Perfectly Toxic (Sterling Shore 9)

I have to get more sleep than I’ve been getting the rest of this week. Otherwise, I won’t be worth a damn at work, and that’s not a good thing.

His big hand is spread over my stomach, holding me in place like I’m about to try and get away.

When his phone rings, he ignores it, just like he usually does when he’s with me. If it’s on him, he’ll check it, but if it’s sitting somewhere that will force him to get up, he doesn’t bother. It’s one thing I really enjoy about him, since most of the guys I’ve been seeing lately are more interested in who has ‘liked’ the latest picture of them on whatever social media platform they’re obsessed with.

Ethan doesn’t even have social media. I know, because I tried to cyber stalk him. I’m a creeper like that.

“So you and Rye are tight?” I ask, making conversation so that this feels less like a hook-up and more like something that could develop into a real relationship.

“Yeah. He lived with me for a while when we were teenagers. I wouldn’t say we’re as tight as you and Allie though.”

“Hmm. I didn’t know that. Why’d he live with you?”

“He was going through some stuff, and my parents suggested he move in with us.”

His lips rake over my shoulder, even though it seems to be less seductive and more… sweet? Ethan Noles doesn’t do sweet, so I have to be wrong.

“Before I forget, my mother is having some big dinner thing in a couple of weeks to welcome me back home.”

“But you’ve been home for a while now.”

“I know, but she doesn’t really care. It’s her way of getting me over there.”

“You don’t want to go over there?”

“I don’t mind it, but hanging out with my parents hasn’t been high on the agenda. I’ve been playing the good son for the past decade.”

I only wish I could ‘hang’ with my parents. Hell, if they ever apologized for being hypocritical assholes, I’d happily do it. But I don’t foresee that ever happening.

“So you good with that?”

“Good with what?” I ask, distracted.

“Good with going to my Mom’s. It’d mean us coming out.”

My body tenses against his, but I’m battling a grin. “Are you seriously asking me to meet the parents right now?”

He shifts uncomfortably behind me. “Never mind. Didn’t realize that was a big deal.”

I roll over in his arms so that I can face him, but he’s refusing to look at me, feigning interest in the girly show he doesn’t approve of.

“I want to go, but only if this thing between us is heading in a solid direction.”

He shrugs, now acting indifferent. I feel like an ass for teasing him now.

When my lips start toying with his neck, he loses his forced interest in the show, moving his body until I’m on top of him. The more I kiss his neck, the more his hands roam freely on my body.

He’s just in his boxers, and I’m wearing some slinky pajamas. It’s become our normal routine during the past week.

When his hand slips inside the leg of my shorts, his breath hitches. His fingers slide against my flesh, taking note that I bypassed underwear, and he grips me tighter before pulling his finger away. I swear, my body makes things too easy for him, because he doesn’t have to do any work to get me ready.

I feel gipped.

My thoughts of feeling gipped turn to mush as he pushes the leg of my shorts open and slides me down on top of him, impaling me on his hard—

“Show me those skills, banana girl,” he says in a strained tone before thrusting up suddenly, pushing us as close as possible.

A soft moan escapes me as I clutch his shoulders for leverage and move against him.