The press of Chloe’s mouth against his sent a jolt through Jordan’s system like someone had dropped a live wire into his bloodstream. Her lips were soft, tentative at first, then less so as she leaned into him with increasing confidence.

Holy shit. This was happening.

Jordan’s hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading through silky black hair. The blue streak wrapped around his index finger like it had been waiting for him. Chloe made a small sound against his mouth—"Mmh"—and that single syllable knocked something loose in Jordan’s brain.

She tasted like white cheddar popcorn and vanilla lip balm. The combination should’ve been weird, but Jordan’s brain filed it under "best taste ever discovered by mankind" and demanded more immediately.

Chloe broke the kiss, pulled back just enough to look at him. Her pupils had expanded to nearly swallow the brown of her irises.

"You’re better at this than I expected," she whispered.

"Rude." Jordan grinned against her mouth.

"I meant it as a compliment." Her fingers played with the hem of his t-shirt. "Now I wonder what else you’re good at."

The girl who’d slammed her door in his face yesterday was now sitting half on top of him making suggestive comments. Life came at you fast.

Chloe shifted her weight, one leg swinging over to straddle his lap. The movement was smooth, practiced—the kind of move that would’ve made his brain short-circuit a month ago. Now he watched it happen with a strange detachment, like he was observing from outside himself.

This girl had thousands of subscribers paying to see her in much less than those white shorts and oversized shirt. And here she was, settling her weight onto his thighs, hands braced on his shoulders, looking at him like he was the only viewer who mattered.

Chloe rolled her hips experimentally. "Hmm."

"Hmm what?"

"We fit." She did it again, more deliberately. "Like, really well."

Jordan’s hands found her waist, feeling the curve where her shirt had ridden up to expose a strip of skin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he opened for her.

Jordan lost track of time. Could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours, just her mouth on his and her weight in his lap and her hands exploring his shoulders, his chest, his arms with increasing boldness.

"Your shirt needs to go," she murmured against his jaw. "Like, immediately."

"You first."

"Mmm, no." She tugged at the white cotton. "You’re the one with the mysterious overnight transformation. I need visual confirmation."

Jordan laughed, the sound turning into a groan when she nipped at his lower lip. "Fine."

He reached back and yanked his shirt off in one motion, tossing it onto her coffee table where it knocked over an empty water bottle. The cool air hit his bare chest, but Chloe’s hands followed immediately, spreading heat wherever she touched.

"Oh my god," she breathed, running her palms over his pecs, down to his abs. "What the hell? You look like an actual fitness model."

"Thanks?"

"Not a compliment. An accusation." Her fingertips traced each defined muscle with something like academic interest. "No one looks like this without years of work. No one."

Jordan thought about explaining the magical phone app that had upgraded his body overnight, decided against it, and went with: "Good genes?"

"Bullshit." But she didn’t stop touching him. Her hands explored every new contour of his torso like she was mapping territory for future reference. "This is some kind of black magic fuckery."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

Chloe’s mouth curved into that half-smile that always gave Calypso’s subscribers heart palpitations. "You should."

She leaned forward to press her lips to his neck, and Jordan’s hands slid down from her waist to cup her ass through the white shorts. The contact made her gasp against his skin—a small, surprised sound that shot straight to his core.

"Sorry, should I—"

"Don’t you dare move your hands." She pushed back against his palms, encouraging. "I’ve been waiting for you to do that since you took your shirt off."

"Only that long? Not since I walked in the door?"

"Shut up." She bit his earlobe, not gently. "You’re ruining the moment with your stupid face and your stupid mouth saying stupid things."

"You like my stupid mouth." He squeezed, feeling the perfect roundness of her ass filling his hands. "And my stupid hands."

"Mmmh. Maybe." She rolled her hips again, more insistent this time. "Definitely liking the hands right now."

Jordan slid his palms lower, fingers curling under the hem of her shorts to touch bare skin. Chloe made a sound that belonged in one of her subscriber-only videos—a breathy "Ahhh" that drove straight through his remaining self-control.

"That works," she panted against his neck. "That works really well."

Her thighs tightened around his, and she rocked against him with more purpose. The friction sent sparks racing up Jordan’s spine. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass, guiding her movements, setting a rhythm that made her breath hitch.

Chloe reached for the bottom of her oversized shirt, pulled it up and over her head in one fluid motion. The garment landed somewhere behind the couch, forgotten instantly. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. Just smooth, pale skin and perfect breasts that had starred in approximately eight thousand of Jordan’s private fantasies over the last six months.

Reality was better.

"You’re staring." Chloe’s voice had a smile in it.

"Hard not to." Jordan let his eyes move over her, taking in the view from this close with no screen between them. "You’re gorgeous."

A flush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest. "Flatterer."

"Just honest." His hands moved from under her shorts to her waist, then higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. "Can I?"

"Please." The word came out like a command and a plea tangled together.