Page 23

23

Ziggy

This has been a night.

A whole damn day actually.

I’m not paying attention to the faucet as I crank it on to get warm water flowing to the shower so I can wash today off of me. I’m barely paying attention to my clothes as I peel them off too.

The only things I’m aware of are my irritation with my stepfather for his rules and the hopeless desperation that comes with facing the end of another friendship.

Not that Holt and I are anywhere close to what Abby Nora and I were.

But I was finally risking getting close to someone as a friend, a new friend—an attractive friend, let’s be honest here—and I can’t have him either.

He won’t stay. He won’t be my friend.

Because Roland doesn’t want him to be .

In the immortal words of every teenager to ever live, it’s not fair.

That’s what I’m thinking as I pull the shower curtain back, step inside, and come face-to-face with a big, ugly, too-many-legged spider dangling in the air.

“ Aaahhhhh !”

It swings from the ceiling, swaying in the mist coming off of the faucet, getting closer to my face as I scramble to get back out of the tub and away from its creepy round body and weird-ass bitey mouth and the sticky web.

I hate spiders.

Hate spiders.

Know what I loved about the ship?

No spiders.

“Ziggy.”

“ Aaahh! ” I screech again.

I’m naked.

Completely, totally buck naked in front of a spider and now in front of Holt.

I yank blindly for anything to cover myself with, find the shower curtain, and spin inside of it.

There’s brief tension, then a clink! as the curtain rod gives way and clatters into the tub.

The spider.

Where is the spider?

Is it still in the tub? Is it on the shower curtain? Did it crawl up to its little secret lair in the ceiling?

Why does my body itch?

Is it on me?

Holt’s scanning my body, then the bathroom. “What? What’s wrong? Is it a mouse? Fucking mice. I took care of the mice last year. ”

“Spider,” I gasp.

I’m turning in circles without enough room to turn in circles, looking for the spider, pulling the curtain and the rod with me.

It’s not hanging from the ceiling anymore.

Where the fuck did it go?

Is it in my hair?

Oh my god, is it in my hair?

“Ziggy,” Holt says again. “Hey. Hey . I’ll get the spider.”

“Is it on me?” I gasp.

“No.”

It is. He’s trying to make me feel better by telling me it’s not, but I itch.

I itch everywhere.

The spider’s on me.

I start to spin again, but warm hands grip me by the shoulders. “It’s not on you. I can see it. Hold still. I’ll get it.”

I finally blink up at him.

He’s staring at something behind me.

The spider.

He can see the spider.

I gulp for air.

He angles past me, limping.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I choke out.

“I can handle this one.”

“Your foot?—”

“It’ll be okay.”

“But—”

“It will be okay.”

I look down .

But I don’t see his foot.

I see black boxers, half-tented with a thick hard-on, and my gaze freezes.

Not so much that I don’t also take in hard, flat abs and massive thighs, but enough that I momentarily forget I’m worried about his foot.

You’re an asshole friend, Ziggy .

His foot.

I need to worry about his foot, and instead, I’m staring at the outline of his penis.

“Got it,” he says. “Flush it or let it go free?”

“ Flush it !”

His dick’s only so distracting when it comes to spiders.

But his chuckle—that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Okay. He’s gone.”

He leans over, flicks something, and flushes the toilet.

“All safe now.”

I lift my gaze, but it snags on his chest.

My god, he’s built.

His slim waist with the man-V leads up to a broad chest and broader shoulders. Dark hair covers his pecs. His arms are a sculpted masterpiece, and I have the most intense desire to bite his biceps.

I have it bad.

I have it so bad.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Do not touch the man-god standing in your bathroom, Ziggy. Do not touch. Not yours. Don’t ? —

“Better?” His voice is soft and gravelly.

And there’s more movement in his boxers.

Upward movement .

Why?

Why can’t we have this?

“Your foot?—”

“Boot’s got it.”

He doesn’t move to show me.

I keep gaping at him.

His body.

I want to touch.

I want to touch and lick and taste.

“You gonna be able to get out of that mess okay?”

That husky timbre to his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “I broke your bathroom.”

“You dislodged a flimsy curtain rod. I can fix it tomorrow.”

The water’s still running. Steam’s beginning to circle us. “I should turn that off.”

Don’t say it, Ziggy. Do it. Turn around. Turn the water off .

Don’t want to though.

I want to stay here, soaking up every inch of Holt’s body.

He has a scar on one shoulder. Not a surgical scar—it’s too uneven. Another on his neck.

I skim a finger over his shoulder scar.

He sucks in a breath but doesn’t move away.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t remember.”

The shower.

I need to turn the shower off.

But I’m obsessed with the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Ziggy?—”

“Thank you for saving me.” My fingers trail down from his scar to trace the edge of muscle in his upper arm.

Goosebumps break out all over his skin. “My pleasure. ”

He hasn’t tried to touch me since he steadied me when I was worried about the spider.

