Barbie #2
“Let’s take this to the shower,” I quickly suggest.
Ethan stares incredulously at me. “And break my neck for real this time?”
Well, that’s a fair point. I want us to spend the rest of the night exploring each other’s bodies, not racking up debt in the ER.
“Okay. We don’t have to do anything… too vigorous,” I begin.
“In the shower, or at all?” The corner of his mouth twitches, his dimples making an appearance.
“At all, smartass,” I deadpan, my breath catching when he lowers his head and brings his face so close to mine that our noses are touching.
“That’s a shame.” His hands find my hips. “I can think of one or two things we could be doing.”
“Shampooing and conditioning?”
“If that’s”—his fingertips lightly skim my hipbones; his lips almost brush the corner of mine—“what you want.” He inches away before I turn my head to kiss him, and then he presses the weight of his body down between my legs.
Heat blazes through me, unfurling deep in my chest. My palms land on his shoulders, my knees nudging his thighs quite incessantly, as I mutter, “Ethan, if we’re not in the shower in the next sixty seconds—”
“You’ll personally break my neck yourself?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, letting loose a peal of laughter when he scoops me up from the mattress before my knees can prod him some more. “I’d just send in an update form to Help Desk and ask them to revise your SOPs.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Laughter lines crinkle his gorgeous dark eyes. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you if you want tonight to go anywhere.”
“Ooh, I like where this is going again,” I say, and his hair flops over his forehead as he cracks up.
“Yeah. Me too,” he says, his crooked smile widening. It goes straight to my chest, a fluttery feeling rippling across every inch of my body. “I know you don’t kiss on the first date—”
“I think today counts for at least six dates,” I cut in. “Not including the aquarium, the museums—”
“Let’s just round up to ten,” he says, and we both break, snickering while he carries me to the bathroom. God, I love that he’s dorky. It’s the best thing about him. “What happens on the tenth date?”
“This.” I twine my arms around his neck and draw him in, my lips already curving before they meet his, and Houston, we have liftoff.
We are kissing. Finally. Fucking finally.
Ethan Carter is kissing me like there’s no tomorrow. Like this is our only chance. Like this is something we should have been doing since the first moment our eyes locked on the plane, and we’re now making up for lost time.
His teeth pull at my bottom lip, his hands squeeze my ass firmly, his blunt nails digging into flesh. I’m panting eagerly into his mouth, a dizzying blend of heat and desire crashing over me like the ocean wave during high tide.
I want to stay here forever. Succumb to the bliss. Never let this end.
He tears away from the kiss, and my fingers thread into his hair to reel him back in. “Just this?”
“Swear to God, Ethan,” I gasp. “Now’s not the time to be funny.”
Amusement glitters in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else. Not that he can when his mouth crashes upon mine, all urgent and certain. Yes, yes, yes.
A groan rumbles from the back of his throat while his fingerprints embed into my skin. My back thumps against something hard, and my hand fumbles with a door handle as he sucks a mark on my neck.
“Wait. Shower—”
His teeth graze sensitive skin. My breathing becomes a little unsteady.
Somehow, we end up in the shower without tripping or falling. His body practically cages mine the moment I’m pushed against the wall. With my lips occupied with his, my fingers blindly skid against the tiles until I find what I’m looking for and twist the knob.
We both jerk apart as cold water sprays us.
“Fuck,” he swears.
“Sorry—”
“My phone.”
“Oh, no—Isn’t it waterproof?”
“How should I know? I’ve got better things to do than look up the specs right now.”
“Hopefully me,” I say, and we’re laughing again.
“Hopefully,” he agrees. He whips his phone out of his pocket, hastily pushes the shower door open, and sends the device skidding across the bathroom sink.
I don’t see when or where it comes to a stop. Not when he yanks the door closed and, within a heartbeat, hoists me into his arms. Hot water pelts my neck and sluices down my spine.
“Wait,” I gasp. “Our clothes are getting soaked.”
“You’re the one who turned the water on,” he reminds me.
“Oh. Yeah,” I mumble, but then we’re kissing again before I can suggest we take them off, and, suddenly, the only pressing matter I’m even fixated over is how hard he is pressed against me.
I’ve got a one-track mind right now and it’s Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
With slow intention, his roughened fingers bunch up the material of my shirt and bring a low moan from the base of my throat.
Dimples form in his cheeks. My mouth tracks from the curve of his neck and shoulder to the one on the right.
“Think you’re way off target,” he murmurs, a graveled edge to his voice.
