It dawns on me that I’ve never actually seen Ethan laugh. The night we met it was flirty. But it was an intense, sexy flirty. Not the fun, silly kind. At uni, he smiles, even cracks the occasional dry joke. But I’ve never heard him laugh. It’s a deep, rumbly sound, the vibration of which goes straight to my lady parts.
Our shoulders bump as we walk, and my fingers itch to take his hand. To warm them in his firm grip. To feel those callouses on his palms. So I stuff them in my pockets.
I know I should say a quick goodnight and charge off to my room as fast as my legs can carry me. But there’s a yearning I’ve never felt before. A yearning to feel his body again, sure. But it’s more than that. A yearning to be close. To share quiet stories about our lives, our plans, our ambitions. All that should be freaking me out. But the yearning …
We stop in the dimly lit hallway halfway between his door and mine. Both holding our keys in our hands. Yet we hesitate.
“Thank you, Sadie. For pulling me out of the spiral I’d got myself into. And for reminding me of the good things in my life.”
I don’t know what to say. Do I go with something heartfelt and genuine, or do I put some essential distance between us and make a joke? My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. All I can do is drink up his shadowed face with my eyes.
“Well, goodnight.” Ethan turns to his door, and I turn to mine. I slide the brass key into the old lock and try to turn it. Nothing happens. No matter how hard I twist, it doesn’t want to budge.
I smell his peppery cologne, feel his heat, before a strong hand reaches over my shoulder, settling on my fingers.
My whole body starts to liquify, from his touch on the tips of my fingers, up my arm, into my shoulders. My hand falls, limp, away from the key. Without conscious thought or permission, I melt back into Ethan’s broad, firm chest.
The key turns, his hand drops to my hip, his long fingers spreading across my lower belly, flexing gently, branding myflesh through jeans and jumper. The door swings slowly open. But Ethan and I remain still. Fused.
“This is a bad idea.” My words are barely a murmur.
“It is,” he breathes against my neck. There’s an intake of breath, as though he’s inhaling me, the way I’m inhaling him.
“You should go,” I choke out. It sounds more likestay.
“I should.” Again, his words are a breath, whispering over my flesh.
One heartbeat. Two. Three.
“Please don’t.” My eyes drift closed. My head tilts, giving him access to more of my shivering flesh.
“I don’t think I could.”
And then his teeth are nipping softly at my ear. His hand tightens on my hip. His body presses more firmly against my back. Heat and hardness.
And we’re on the other side, the door swinging closed behind us.
I turn in his arms, and we kiss.
We kiss and we kiss, and we kiss. His hands cupping my face, sliding into my hair. My hands clutching his shirt, gripping his arms. The sun could rise and set and rise again and I would have no idea. Because this kiss, his lips, his taste, is more than I’ve been imagining.
The first time, the only time, we were together, we didn’t kiss. This time, I can’t seem to get enough. I can’t remember why I’ve never liked kissing. Because this is divine. It’s delicious. He’s delicious.
We spin slowly towards the bed in a kissing waltz, sliding zippers and releasing buttons as we go. Until we fall onto the high antique bed.
Ethan breaks the kiss and drops his forehead to mine.
“I don’t have a condom.” Such regret in his voice.
“Did you not check out the minibar? This is a very woke B & B.”
He looks over his shoulder, at the old dresser that’s been converted into a tea-making setup. Next to the kettle is a basket full of goodies. Chocolates. Nuts. A half-bottle of wine. And condoms. A laugh rumbles from Ethan’s chest, and he stands, pulling off his boots and socks before crossing the room in nothing but his jeans and grabbing the box.
“It’s a three pack,” he says, and I’m not sure whether he’s suggesting three is sufficient, but based on our last encounter, I’d say not. Either way, I can’t puzzle it out when he’s stalking towards me and I’m looking at his chest. His shoulders. His arms. And the narrow line of a happy trail disappearing across pale skin and tight muscle into the unzipped top of his jeans.
“There’s always the pack in your room.” I try to toe off my boots, but they’re resistant.
Ethan drops the pack of condoms on the bed beside me and lifts my foot, pulling the lace free and sliding my boot and sock off. He kisses my ankle, lips warm, sucking lightly, before returning my foot to the bed, positioning it near my hip, knee bent. With the other boot removed, he slides my hips to the edge of the bed, my legs forming the perfect cradle for his head.
