“Better,” I tell her honestly. “Everything’s better than I imagined.”
She pulls me back up for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. Her tongue slides against mine with a languid heat that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. Like we have all the time in the world.
When I trail my hand down her stomach, feeling the flutter of muscles beneath warm skin, I pause at the waistband of her cotton shorts. She lifts her hips in clear invitation, the movement sending a bolt of electricity straight through me.
“Please,” she says against my mouth, her voice cracking with need. “I need—I want?—”
“I know,” I murmur, slipping my hand beneath the fabric, past the elastic of her underwear. “I’ve got you.”
She’s so wet, so ready, slick heat coating my fingers as I explore her. The knowledge that I did this—that she wants me this much—nearly breaks my control. When I touch her properly for the first time, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves, she gasps, her whole body arching off the mattress, pressing into my touch.
“You’re so beautiful.” I marvel, watching her eyelids flutter, her lips part. I memorize what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, the exact pressure that makes her dig her nails into my shoulders. “So perfect.”
“Ethan,” she whimpers when I slide one finger inside, her inner walls clenching around me. “Oh god.”
“Just feel,” I encourage, adding a second finger, stretching her gently, finding a rhythm that has her clutching at my shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations in my skin. “Take what you need.”
She’s stunning like this—uninhibited, chasing her pleasure without shame or hesitation. Her hair fans across my pillow like spilled ink, her skin flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest. Nothing like the girl who was afraid she’d forgotten how to want. Every sound she makes, every way she moves against my hand, hips rising to meet each thrust, pushes me closer to my own edge.
“Close,” she gasps, her breath coming in short pants, thighs trembling on either side of my hand. “I’m so—don’t stop, please don’t?—”
“Never,” I promise, curving my fingers just right while my thumb presses circles exactly where she needs it, and she shatters, her back arching, my name a broken cry on her lips as pleasure ripples through her.
Watching her come apart in my bed, my name on her lips,I know I’m absolutely fucked. This was supposed to be fake. Supposed to be simple.
But there’s nothing fake about the way she looks at me as she comes back to herself, sated and soft and still wanting. Nothing simple about the way my heart pounds when she pulls me down for another kiss.
“Your turn,” she murmurs against my mouth, and yeah.
I’m definitely fucked.
In the best possible way.
Her hand slides down my chest, mapping every ridge and plane with deliberate attention. She’s unhurried, almost clinical in her exploration—like she’s committing me to memory, storing data for future analysis.
“Pip,” I warn as her fingers trail lower, skimming the waistband of my boxers. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” she says, voice steady despite the flush spreading across her cheeks.
Jesus.
I swallow hard as she hooks her fingers under the elastic, tugging down with newfound confidence. The cool air hits me first, then her warm hand wraps around my length, and even more blood rushes to my cock. Her touch is tentative at first, experimental, gauging my reactions.
“Like this?” she asks, eyes locked on mine as she strokes.
“Yeah,” I manage, though it comes out strangled. “Just like that.”
She smiles—not the careful one she uses at the diner, but something wilder, more primal. Pleased with herself. With the power she has over me.
Then she’s sliding down my body, positioning herself between my legs, and holy fuck—the sight of Piper Renner looking up at me from there is enough to make my heart stop.
“I’ve been thinking about this too,” she admits, her breath ghosting over sensitive skin. “About tasting you.”
Any response I might have formed dies in my throat.
When her tongue traces a slow, deliberate path from base to tip. The sensation nearly blinds me, pleasure so intense I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing her.
“Fuck,” I hiss, watching as she explores me with the same methodical attention she gives everything else. Learning what makes my breath catch, what makes my hips jerk.
