Mr. Varkas’s kiss was rougher than it had been before, and a little messy. He kissed without direction, simply moving his lips.

I kissed him back just as messily, my fingers deep in his hair. He broke the kiss when we needed to catch our breath, tugging my shirt over my head, and I sat up to help him take it off. He threw the shirt to the side before he was on me, his hands moving and feeling my bare skin, his lips on my neck.

I wanted to touch him, too.

“Your shirt,” I breathed. ...