I’ll tell her the truth soon. Tomorrow maybe.
I don’t know, but it has to happen. I can’t keep on living like this.
The rain has let up and I climb out of the car, watching as Katie exits her car and runs toward me. I take her hand and lead her into the quiet, dark house. The blinds and curtains are still drawn, and with the storm coming in, everything’s shrouded in darkness, hushed and still.
I push her against the door the minute it’s shut, bracing my hands on either side of her head. Though it’s dark, I can still see her and she lifts her head, her wide-eyed gaze meeting mine. “Katie,” I whisper as my head descends and my mouth brushes against hers once, the touch of her lips on mine electrifying me from the inside out.
A trembling sigh gusts across my lips and I capture it, kissing her again. Then again. She reaches for me, her fingers curling into my damp sweatshirt, her head tilted back, her lips parting beneath mine. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, tangle it with hers, and I reach for her face and cup her cheek, holding her there as I devour her mouth.
I’m holding everything back and it’s killing me. Fucking slaying me dead. I want her. So bad. My clothes are wet from the rain, heavy and uncomfortable, and when I finally break the kiss I whisper, “We should take our clothes off.”
Her eyes pop open, wide and full of hesitation. “Wh-what?”
“They’re wet.” I chuckle. “I don’t mean we get naked.” Yet. “I just think we should get out of these soaked clothes.”
“But I have nothing to change into,” she protests.
“I can fix that,” I offer.
So I do. I hand her an old, soft T-shirt and a button-down flannel, along with a pair of thick socks. None of my sweatpants or shorts would fit her since she’s so slender. I let her change in the bedroom while I use the living room, giving her privacy. I change into dark gray sweats and a long-sleeved white T-shirt, then wait for her on the couch, on edge and wishing she’d just come out already.
When I hear my bedroom door open I sit up straight, my hands perched on my knees, feeling like I’m poised and ready for flight. She enters the living room, her feet encased in the thick socks I wear only with a certain pair of boots, wearing the T-shirt and the flannel halfway buttoned over the shirt, looking sexy as fuck with her hair piled into a sloppy bun on top of her head, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink.
Adorably sexy.
“You okay?” I stand and go to her, feeling incredibly protective toward her. She looks so small wearing my clothes, her unsure expression, her bare legs and scrubbed-clean face reminding me of when she was younger.
When I first met her.
Katie smiles, the sight of it like a zing straight to my already shattered heart. “Yes. Much better after getting out of those wet clothes.”
“Where’d you leave them? We can toss them in the dryer.”
We go about doing exactly that, acting like a domesticated couple who’ve just come home from a long, hard day. She follows me into the tiny laundry room that’s just off my garage, her clothes in her hands. I open the dryer for her and she throws them in along with my own, and I shut the door, push the button, and hear the dryer roar to life.
She meets my gaze, a little smile curling her lips. “Now what?”
Does she really have to ask? Every primal instinct tells me to grab her. Haul her up onto that vibrating dryer and kiss her. Put my hand between her legs and see if she’s wearing any panties—which she can’t be, because I saw them land in the dryer only a few moments ago. She’s bare under my clothes. No bra, no panties, just skin.
My fingers itch to touch her, stroke her. Figure out what she likes and do it again. And again. Until I have her arching against me and begging for more.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice husky, my brain short-circuiting when she reaches out and curls her finger around the drawstring of my sweatpants. Her hand is way too close to my dick, which is already hard and aching.
“You were my hero today, Ethan,” she whispers as she tugs on the string. I stumble toward her, feeling like a bumbling idiot with her hands on me, her body so close. I press my hand against the top edge of the dryer and lean in, sniffing the floral sweetness of her hair, the heady, rich scent of her skin, a combination of the lotion she must use and her perfume. I want to eat her up.
Her words remind me of things said to another boy long ago and I close my eyes, slip my other arm around her waist. She’s backed up against the dryer, and I lift her with one arm, her ass perched on the edge for a brief moment before she scoots back.
“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly, her hands resting on my shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze.