Page 119 of The ABCs of You & Me

“Hey, where’d you go?” Foster stares down at me, searching my eyes for some kind of clue.

“Just thinking. Fantasy talk later. Go shower quickly, and we’ll leave.”

“Wanna join me?” He pulls me toward the bathroom.

I shake my head. “No time for that, shoo.” I pull my hand away, watching as he turns and pouts at me from the door. “Oh, stop it.”

His responding grin grows as he gives me a once-over. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes, hurry up.”

I can hear him laughing even after he closes the door, and I get to work gathering the suitcase I’d hidden in the closet and throwing the prepared food into a cooler.

“What’s up?” Foster asks when I get back inside to find him standing in the living room, a towel low around his waist, his hair standing on end every which way.

I’d reply, but I can’t seem to make my lips move. He’s a tattooed ginger Adonis. I know the strength in those arms and the feel of those abs beneath my touch. I’ve kissed each of his tattoos, traced them with my fingers and tongue. I’m the nightly beneficiary of all the ways that beautiful body can move.

“I need you to get dressed, now please,” I falter, my voice almost an octave lower than normal.

“Should I be worried about how cagey you’re being?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

I hold my hand up and take a step back. “No, it’s a good reason, I promise, but you really need to get dressed.”

He doesn’t stop, not until his chest meets my outstretched hand. He wraps his hand around my wrist and lifts it, laying a gentle kiss on my palm, chiseling away at my resolve. How he can do that with his lips on the palm of my hand, is beyond me.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he says, dropping my hand and pulling me in for a searing kiss that all but forces me to slide my hands into his hair and pull him in more.

I’m lost in it, floating somewhere beyond the physical world. The feel of his hands sliding over mine, pulling them away from his head brings me back into my body.

He steps back, letting my arms fall to my side, the sensation of his damp hair stamped on my hands.

“Sorry, sunshine, I’ve got somewhere to be, apparently.” He grins and backs away from me, smirking the whole way to his bedroom.

“Okay, well, this is very cool,” Foster says, admiring the interior of the yurt before sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for me.

I could say no, could tell him we have a hike to do before it gets too dark, but I have a hard time convincing myself that climbing a hill is going to be better than climbing him. Sexual mountaineering will always win out if the mountain is Foster.

When I stop between his legs, he doesn’t do anything other than set his hands gently on my hips, his thumbs skimming over the skin there. Eventually his arms wrap around me and he pulls me in, resting his head on my stomach. It’s not what I was expecting, and it takes me a minute to recalibrate.

Running my hands through his hair I gently ease his head back. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head and smiles at me. “Nothing. I can’t believe I get to do this.”

“Hug me?”

“Hug you.” His hands slip under my shirt and skim across my skin. “Touch you.” He pushes the fabric higher and presses his lips to my stomach over and over again. “Kiss you.”

I think I’m melting, physically disappearing into the floor until I feel his arms around me and my view changes. The top of his head disappears, and I’m left looking at the ceiling of the yurt before his face comes into view and his lips meet mine. I’m vaguely aware of the way his hand is traveling down my body, disappearing under the waistband of my tights. “Fuck you,” he murmurs against my lips. I like this list of things he’s reciting. I like what he’s doing physically even more.

His kisses become more demanding as his fingers go to work. A gasp escapes as I break away from his kiss, tipping my head back as my hips arch greedily into his hand. “Need…” I barely get the word out as his fingers dip into me, a tease of what’s to come.

“Pete let me know this morning that he thinks he should start with a shorter race,” Foster says as we make our way carefully down a steep, rocky section of the hill.

“So no more marathon dreams?”

“No.” He turns, holding his hand out for me once he’s made it past the worst of it. “I think he is still very much wanting to do that one day, or thinks he does. But he’s impatient.” He grins at me. “I’ve been trying to work on that with him for two years now.”

When the terrain levels out he keeps my hand in his.

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