Page 45 of One Touch

Flirting. This was definitely flirting.

“I can read you like a book.” The way he looked at me was anything but professional. He looked down at my bare shoulder and pressed a fingertip to my skin. “Hey, look,” he said with a wry smile as he traced lines between my freckles. “I just saw the Droopy Caterpillar.”

“That’s actually the Hopeful Hamster,” I whispered, biting my lip. Nobody had ever been interested in my freckles before, except for the bullies at school. The fact that Ethan wanted to touch them made me fall in love with every single one of them in that moment. Seductively, I told him, “I have all kinds of constellations on my skin.”

“I know you do,” he replied, his eyes lingering on the freckles on my chest.

I was acutely aware of every inch of small space separating us, of the subtle scent of his cologne, of the way his eyes kept darting to my lips.

Almost of their own accord, my feet carried me forward a step, so that we were standing toe-to-toe. I loved that I had to look up slightly to maintain eye contact. I had always been tall, but Ethan was even taller than me. It made me feel so womanly. My breath caught at the hunger in his eyes.

“That was pretty magical out there, huh?”

“Ethan,” I whispered, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears, husky with desire.

And then, as if drawn by an irresistible force, our lips met.

Not just our lips.

All our parts. All our tiny, constituent parts. He enveloped me, arms circling me, pulling me powerfully into him. As he pushed his tongue between my lips, and a leg between my legs, I lost track of where I ended and he began. I whimpered and he groaned and it felt like we were one being.

The kiss grew harder, more intense, like a surge of electricity igniting a blaze within us, propelling us into the cosmos.

“Fuck,” he groaned, finding my neck with his lips. “You taste so fucking good. Marshmallows. Honey. Do you always taste of honey?”

“Only to people who are attracted to me,” I whispered. “You are . . . attracted to me, aren’t you, Ethan?”

He threaded his fingers through mine. “Can’t you feel it?”

I became aware of the hardness at his groin, pressing against my stomach. Hot, hard, thick.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “I think I can feel something. Let me just . . . check.” I slid my free hand down to his crotch and placed it over the definite bulge. “Yep. I can definitely feel it.”

“This is dangerous, Lily,” he said, but he didn’t stop, slipping a hand up my tank top, finding my pebbled nipples, tracing the shape of my breasts with his fingertips. And there it was again. That magical hand. That incredible, lightning bolt touch that lit up my insides like a firework display on New Year’s Eve.

“Let me touch you too,” I breathed. “Just one touch,” I unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down, finding his warm hardness. He felt so good. So thick. So heavy. I felt a flood of desire as I wrapped my fingers around his manhood.

He found my lips again, pushing his scruff against me, biting my lower lip, pushing me up against the wall. His fingers curled around mine, making me hold his cock tighter still, and then he began guiding my hand up and down, growing even harder, even thicker, as I pumped.

“Holy fuck, Lily,” he whispered into my ear, his fingers snaking down to my denim hotpants, tugging open the button like he wanted to break the damn thing. “This was my damn wish.”

Then his hand slid down, deep inside my panties, and—

The jarring buzz of Ethan’s phone in his pocket shattered the spell. He jerked back as if doused with cold water, his face flushed, his breathing ragged. With a muttered curse, he fumbled for the offending device.

I stood there, dazed, my whole body tingling. I watched as he checked the screen, his expression morphing from annoyance to resignation.

“It’s the station,” he said, his voice rough. “They need me to come in. Fuck.”

Our eyes met, and in that charged gaze, I could read every ounce of his reluctance, his frustration, and beneath it all, the burning heat of unquenched lust. I looked down at his beautiful cock, still perfectly hard, desperate for my touch. I wished I could give it to him.

“Go,” I managed, my tongue darting out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. “They need you. We can . . . talk later.”

“Talk, huh?”

“That’s one of the things we can do.”

He looked at me for a moment, staring hard at me. “Probably won’t be back until morning.” Still, he didn’t stop looking at me.

---