexy, it’s just gross.

“I need a showernow, and I’m really going to need those big, strong hands of yours…”

Piston waves frantically to cut me off as I skip into the kitchen. I skid to a halt, taking another second to register that he has his phone pressed to his ear and a panicked look on his face.

“What?” he says to whoever’s on the other line. “That was the TV. Yeah, Milo’s fine, still sleeping off a hangover after Jag’s field trip to The Grind last night.”

I can’t make out the words, but there’s a booming response from the other end. Piston smirks.

“I said the same thing. The Grind is a cesspool. If I were you, I’d talk to Jag about more appropriate ways to bond with him than clubbing and trolling for skanky ass.” If it weren’t for the self-satisfied look on Piston’s face, his sage tone might convince me that he’s the Boy Scout he’s pretending to be right now.

I roll my eyes, making sure he can see it, and he bites back a laugh.

“No, we’ll be fine. I have a generator and plenty of food.” He shakes his head at whatever Hero says and I wait for the guilt to creep into his expression, but so far he seems relaxed this morning. It’s like now that he knows it’s not his fault that we’re stuck here, he can’t blame himself for whatever happens.

I’m more than happy to let him have that loophole, and we’ll deal with the rest as it comes. He hums and ‘mm-hmms’ along to the one-sided conversation. I hold his gaze for a minute, and then with a wicked grin, I drop the comforter, letting it pool on the kitchen floor at my feet.

Piston’s eyes go wide. He drags his gaze over my bare body like he didn’t just have his hands all over me half an hour ago.

“I’ll be in the shower,” I whisper, leaving the blanket on the floor and sauntering out of the room with a little extra sashay in my hips.

“Hey, man, I just realized I need to go make sure the generator has plenty of fuel, so I’d better let you go,” he says in a hurry. “Stay warm and I’ll see you on the other side of this damn blizzard.”

Then his footsteps thunder down the hall behind me, catching up right as I reach the bathroom. He wraps his arms around me from behind and nips at the shell of my ear.

“You were saying something about my hands?”

PISTON

A fire crackles in my fireplace, casting flickering shadows through the living room while the wind continues to howl outside. Our empty coffee mugs and a small stack of plates with nothing but crumbs on them sit on the coffee table. The furniture is all pushed aside, and the living room floor is scattered with couch cushions and pillows that were meant to be a fort but turned into a makeshift nest instead, along with all the sheets off both our beds.

“Go fish,” Milo says, narrowing his eyes and giving me a wicked grin over his cards.

“Bullshit,” I huff. “You asked for twos three rounds ago, I know you have one.”

“Yeah, and three rounds ago you made me ‘go fish,’” he counters.

“I didn’t have a two then, I just picked it up.”

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. “Cheating at a children’s game. Is that the kind of man you are?”

“I am not cheating.” A smile twitches on my lips. “You’rethe cheater.” I reach for his cards, and he yanks them back.

“Wow, the levels you will stoop to.”

“If you don’t have a two, then let me see,” I demand, getting up on my knees and crawling across the uneven surface of our bedding and cushions towards him.

Milo falls back onto his elbows, awkwardly holding his cards over his head and scooting away from me as fast as he can. I grab his ankle before he can get far though. He shrieks with laughter, trying to kick out of my grip. I crawl on top of him, abandoning my own cards in a messy heap. He bucks and squirms under me, playfully biting my hand in a last-ditch attempt to keep me from seeing his cards.

“Iknewit,” I gasp, wrestling his cards away and holding up the two of diamonds that was in the stack.

“My eyes must have skipped right over it. Honest mistake.”

I toss his cards aside. They flutter through the air and land among the rest of the mess.

“Do you always cheat at kids’ games? Keep an extra set of dice up your sleeves when you play Sorry!? Mark the cards for a friendly game of Uno?” I lower myself until our noses are bumping. He’s warm and pliant under me, still struggling, but clearly just for the pleasure of feeling our bodies move against each other.

Milo doesn’t try to defend himself or even apologize, he just cackles and slams his mouth into mine.

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