Page 41 of The Parent Pick-Up
She runs back and shows me the shell she found. The pure joy of her expression over a seashell makes me smile. I take the shell and examine it as if it’s the world’s most beautiful treasure.
I take her hand and lead her along the beach where the rocky formations create a stunning backdrop.
A splat of rain hits the back of my neck. Then another on my arm. Ivy looks up.
“Uh-oh.”
Then the sky cracks open.
Ivy squeals as she bolts down the beach. I chase after her, feeling like a damn fool who missed his chance. I should have asked her earlier instead of waiting until we reached the perfect spot.
Now my plan is ruined.
We’re soaked to the skin by the time we reach my house. I fling open with the door, and we hurry inside, shivering in our wet clothes.
Ivy laughs and plucks at her sweater. “We look like we just swam home.”
“Wet looks good on you,” I say, brushing the hair off her forehead.
Her gaze drifts down to my chest. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The rain drums against the roof, steady and rhythmic. We’re both breathless from running.
“We should get out of these wet clothes,” I say, reaching for the hem of her sweater.
“I’d hate to mess up your nice floors.”
“The floors will survive.” I pull her sweater over her head and drop it to the floor.
Goosebumps pebble her skin, and her nipples push against the pink lace of her bra. Lust surges through me like a lightning strike.
She finds the hem of my soaked shirt and tugs it off. “You look good enough to eat.”
I shiver as she reaches for my belt buckle. “Save some room. I made your favorite.”
“World-famous Chicken Parm?” she asks, unzipping my pants.
I catch her hands. “Is that your favorite?”
Her gaze drifts over my body, and she licks her lips. “I have lots of favorites.”
I yank her into my arms, and she gasps, her arms flying around my neck.
“Owen—”
I pull her to my bedroom, wet footprints following us across the wood floor.
Our mouths meet. Wet and hungry. When our tongues tangle, I lose whatever patience I had left.
I kiss her throat, tasting salt and rain. “Tell me if you want me to slow down.”
“Don’t you dare.” She shoves at my pants.
Her hands roam down my back, nails dragging just enough to make me groan. It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to bealone, and I don’t want to rush it. But the need to be inside her, to be one with her, is overpowering.
We fall onto the bed, discarding our wet clothes in a pile. I’m so consumed with kissing her, I don’t even take the time to pick them up.
I force myself to slow down and remember why I arranged this weekend, but she’s kissing me back with so much urgency, I can’t stop.
