Page 230 of Forbidden Lessons

Every bit of it.

Chapter 71

Kai

I’m a fucking sadist. What the fuck am I still doing here? Why haven’t I called the cops on Rooke? Onmyself?

The wrongness of this moment, of our actions, it’s radiating through my entire body like a preternatural fever.

Or is it need?

Because, fuck, I need release so bad I might die without it.

Is that why I watch Rooke as he traces his fingers down Haven’s belly, as he strokes her pussy?

Like I’ll get what I need through some bullshit vicarious thrill.

Can’t stop watching though.

Can’t stop trying to get blood pumping through my dick, because it feels like a race, and I’m lagging way, way behind.

Rooke’s been hard since he showed me how to tie Haven to the headboard. I’m surprised he’s still got his cock in his pants. I’d be inside Haven already, making her scream again, but in a different way. Like I wish I’d done three years ago, when she’d wanted me to.

Before I’d pussied out. But, fuck, man, she was sixteen, and I’d turned twenty less than two months before that.

People get locked up for that. One of the seniors in our frat had just been in court for that shit.

I knew she wouldn’t tell. But it still felt wrong. Maybe because I’d known Haven since she was a little girl, and sometimes, when she grinned just right, I could still see that blond-haired, blue eyed little nymph dancing in the wildflowers.

She was trying to make me feel better, saying it was just sex.

That just made it worse.

How could I fuck my best friend and not have it mean something? Of course it meant something?—

everything

—it meant fucking everything.

When my family moved out of the trailer park, when me and Haven weren’t in the same school anymore, we lost contact. And I thought it was a great time to move on. To start making friends. Maybe even date.

Ha. What a fucking joke.

I was a loner.

A loser.

Haven got me. I got her. We were connected on a deeper level than best friends, girlfriend, boyfriend.

I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was a constant presence that commented on everything I did with her unique blend of naïveté and cynicism.

She thought my choice in women was pathetic. That I went for looks when we both knew it wasn’t about that.

And then she’d call me a loser, and I knew she’d be right.

That’s what I am, what I’ve always been.

A loser who can’t even get my dick up when the only girl I’ve ever loved is naked in front of me, about to get fucked by a man older, more experienced,better at everything.

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