“Why is your naked chest against my tits?”
22
Millie
FUCK,that feels nice.
Ezra’s wet chest is pressed against my bare tits. The contrast between his cool skin and my overheated skin is jarring. And the tight, purposeful grip he has on my waist feels too damn good.
Based on the thick, solid rod poking my belly, I’m going to go out on a (large) limb and say he shares that opinion.
I tip my head back, though all I can see is the column of his neck. “Ezra?”
His throat works in a way that nearly hypnotizes me. “Yup, I know.”
“How are we going to do this?”This, meaning get my bathing suit top on without blinding the people nearby with a shot of my super pale breasts.
“If we shuffle that way”—he tilts a fraction in one direction—“There’s a towel in my backpack.”
“Yeah, okay. That could work.”
Still chest to chest, we sidestep in tandem until we reach his bag.
“Now bend,” he commands, and together we squat like twoidiots getting low at a middle school dance. I wobble, certain I’m about to go down, but Ezra steadies me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. This is absolutely ridiculous.
Once he’s got the towel in hand, we carefully stand, and he wraps it around my back, creating a makeshift curtain.
“Eyes up, buddy,” I quip.
The motherfucker smirks, but he obediently averts his attention to the clear skies above. With shaking hands, I straighten the white dental floss around my neck, then hold the fabric in place at my chest.
“Could you, um, help me with the back?” I ask, turning.
He tosses the towel to the side and, collecting my ponytail, lays it over my shoulder. Then with warm, gentle fingers, he ties the strings at my back. Goose bumps erupt all over my body at his touch.
After a solid thirty seconds, he still hasn’t released me, so I peer over my shoulder. “Have you forgotten how to tie a bow?”
“Nope.” A moment later, he pats my bottom. “Let’s swim.”
In the shower that afternoon, I replay my bathing suit snafu—how I went from panicky to horny in two minutes flat. With my hands, I mimic the pressure of Ezra against my bare chest, the way my nipples rubbed against his hard body, imagining the beating of his heart against mine. I lower my hand, remembering how his growing thickness felt, the way my clit pulsed in response beneath my swimsuit. Stifling a moan, I paint circles over the bundle of nerves, eliciting pleasure. And with the assistance of the detachable shower head, I find my release, with Ezra’s name drowning on my lips.
“Have you seen my—whoa.” Ezra’s jaw drops, and his focus gets stuck on my exposed midriff.
I’m wearing high-waisted jeans that hug every curve and, this evening, I feel really good in them. The lacy white crop top is an item Joey forced me into buying the last time we went shopping. The straps are thin, and it has a built-in underwire so I don’t need a bra. Ezra took way too long in the shower, which left me no time to style my hair, so I’ve parted it down the middle and pulled it into a low ponytail.
“I’d say the white makes you look virginal, but…”
A laugh escapes me as I shuffle to the closet. “Please don’t sayvirginal.”
“You look like an angel.”
Heart in my throat, I stop in my tracks. I can’t tell whether he’s being serious. “Are you flirting again, Mr. Miller?” I ask, keeping my tone even as I slip into my wedges.
“It’s Mr. Greer.” He drops to his knees in front of me and works one buckle. “And absolutely.” He looks up, surveying me from beneath dark lashes. “Is it working?”
Is what working? Seeing Ezra on his knees?“Hmm, we’ll see.”
