Page 88 of Every Beautiful Mile

“Guilt, grief. The fact every man I know is either happily married or a skeevy friend of my brother. It just hasn’t been on my radar.”

“Is it on your radar now?”

I look at him until I can't and this time, I deflect. “It’s late, and I have an early day tomorrow.” Like a coward, I stand up without answering him.

He follows me to the Avion and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest.

“Nel—”

I don’t let him finish.

With two fistfuls of his shirt, I yank him to me, pressing my mouth to his. When we collide, I know I’m not saying goodbye—I’m ignoring it. I need to feel him one more time.

He takes a pivoting step that pins me against the wall with a force so strong it takes my breath away. His knee spreads my legs until they’re far enough apart for his thigh to wedge between them. When I move against it, the most sensitive and aching part of me I’ve been desperately trying to ignore flips on like a switch.

Like I need the kiss, I need the relief of his body against mine. One rub is all it takes for my hips to buck instinctively against him, rushing after a feeling I haven’t felt in so long. Too long.

“Ethan, you can’t touch me like that.” I pant as he runs a trail of kisses along my neck.

“Like what?” His thigh rubs me there—again—and I can’t control the whimper that passes my lips.

“Like that,” I say through clenched teeth. “I haven’t had a… I can’t… I won’t be able to...”

I can’t form a complete sentence.

It just feels so good.

The way his thigh rubs against me and how my hips move against him is without any instruction from my brain—it’s all instinct and unfiltered desire, and I don’t think I could stop it even if I wanted to.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, and I feel it on every inch of my body like coarse sandpaper.

His hands drop to my hips, fingers digging in tighter. He rocks me against his thigh as his mouth devours mine. Between the pressure of me grinding on his leg and the way his hands grip my hips, I’m on the brink of going up in flames.

I moan into his mouth as my hips rock faster.

I drop my head back as my thighs clench around his leg. I’m so close to plummeting over the edge that I can barely control my movements.

He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, grips my hips tighter, and then tugs me down forcefully onto his muscular thigh as his rocking rhythm matches mine.

I’m embarrassingly close.

So close I can feel the release swirling from the base of my spine to the back of my throat.

“Ethan...” His name is a gasp or a plea or both. “I can’t… I haven’t…”

I want to stop.

My first orgasm in over a year can’t be against a leg. His leg. I refuse.

“Penelope.” My name is so deep on his lips that it hits straight between my thighs. “Let go.”

Against every logical thought, I do.

Fully dressed.

Against his leg.

In his yard.

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