Page 99 of Pick-Up
But there is the smallest something glitching in his expression.
“So, what’s the problem?”
He blinks, nods toward the shower, which we are far from under. “You’re wasting water.”
As I groan in irritation, Ethan takes me by the wrist with one hand and the waist with the other and backs me against the wall.
I look up into his face, inches from my own. “So, are you giving a TED talk about conservation or are we…?”
I don’t get to finish the sentence. He kisses me hard up against the slats, shutting me up. And I’m more than good with it. His lips are soft at first, then less patient, his stubble delightfully rough. He tastes like dragon fruit and salty sea. His body feels both new to me and like it’s already mine. And, as he slips his tongue into my mouth, he changes the tone of my groan.
If I thought the kiss on the beach last night was full-on, this is next level, frantic with need.
And this time there are no interruptions.
There’s nothing calm or languid about what happens next. It’s a full-court press. That’s just fine with me. I’ve been waiting too long to wait longer. We’re flush against each other, his hips pinning mine, our hands on their own personal journeys. I cannot get close enough. Pressure is already building inside me. His deep kiss gets deeper, rougher, as he picks me up, his strong hands cupping my ass. Mylegs wrap around him. Like I’m a python and might end us both. Entangled, he carries me under the shower stream, where we tear our lips apart for an instant, staring into each other’s faces.
His lids are heavy. We’re both out of breath. I shake my head, laugh.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better,” he agrees.
My body bumps and grinds against his chest and six-pack, slick and wet, as he slowly slides me back onto my own two feet. From my new vantage point, I watch water drip down his cheeks from his wet supermarket hair, down his toned body.Fine. I admit it. I guess all that running iskindaworth it.
And it’s all mine to touch. I can choose my own adventure.
Under the scruff is that dimple I admired before. I reach up and trace it now with my fingertip, then drag my finger across his plump bottom lip. Because I can.
“Hi,” he says, from an inch away.
“Whattup,” I say back.
I glance past him at the huddle of plants in the corner. “I feel like I’m being watched.”
He rakes his eyes down my body, leaving prickles in his wake. Head to breasts to tippy toes. “That’s because you are.”
That does me in. Enough talk. I slide my fingers up into his hair at the back of his neck, then reach around and tease his ear with my teeth. He growls, then urges my head back up with his chin, capturing my lips and kissing me properly again. Only there is nothing proper about it. Proper is for amateurs. His hands come to my ass as I dig my fingers into the backs of his wide shoulders, pulling him toward me as if there’s anywhere left to go. We’re in so deep, we might fuse.
His thigh presses between my legs. I gasp. I can feel him hard against me.
His lips trail from my face down the side of my neck, to my shoulder, my collarbone, shooting me full of chills. He cups my breasts as I arch against him.
“Keep your hands up,” I mumble. “Don’t let them drop.”
“Don’t worry,” he grunts, his teeth against my neck. “I’ve got this.”
“All right,” I sigh. “As long as you’re on top of things.”
He pauses to look up with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe forpartof the time.”
“Maybe forallof the time.”
“You’re impossible,” he whispers against my ear, shaking his head. “But also really hot.”
I’ll take it.
Just like that, we’re grinding against each other with the urgency of teens with a time limit and parents downstairs.
