Instead of doing what she told her brain to do—which was to remove her hand—she gripped the fabric and pulled him two steps to fill the gap between their bodies.
And then she went in for it. Went for him. Let all the frustration and inability to be breezy just go. Let her mouth talk for her without words, and her tongue do that thing that made him moan.
Good news, he seemed to have missed this, too. Because he was all about the kissing and the touching. Things were…uh…frantic.
“Upstairs?” he asked, unfortunately having to pull his mouth from hers long enough to speak.
Well, the front door was locked, and the girls were at camp. One of the other moms was on slate to pick them up.
Maybe this time they should actually try to make it to a bed? That would be more comfortable than the sofa.
Ethan tethered them together with their hands linked and showed her the way. Second door on the right was his. He hadn’t made his bed that morning, which wasn’t a big deal for her because she didn’t always make hers, either. Seeing his bed a mess and his nightstand cluttered with books, he wasn’t Ethan Greene, the famous television chef. This was Ethan, her fakey-fake boyfriend with benefits.
He did the neck and jaw thing again, and oh boy, that worked.
She kicked up on her toes and planted a kiss on his mouth, the kiss a grown-up woman gave her grown-up pretend boyfriend in his bedroom.
He continued kissing the thoughts right out of her head, moving her to the bed and placing her there.
Then he went to the window and sealed the curtains. The bedroom door and closed it.
He turned to her and held her gaze with his as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his abs and biceps and oh, that landscape of tattooed clouds and waves.
She wanted to trace the ink with her fingertip. Follow the lines of the artist.
Striding to the bed, he crawled in alongside her, laying his hand against her thigh so everything inside her buzzed with heady awareness.
The intricate ink along his biceps wound around, up and over his shoulder to his neck. She traced it with her mouth, her lips parted as she followed the lines of artistry. He leaned back on the bed and let her do her thing, his erection clear—pressing through his pants.
She straddled him, right so her intimate place was against his.
Who am I?
Whoever she was, she liked it.
He groaned and, honestly, so did she. The hard length of him an enormous distraction, but one she wasn’t about to succumb to, yet.
Instead she studied his ink, traced it like she wanted.
“You like ink?” he asked.
She leaned back so his hard length was more aligned with her core and studied the canvas of him.
“Uh-huh.” She traced along the edges, pausing only briefly at his nipple where it pebbled under her touch.
His hands were on her hips, and he was totally rubbing against her in a way that felt deliciously divine.
She let her head fall back a little because he’d found her sweet spot with his thumb, and they practically had sex right there between their clothes.
Okay, enough was enough of that.
She moved from him. It took a whole lotta effort, but she did it and pulled off her shorts and her top. She wasn’t smooth or breezy, but she got her big-girl panties off and barely got her bra unclasped before he finished shucking his pants and boxers.
Now, with all that nonsense out of the way, they could have some real fun.
“Condom?” she asked.
He lifted his eyebrows like he wasn’t entirely sure they were at the condom stage of the event, but she had some ideas and they required she not have any surprises after.
