Page 123 of Pick-Up
Maybe it’s the words coming out of his mouth. Maybe it’s what I was going to do all along. Maybe I simply appreciate the way he navigated that Nerf toy and all that implies about who he is. Maybe it’s because of the way he is unsuccessfully trying not to look at my boobs. But before my brain can fully synapse, my body is on his. And I have the fortunate realization, within seconds, that we don’t need no outdoor shower.
If he’s surprised by my attack, he hides it well. His lips catch mine, his stubble sandpapering my face as he pulls me closer—the world’s dreamiest microdermabrasion. I part my lips as he slips his tongue in my mouth, threading his fingers into my hair, cupping the back of my head with his hands. Walking me backward, he pins me against the front door with his hips. He’s good at this—and he knows it.
This isn’t island Ethan, who smells like coconuts and sunshine. This is urban Ethan, who smells crisp and smoky. Who means business. And I am all about it.
This time, there’s no pretense. Within seconds, my hands are traveling up his back, grasping at his firm muscles. His hands are up the front of my T-shirt, yanking down my bra, and we are grinding against each other.
He tugs my pony. I kiss him harder. Heat pours through me.
Behind me, through the closed door, I hear a rustle in the hall. My upstairs neighbors are collecting their mail. I pull away from Ethan, breathless.
“Just one sec,” I whisper. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I mean that literally. I don’t want him to move.
It takes everything in my power to rotate around to face the door, turn the lock. The outside world is not invited in.
But before I can turn back around, Ethan takes a step forward from behind me, pressing his body against mine, so I can feel him hard against my ass. He kisses down the nape of my neck; I sigh and arch back into him. Then, he reaches down and pulls my threadbare T-shirt over my head.
“I like this,” he says.
“Me too,” I agree.
“No, the T-shirt,” he laughs. “But this too. Way more.”
I giggle. But not for long.
Because then he unhooks my neon pink push-up bra and slips the straps off my shoulders, one by one. I let it drop to the floor with a shiver, as his warm hands take its place. I push my backside into his front.
The door is cold against my hands.
He takes the top of my pants and slides them down, so they fall to my ankles.Three cheers for elastic waistbands!I may be stripped almost bare, but he’s fully clothed and his jeans are pleasantly rough against my back as his palm drifts down past my stomach and into the front of my underwear. We both groan.
Then I yelp. Not in a good way. The door handle has stabbed me in the side.
“It’s fine,” I gasp. “It’s fine. Don’t stop!”
“Couch,” he says against my shoulder, gesturing with his chin toward the other side of the living room.
“What?”No comprende. I am not on this plane. I have taken leave.
“Couch,” he says again, his eyes hot and heavy.
“Oh! Right. Couch.” A piece of furniture for reclining. I know what that is.
I turn to face him, realizing in that moment that, this time, I getto undress him—get all up in that perfect tee. With his assistance, I wrestle his outer layer off, then ready to tear the T-shirt over his head.
It’s just as soft as I imagined.
“Ooh. So buttery,” I murmur, against his lips. “Seriously—what brand are these?”
He pulls away for a beat, raises an eyebrow. “Really? Now?”
“Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll find out. I have my ways.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I manage to pull the shirt over his head and toss it on a chair. It seems too nice for the floor.
Ethan—now with those taut abs exposed—pulls me close again, so my breasts graze his naked skin. He gazes at me with those big brown eyes, shoots me a soft smile. Brushes my hair out of my face with one hand, and tucks it dotingly behind my ear.