But his fingers are twitching like he wants to.

“If this were yesterday,” I whisper, “I’d tell you I don’t have any expectations. I come with a lot of baggage. But not today. Today, I’m just here. Being me.”

“Tater Tot isn’t baggage.”

My heart swells.

I know this isn’t going anywhere.

I know we shouldn’t.

But I finally lift my head to study his face and find him watching me with the kind of intensity that makes my nipples tight and my vagina wet.

His pupils are dilated, lips parted, breath coming quickly.

His hair is even messier than it was when I got home tonight.

And I want to kiss him.

I want to go up on my tiptoes, wrap my arms around his thick neck, and kiss him until I can’t breathe.

Instead, I’m still drifting my fingers down his arm. “If I was someone else, would you kiss me?”

“No.”

A shudder rips through me.

No.

No .

I step back and almost fall into the tub, but Holt catches me.

Both arms wrapped around me.

His face inches from mine.

“Sorry,” I stammer. “I?—”

“I want to kiss you. You. Exactly as you are. Not if you were someone else. You wouldn’t be you if you were someone else.”

Oh .

I lift my face to his again.

“I shouldn’t want to.” His voice is hoarse and delicious. “But I do. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first night we met.”

My heart squeezes.

So do a few other regions in my body. “I was a mess.”

“You were fucking adorable. The memory of you and that chicken lives rent-free in my head. In the good way.”

Embarrassment would be the proper reaction to remembering the way I was hoovering a whole rotisserie chicken in my car, but he’s so sincere that I get a little hot in the eyeballs.

It’s special to feel appreciated even in your not-best moments.

“As far as I’m concerned, you still play lacrosse,” I tell the man who hasn’t let go of me since he saved me from tripping over the bathtub.

A hint of a smile teases his lips, and that’s it.

I’m done.

I can’t take this anymore.

If I don’t kiss him, I might die.

So I do.

I cup his cheeks in my hands and go up on my toes and press my lips to his.

His whole body shudders against mine, and then he’s kissing me back. Lips teasing and suckling. Arms wrapping tighter around me. His breath warm on my face, his nose touching mine.

The stubble on his face is just long enough to be the softest sandpaper, and when he parts his lips and touches his tongue to mine, I whimper in relief and deepen the kiss.

Finally.

Finally .

It feels like I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. Waited my entire life for this kiss.

Waited my entire life for him .

He strokes my shoulders, his fingers brushing my bare back, and it’s my turn for goosebumps.

I thread my hands into his hair.

He lowers one hand to my ass.

I kiss him harder.

He makes a rough noise at the back of his throat, and then I’m against the wall, straddling one thick, powerful leg, the shower curtain slipping down, exposing my breasts to steamy air while his tongue strokes mine, hot and wet and demanding.

My breasts are heavy. My nipples are tight. My clit pulses as I press my sex against his hard muscle, shamelessly rubbing myself against his leg.

I don’t know if he’ll ever kiss me again after tonight.

If one of us will suddenly remember we’re not supposed to do this and actually care to stop.

I don’t want to stop.

I want to stay here, his body pressing against mine while he devours my mouth and presses a leg between my thighs and slides his hands up to the sides of my breasts, his thumbs sneaking between us to rub my hard nipples, his erection pressing into my belly.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Fuck, Ziggy.”

“No no no,” I whisper. “No thinking. Just—kiss me again. Please. ”

He’s panting as he looks down between us to where his hands are now cradling my breasts. “So fucking gorgeous.”

I press a kiss to his scruffy cheek, then another, and another, angling to his square jawline while I stroke his neck.

He shudders again. “Don’t stop.”

Don’t stop. I want you. I need you .

He doesn’t say it.

Of course he doesn’t.

But I can feel it. I feel it in the rise and fall of his chest between us. I see it in the hooded desire in his eyes. I hear it in the yearning in his voice.

You think a man can carry the weight of the world with all of his strength, but he’s not meant to be alone either.

“Come to bed with me,” I whisper between kisses.

“Ziggy—”

“I want you.” He smells like salty ocean and raw earth and summer kisses in a lake, and I can’t get enough. I kiss his neck and breathe him in. “Please. Just once. I know you’re leaving tomorrow. Don’t—don’t go before you give me one night. Just one night. Please.”

He pulls back until he can look down at me, pulling his leg back from between my thighs too.

I do.

I know he’s leaving.

He doesn’t have to tell me. It was so damn awkward at dinner and afterward—there was no question.

He’s leaving.

This is my last chance.

My only chance.

His eyes are nearly black now, and I swear I know what he’s thinking.

One night will never be enough .

He’s not wrong.

But tomorrow Ziggy doesn’t care.

We’ll deal with tomorrow when it gets here.

What if tomorrow doesn’t come?

What if tonight is all we have?

“Lose the shower curtain,” he says hoarsely.

I wiggle out of it, letting it drop to the floor.

He looks down, his hands stroking from my breasts down to my hips as his erection bobs inside his boxers.

I bite my lip. I’m still stroking his neck, but I’d like to be stroking his penis.

Licking it.

Sucking on it.

His thumbs brush my lower belly where the barest hint of swelling is finally showing off my pregnancy. I bought new pants to be more comfortable weeks ago, but I haven’t started showing at all until this past week.

“So fucking gorgeous.”

Steam curls around us. I shift, rubbing my calf against his as I step out of the twisted curtain at my feet, and I let my hands drift down his chest, to his stomach, and lower, tracing the line of hair to where it disappears into his boxers.

“Come to bed,” I say.

Once more, he lifts that serious gaze to me.

He doesn’t say a word, but again, I swear I hear what he’s thinking.

This will change everything .

Maybe it will.

Maybe it won’t.

But something that feels this good, this right , can’t be bad for us.

And if it is, I don’t want good anymore .

I just want him.

He lowers his mouth to mine, and this time the kiss is slow and long and deep, with his hips rolling against mine, pressing his erection into my belly while I let my hands glide around his trim waist until I’m squeezing his ass.

So much muscle.

So much power.

He growls low in his throat, and then he shifts, pulling out of the kiss to drift lower, licking and suckling at my jaw, my throat, my collarbones, and lower.

I gasp when he swirls his tongue around one nipple, then the other. His hands hold my hips while he kisses me lower, down my breastbone, over my stomach to my belly button. My clit is aching to be touched, and I’m so turned on that I’m wet between my thighs.

“Holt—”

“You smell fucking fantastic.” His face drifts down, peppering kisses over my lower abdomen, making me tingle with anticipation, with desire, with desperate, heavy need.

And then he’s parting my legs as he kneels, pushing my trembling thighs apart.

His tongue touches my clit while his whiskers tickle my most sensitive skin, and I almost come unglued. “Oh god,” I gasp.

“Wider, kitten. Spread these legs wider so I can eat all of you.”

I grip his hair while I open myself wider, braced against the wall.

“Ah, good girl,” he murmurs. He lifts one of my legs to rest on his shoulder and then his face is between my thighs, his breath in the dark curls covering my mound, licking my pussy, his rough scruff rubbing against my inner thighs, and oh my god .

“You’re so wet.” He flicks my clit with his tongue.

I gasp in sheer pleasure at the electric sensation building deep inside me. “You—make me—wet.”

“Good.” He licks me again.

My legs fall open more, offering all of me to him. I can’t think. Can’t fully catch my breath.

Don’t want to do either.

I just want to ride the sensations of Holt licking and sucking and teasing my pussy while desperate heat coils deep, deep inside me, revel in his approving hums while he eats me.

He swirls his tongue around my clit, and my hips buck into his face.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs. “Give me more of this delicious pussy.”

“Holt—”

“So good.” He licks me again. “Touch your breasts, Ziggy. Squeeze your nipples.”

I don’t know how I have enough control of my own body to obey his orders, but I do.

I rub my breasts, so much fuller today than they were before I got pregnant.

So much more sensitive too.

I squeeze my nipples while he sucks on my clit, and when he slides two fingers into my vagina, a high cry leaves my throat.

Oh my holy Chianti in heaven .

I’m coming so hard and fast I don’t even realize it’s happening until I’m throwing my head back against the wall, dropping my hands to grip his hair and hold him between my legs, my toes curling while one foot presses hard into the floor and my other leg goes straight.

The world is glittery rainbows flashing in my vision. I feel the orgasm in my breasts, in my belly, in my heart.

Everything releasing.

Everything letting go on endless waves of hot, thick, wet ecstasy.

All courtesy of this utterly irresistible man who’s holding my hips while he licks and suckles at my pussy, eating me through my orgasm.

I don’t want it to end. I don’t want the world outside to exist.

I want to just be here, free to explore this thing between us.

No pressure one way or another.

Dammit.

Dammit .

My eyeballs are getting leaky.

The best orgasm of my life, and my eyeballs are getting leaky.

My body releases its last shudder, and I slump lower against the wall. “Oh my god,” I whisper.

My voice cracks.

Holt angles a look at me.

“Good,” I whisper as I stroke my hand through his hair. “Just so good.”

God, he’s beautiful.

Those observant brown eyes. Strong nose. Scruff just long enough to almost be a full beard, glistening with the moisture from between my legs. Thick neck. Broad shoulders .

And a boot on the leg he’s kneeling on as he reaches behind us to shut off the shower.

“We’re not done,” he tells me.

I smile. “Good. Let me get your crutches, and— ahh !”

And apparently not.

Because this deity of a man is scooping me into his arms.

Being the hero I didn’t even know I needed.

For now.

For tonight.

Tomorrow doesn’t matter.

Even if it should.