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and you own them. 
    “Do that again,” he says. I scrape my teeth down his chest, over the taut ab muscles covering his stomach, down to the soft, fuzzy hair waiting below. He jerks when I kiss him soft and slow, and lick the skin so close to where he wants me most. I laugh and inhale the scent of chlorine and sunscreen off his body.
    “You’re laughing at me.” He pulls me for ward so he can touch my breasts through my dress, running his thumbs over the tops.
    “A little,” I say. “You’re cute.”
    He kisses me, better than the first time. He’s a fast learner and I’m a dedicated teacher. It’s a firm kiss, perfect tongue, perfect pace, perfect boy.
    “You’re beautiful .” He positions me so I’m straddling his hips, my dress hiking up my thighs. We’re on a lounge chair in the dark and the pool has an eerie calm about it at night. His warm fingers trail like fire up and down my legs. I concentrate, attempting to ignore his cock, but it’s impossible because it’s hard, so hard, and right there.
    I need to know more about this kid. I need to know what he knows, what he’s done. I need to make myself feel better about the position we ’re in. Literally.
    “So you really don’t have a girlfriend?”
    His eyes narrow. What girl asks about another? he wonders. I can see the question in his eyes. I hold his gaze until recognition takes hold. This girl, the one here for this. The one willing to do that . The one not jealous because there is nothing to be jealous about.
    “No, not now, ” he tells me.
    “So, before?”
    He shrugs. “Here and there. I’m not really into relationships. I’ve always been focused on school and sports and just hanging out with my friends.”
    I kiss him for his honesty and for being so freaking cute. When I pull back I say, “That’s nice. I was kind of the same way.” I stare at him for a minute. The sharp jaw, the sun-kissed hair. “Carter, tell me about your experience.”
    “What?” This takes him off guard and I suppose it should. Teenage girls don’t talk about things like this. They have fumbling sex in the back seat of a car or awkward blowjobs in their parents’ basement. They do it, but they don’t talk about it.
    I kiss him again and rub my chest against his. The cotton of my dress is thin and I’m not wearing a bra. My erect nipples mesmerize him and he can’t stop looking at them—touching them, and if we keep this up my panties will soak through.
    I lick his ear and whisper, “Tell me what you’ve done. What you know how to do and what you want to experience.” When I look at his face again, I realize that he understands, because his mouth is agape and his cheeks flush red. The wheels spin furiously in his head.
    “I’ve had sex before,” he declares, which I’ve suspected because he’s just confident enough. “With two different girls. The first was a senior who asked me to Prom when I was a sophomore. I had no idea what I was doing,” he laughs. His fingers dip between my thighs like he’s letting me know this is no longer the case. “We had sex in the hotel room while her best friend puked up peach Schnapps. God, it was awkward but…” he shrugs again. “Then, I had a girlfriend earlier this year. I liked her well enough, but, I don’t know. I go to Catholic school—there’s a lot of guilt going around. It’s a little awkward when a girl sucks you off and then you see her duck into the confessional the next day.”
    For once , I know a little something about guilty sex. “I’d like to see you in that uniform.”
    He lifts an eyebrow. “That can be arranged.”
    He’s acting calm but he stopped moving his hips a while ago. Probably because any more movement will set him off. I fight the urge to test this theory, because he and I need to set some things straight before things get out of hand.
    “ Carter, I just feel like maybe I should be clear here, before we go further.”
    “About what?”
    I take a deep breath.