His body is amazing. There’s the span of muscles along his long, lean torso and the smooth curve of his biceps and shoulders. He stops by the edge and looks down at me.
“You’re wearing the bikini.”
“Is that a problem?”
He shakes his head and steps down into the water. His grin is deadly. “I’d been hoping to see you in that again.”
Ezra Baxter is many things, but he sure as hell isn’t shy, and he makes me lose all inhibition, which is why a moment after he gets in the tub, I stand and move in front of him.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, eyeing my body. He runs a hand down my side, thumb settling on my hip. “Like, not one damn person has a clue you’re walking around with that banging body underneath all those baggy clothes.” I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe two other people, but that’s it.”
“My clothes aren’t that baggy.”
“You need to invest in a hoodie shop, babe.”
I lean forward and kiss him. His tongue slips between my lips, sending a spark of desire through my body. His hands glide down my back and over the curve of my ass, fingers tugging at the edge of my bottoms. My body remembers the last time his hands were that close, how he made me feel, how hard I’d come.
It throbs and tingles at the memory.
And the promise of more to come.
Things have changed since Ezra and I were together. I’m no longer a virgin, and I’ve learned a few things about what guys like. He must sense this as I straddle his hips and press my chest against his, feeling the hard want between us. Hot steam bubbles around us and I grind against him. His mouth and hands grow needy; my nails drag against his warm flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He pulls back, jaw clenched tight. His fingers brush back damp hair. His thumb tugs at my bottom lip.
“Talk to me, babe,” he whispers, wanting to know what to do next. “Tell me what you want.”
My eyes dart to the guest house—the comfortable bed that I know is inside. It’s all the invitation he needs as he stands, lifting me with him. Hot water runs down our bodies, leaving a trail as he carries me across the pool deck to the guest room door. He fumbles with the knob and I laugh at his eagerness. Not much rattles Ezra Baxter.
In one swift move, he gets it open and shoves his tongue in my mouth; both shut me up.
Ezra carries me through the room, holding me under my butt. He kisses me the whole time; never stopping, not even when he lays me on the bed and crawls over me. I run my hands along his stomach, pulling at the little tie at the waist of his trunks. He’s hard—erect—his cock straining at the fabric. I reach for him, feeling his length under the damp fabric. His lips burn against my neck, my chest, my stomach, every inch of my body as he shimmies down the bed. I thrust my fingers into his hair, tugging at the dark locks. He stands and I prop up on my elbows, getting a good look at his body. It’s obvious that he’s big, more so than Ozzy, and a flutter of nerves tickles my belly. His thumbs hook in his shorts.
“You two may want to stop right there.”
His eyes widen, and I freeze. Both of us look over his shoulder where his father stands in the doorway.
“Jesus, Dad. Ever think of knocking?” Ezra asks, adjusting himself. He moves, blocking me from his father’s view.
“It’s my house. I don’t have to knock.”
I finally break from my trance, thankful I’m still covered even if it’s in the tiny scraps of the bikini. Heat boils under my skin, sheer humiliation. Is he going to call my parents? Who think I’m tucked in my bed right now?
My eyes meet Mr. Baxter’s as they flick from my chest to my face. “Get dressed and meet me in the house.”
He exits the room and I sit up, searching around. “Shit, my clothes are outside.”
“I’ll get them.”
I scramble off the bed and start pacing. I can’t believe I let this happen. My parents give me a lot of freedom, but this? They’ll crack down on me in a heartbeat. And Mr. Baxter? I shudder, thinking of the way he looked at me. He already told me I wasn’t good enough for his son—and now he caught me like this?
“Here,” Ezra says, coming back in the room. He hands me my shirt, jeans, and sneakers while tugging his own sweatshirt over his head. “I’m so sorry, KK, he told me he was going out of town. I had no idea he’d be back.”
“Do you think he’ll call my parents?”
He runs his hand through his hair—just like I had a few minutes ago when he was kissing my stomach. I pull my shirt on. Then my jeans.
“I doubt it. He’ll have to explain his own parenting flaws if he does. At the most he probably wants to give us some bullshit don’t-get-pregnant speech. It’s a classic.”