Hot Stuff

“Perfect.” I turn back around to Frank and smile. “Hear that, buddy? It’s almost time.”

Garrett chuckles as he walks back to the kitchen faucet and watches the water level closely. It can’t be more than another minute before he shuts it off and walks back toward me, but I’m already in action, picking up Frank’s bag, being sure to support the bottom too, and ceremoniously placing him on the top surface of the water.

The filled portion of the bag sinks until the water lines match, and Frank swims excitedly in the confined space in confusion.

“Oh hell,” I say suddenly, a little panicked about making Frank confused. “I don’t think I can watch this. I mean, he’s freaking out a bit. I feel like we’re traumatizing him…”

“It’s okay. He’s fine. Promise,” Garrett says, spinning me around by my shoulders. “It’ll be over soon, and until then, you can just look at me.”

I giggle nervously, lifting my chin to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been paying all that much attention to you since we got back.” That you know of anyway.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re excited. And I’m not offended, don’t worry. When you look at me too long, I start to think things…” He trails off, and my breasts do some sort of levitation in an attempt to get closer to him.

“What…what things are you thinking?”

He shakes his head, so I step closer and put my hand to his chest. I need to know.

“Garrett. What are you thinking?”

His eyes flick from my eyes to my mouth and back again. I can feel my whole body start to shake as he sinks his large, tanned hand into the roots of my hair at the base of my neck and grasps.

Oh holy, holy shit.

His other hand comes to my hip, pressing me to him and holding.

“These,” he says softly, his lips moving seductively a scant inch from my own, “are my thoughts.”

I nod. The range of motion of my head is limited with his hand in my hair, but his eyes sparkle wildly anyway. It’s more than apparent he’s gotten the message.

I release the breath I’m holding just as his lips come down on mine, forcing an opening between my lips I didn’t anticipate. His tongue slides inside gently in an effort not to squander the opportunity, but still, in some weird way, he does it politely.

I tingle all over, from my head to my toes, pushing up onto the tippy tops of them to seal myself against him even more thoroughly.

Holy hell. I had no idea a kiss could feel like this—especially a first kiss. It’s not bumbly or awkward or exploratory. It feels expertly designed for me, and it’s all I can do to hold myself up.

Thankfully, Garrett’s more than ready to support my weight. His hand at my hip moves around to become a hand at my ass and lifts.

Not all the way up, but just enough that he can scoot us back toward the wall without my even having to use my feet.

One second, we’re by the coffee table, and the next, my back is soundly against the wall.

Both of his hands sink into my hair then, carefully but respectfully dictating where and when my head should go to fully experience his kiss.

It’s a showstopper in all aspects, and if it weren’t for my experience as a doctor, I might think the flutter in my chest was a sign of cardiac distress.

As it is, I understand how adrenaline can fool the system.

One direction and then the other, he tilts my head so that he can run his tongue around the length of mine. His breath is fresh and exhilarating, and I swear to God, I’ve never been so turned on in my life.

Garrett Alexander is the real fucking deal.

He pulls back from the kiss, but his body is still pressed firmly to mine and I’m still one with the wall. I’m breathing hard, harder than a woman who eats healthy should be, given the level of physical activity.

But my heart is thumping so hard. The damn thing feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, and the fact that I can feel the heavy hardness of his cock against my stomach isn’t helping matters.

I swallow thickly, and he watches the motion of my throat with acute awareness.

“I should go,” he says softly, looking at me with a hunger that says the exact opposite.

“Yeah,” I agree, though with what, I can’t be certain.

My body does not think he should go. Not at all.

It thinks he should stay. He should stay pressed up against me until both of us forget that anything else exists.

That’s it. I’m a slut. I’m so ready to spread my legs for him tonight, I’m willing to beg.

Oh great. And now I’m slut-shaming myself.