SIENNA.

“No kissing on the mouth after the first time,” Noah said, voice low and steady while three of his fingers were already buried inside me on the laundry-room floor. “No staying the night. No talking about this outside a locked door. Repeat it.”

I was on my back against the cold tile, dress shoved up to my waist, thighs spread wide around his hips. The washer hummed behind us. His free hand pinned both of my wrists above my head. Every slow curl of his fingers dragged another wet sound from me.

“No kissing,” I whispered, hips rolling up to take him deeper. “No overnight. No talking about it.”...