“Hopefully me,” I say, and we’re laughing again.
“Hopefully,” he agrees. He whips his phone out of his pocket, hastily pushes the shower door open, and sends the device skidding across the bathroom sink.
I don’t see when or where it comes to a stop. Not when he yanks the door closed and, within a heartbeat, hoists me into his arms. Hot water pelts my neck and sluices down my spine.
“Wait,” I gasp. “Our clothes are getting soaked.”
“You’re the one who turned the water on,” he reminds me.
“Oh. Yeah,” I mumble, but then we’re kissing again before I can suggest we take them off, and, suddenly, the only pressing matter I’m even fixated over is how hard he is pressed against me.
I’ve got a one-track mind right now and it’s Ethan,Ethan, Ethan.
With slow intention, his roughened fingers bunch up the material of my shirt and bring a low moan from the base of my throat.
Dimples form in his cheeks. My mouth tracks from the curve of his neck and shoulder to the one on the right.
“Think you’re way off target,” he murmurs, a graveled edge to his voice.
“I think not,” I say, then kiss the other one before he swivels his head slightly and captures my lips with his. His hands unhook my bra. I’m tugging at his belt. We’re not making much progress, but all I can think about is his tongue and the heat of his body seeping into mine to care.
He breaks from my lips. I really need him to stop doing that. A protesting whine is all I can manage. It should be more than enough to convey the message:Ethan, stop fucking torturing us and make out with me some more, dammit.
“Our clothes are getting in the way,” he observes, setting me down before I can recommend that he put his arms to good use and tear them apart by any means necessary.
He hauls his t-shirt over his head, and the bare expanse of his chest under running water isquitea sight to see, witness, and marvel over while he steps out of his jeans.
I stand corrected. His erection is quite a sight to see, witness, and marvel over in those black boxer briefs he’s wearing. More so when he steps out of them.
His brow lifts. Uncertainty rocks me as I mirror his expression. Should I give him a round of applause? Is that what he wants?
When his gaze drops, I follow his line of sight and realize I’m still wearing my pink top. Right.Duh.
Hastily following suit, I rid my shirt and am twice as quick to shimmy my shorts off. The latter proves to be a challenge when they hook around my ankle.
Kicking them to the side of the tub, I almost lose my footing, but he steadies me.
“Now, where were we?”
“Avoiding any trips to the emergency room,” he says.
“I’m sure we can rise to the challenge,” I say, giggling when he lifts me into his arms, and my legs wrap around his thighs. “You certainly have.”
I grind my hips against him, cackling even harder when he snorts against the shell of my ear.
“This is nice,” I admit, my voice soft.
His nose skirts against my pulse point. “We haven’t even?—”
“I know.” My head tips back, my gaze flitting toward the ceiling. “It’s never been like this. For me.Before.” My eyes screw shut.
What I would give to form a comprehensible sentence right now. Although it’d require my brain to solidify from the pile of mush it’s turned into.
“What I mean is it’s never been this…fun.”
His line of kisses stops. His breath remains warm against my throat. His fingertips dig deep impressions into my skin.
“I think I know what you mean,” he says finally, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been nice for me, too.”
