He stays buried for a moment, kissing my shoulder, before pulling out slowly. We collapse together onto the counter, tangled and spent—for now.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, that dry wit surfacing. "See? Told you the night's young. Fancy a drink, or shall we continue the tour?"
I laugh softly, curling into him. "Continue. Definitely continue."
He gives me a look—one that promises trouble—before he pushes off the counter. I hear him pad into the living room, the soft shuffle of him moving around.
Ethan comes back a moment later with two throws slung over his arm and absolutely zero intention of letting either of us get dressed. The look he gives me says precisely that.
My pulse jumps.
He walks out onto the patio with his hip and steps into the warm night, the blankets trailing behind him. The lake reflects the moon like a sheet of black glass. Crickets hum. Somewhere far off, water slaps gently against the dock.
He drops the throws onto the lounge chair, settles on his back, then holds out a hand.
“Come here.”
I go without thinking. He pulls me across his body, one blanket wrapped around us both, the other under us, and suddenly I’m lying on his chest with my bare legs tangled with his. His hands slide down my spine in slow, deliberate strokes that make my breath catch. Every nerve feels awake.
The night air is warm, but his skin is hotter.
For a few moments, we just breathe together. Then his fingers trace the curve of my hip, drifting lower before gliding back up. Not pushing, just… reminding. My body responds instantly, arching into his touch like it’s been waiting.
“You don’t have to hide your ink,” he says, voice a low rumble under my cheek. “They’re beautiful. All of them.”
I stiffen, not enough for him to pull away, but enough that his hand pauses. He lifts my chin with a fingertip so I’m looking at him.
“Hey,” he murmurs, “didn’t mean to make you lock up.”
I swallow and manage a smile. “I know. It’s fine.”
If he knew that my tattoos had been printed on millions of posters, album sleeves, and—God help me—one truly horrifying shower curtain, he’d probably drop me right off this lounger. But he doesn’t know, and tonight I want the version of me he sees, not the one the world turned into merch.
His hand moves again, slower this time, thumb gliding over my waist. Heat starts curling low in my belly. I shift on top of him, and he exhales sharply, his fingers tightening just enough to let me know he feels it too.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks. His lips graze my temple as he speaks.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “Just… you.”
He chuckles softly, the sound warm against my skin. “Dangerous answer.”
I lift my head. “Want me to take it back?”
“No.” His hand cups the back of my thigh and pulls me higher against him. “Definitely don’t take it back.”
My breath stutters. His eyes flick to my mouth like he’s already imagining all the things he could do with it.
I settle against him again, heart thundering, skin buzzing, trying to breathe through the heat curling between us. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to say much. I don’t think I’m ready for him, and yet… I want everything he’s offering.
He wraps both arms around me, anchoring me in place, and his voice drops even lower.
“I’m not ready to sleep,” he murmurs. “Not with you lying on me like this.”
A shiver runs through me, chased quickly by a slow, hungry warmth.
I tilt my mouth toward his neck, brushing a soft kiss there. “Then we won’t sleep.”
He draws in a breath sharp enough to break the night.
