KAIA
A shiver runs down my spine, goosebumps prickling my skin like he just dragged his mouth over me instead of speaking.
I hate that it feels good.
I hate that my thighs squeeze together on instinct, like I’m some hormonal teenager instead of a grown woman with common sense.
My mouth opens as I intend to utter something sharp, something to ruin this moment before it swallows me whole.
“Don’t call me that.”
His hand moves, settling heavily and warm against my hip, holding me in place. My breath catches again.
“Why not?” His tone is infuriatingly calm, like he already knows the answer.
“I hate it.” I say, my voice weak.
“You hate it,” he murmurs, eyes burning into mine, “because you love it.”
Fuck. My heart actually stutters.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts, because if I don’t,
