Page 98 of Pick-Up
Surprised, he chances a glance up at me. My bathing suit is still partially up, after all. Though his eyes drift to where it threatens to fall farther.
“You do?”
“I do. Because the thing is, I love an outdoor shower.”
“Who doesn’t?” He is trying so hard to stare at anything other than my hands cupping my chest—my face, my neck, my rib cage, my belly, my legs—but it’s a challenge.
The naked need in his eyes makes me want to skip the pleasantries. But I’m not quite done toying with him.
“If I know you’re waiting outside, I’ll feel rushed,” I continue. “And I really don’t feel like rushing.”
“You don’t?” He swallows hard, his voice hoarse.
“No,” I say, taking another step forward, so I’ve narrowed the gap between us even more. “I feel like taking my time.”
He exhales a shuddered breath. I can practically see his heart pounding. Mine has also joined a drum circle.
“So, what do you propose?” he asks, his hand resting where his towel meets his hip. I’m suddenly aware of how easily it might drop. “Should I go back to my room, to my regular shower?” His heart is definitely not in that offer.
“Hmm,” I say, tipping my head toward one shoulder. “That seems sort of unfair.”
He nods, now on board for whatever this is. “I think so.”
“So, I guess maybe you have tostay.”
He holds my gaze, his eyes darkening as my message fully computes. “Maybe I have to stay.”
“Maybe we’re just… screwed?”
I shrug. Drop my hands.
His eyes pan over me slowly. Reverently. Like a tracking shot. And I am the landscape. Shoulders. Breasts. Stomach. Thighs. Water drips down my body from my hair and neck, down my chest, past my bellybutton and into the recesses of my suit’s bottom. We both watch it disappear.
He licks his lips.
I take a final step forward, so we’re as close as we could possibly be without touching. I can see every nook and cranny of his upper body, the chiseled lines of his pecs, abs, arms. The slightest move, a microscopic tilt forward, and my bare chest will be pressed against his. My breath hitches. I don’t know if the anticipation is going to kill me or if it’s keeping me alive. He smells like tropical sunscreen and escape. I can feel the heat from his body like flying too close to the sun—or maybe it’s mine.
“Sasha,” he says, his voice rugged with gravel. If my insides weren’t already molten, they are now. “Are you sure?”
And I am. I want this too much to stop. In my mind, I have already taken the plunge.
I am wet, and I am wet.
I look him hard in the eyes. Once we go there, we cannot turn back. Whatever passes between us in that moment communicates more than all the words.
“Positive.”
That seals the deal. Ethan shoves the door closed behind him with his elbow without glancing back. It clicks into place. Decisive. Like a foregone conclusion. His eyes are locked on mine. Finally,finally, I lift a hand and dare to run it along his collarbone, then down his stomach,his skin warm to the touch. His ab muscles clench beneath my fingers. There is a sharp intake of breath in which I read multitudes.
Everything in me feels pulled taut.
This. Is. Happening.
We stand there, zeroed in on each other, for a beat. My whole body buzzing.
“You wanted to talk earlier,” I rasp, barely able to catch my breath. “Still need to now?”
“Nope,” he says, eyes fierce and boring into my own. Vaguely threatening. Like I’m the burger now. “I’m good.”