“I think not,” I say, then kiss the other one before he swivels his head slightly and captures my lips with his. His hands unhook my bra. I’m tugging at his belt. We’re not making much progress, but all I can think about is his tongue and the heat of his body seeping into mine to care.
He breaks from my lips. I really need him to stop doing that. A protesting whine is all I can manage. It should be more than enough to convey the message: Ethan, stop fucking torturing us and make out with me some more, dammit.
“Our clothes are getting in the way,” he observes, setting me down before I can recommend that he put his arms to good use and tear them apart by any means necessary.
He hauls his t-shirt over his head, and the bare expanse of his chest under running water is quite a sight to see, witness, and marvel over while he steps out of his jeans.
I stand corrected. His erection is quite a sight to see, witness, and marvel over in those black boxer briefs he’s wearing. More so when he steps out of them.
His brow lifts. Uncertainty rocks me as I mirror his expression. Should I give him a round of applause? Is that what he wants?
When his gaze drops, I follow his line of sight and realize I’m still wearing my pink top. Right. Duh.
Hastily following suit, I rid my shirt and am twice as quick to shimmy my shorts off. The latter proves to be a challenge when they hook around my ankle.
Kicking them to the side of the tub, I almost lose my footing, but he steadies me.
“Now, where were we?”
“Avoiding any trips to the emergency room,” he says.
“I’m sure we can rise to the challenge,” I say, giggling when he lifts me into his arms, and my legs wrap around his thighs. “You certainly have.”
I grind my hips against him, cackling even harder when he snorts against the shell of my ear.
“This is nice,” I admit, my voice soft.
His nose skirts against my pulse point. “We haven’t even—”
“I know.” My head tips back, my gaze flitting toward the ceiling. “It’s never been like this. For me. Before.” My eyes screw shut.
What I would give to form a comprehensible sentence right now. Although it’d require my brain to solidify from the pile of mush it’s turned into.
“What I mean is it’s never been this… fun.”
His line of kisses stops. His breath remains warm against my throat. His fingertips dig deep impressions into my skin.
“I think I know what you mean,” he says finally, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been nice for me, too.”
“And about to be a lot nicer?” I tease.
He rasps out a low chuckle and tugs gently on my earlobe. “Will you still think it’s nice if I leave you feeling me for days?”
I bite my bottom lip as a moan sounds from the back of my throat. “It’d be… sufficient.”
“Hmm?” The calloused feel of his palm slides down my abdomen to the juncture between my legs. “Just sufficient?”
“I’m giving you some wiggle room out of the generosity of my heart,” I explain. “I don’t want to set the bar too high, given your penchant for performance issues—” A shriek rips from me when he pinches my nipple sharply with his other hand. My eyes snap open to meet his narrowed gaze.
“I do not have performance issues,” he grunts. The edge of his lips twitches, and it echoes in the beat of my heart. I can’t stop the matching grin from appearing on my face. “Let me prove it to you.”
“Yes, please,” I breathe out, a quiet gasp catching in my chest when his fingers hook around the band of my panties.
“Quick sidebar,” he says. “Do these cost a day’s paycheck?”
“No?” My brow furrows. “I’m pretty sure I got it on sale.”
“Then I’ll reimburse you.” Without warning, he rips the lace in half. My mouth parts in shock momentarily before a moan overtakes me as his thumb finds my clit.
On instinct, I cling to his shoulders as he backs us into the shower wall. With one of my legs hitched around his waist, his thighs have me pinned in place. Swiveling my hips, I rock my pussy against his hand, desperate for the sweet friction he’s providing me with.
Blazing heat courses through my bloodstream; my whole body alight with need.
As his thumb teases me with featherlight strokes, I can feel the intensity of his gaze on my face. My lips. My breasts. It’s as if he’s trying to memorize every little detail of my body.
Swallowing roughly, I slip my hand down his chest, past his navel, rewarded with a soft groan the moment my fingers wrap around his cock. He’s hot and hard, and the string of incoherent words coming from him sounds a lot like a prayer in Spanglish as I pump him in my fist.
His head cants forward, forehead creasing slightly in concentration. Our eyes lock. His mouth parts with a deep moan.
“Barbie,” he rasps. “We need to shower.”
“Do we?” I’d much rather we stick to the currently scheduled program of getting each other off via third base and letting it spiral from there.
“We do if we want to take this any further.” Before I can open my mouth to protest, he forges on. “Shower sex is not fun.”
“Then what are we doing?”