There were a million words I could say in this moment. I could make a funny quip about the weather, or thank him for carrying all those groceries, or comment on his clothes—but before I could open my mouth, he was there, his lips on mine. Hayes Montgomery was kissing me, hard.
I threw the dish towel over my shoulder, not caring where it landed. My brain went to the groceries for a hot second—Should I put them away? Are they perishable?—before I scolded myself for even thinking of doing anything but this, right now. This felt urgent, important, and, god, his wet hair felt good against my hands. Last night had felt timid and exploratory, a tentative introduction to what might come. But this was frantic, needy, desperate. I pushed him forward with my body.
“We should take off these wet clothes,” I murmured in between kisses.
“I don’t have anything to change into.”
His lips pressed against my jaw, his teeth grazing my neck, my shoulder blade.
“I don’t want you to change into anything.” I felt his teeth nip harder into my neck in response, followed by the softest of kisses. He led me toward the kitchen, guiding me until my body was up against the counter. His hands moved from my hips to the back of my thighs, and he lifted me in one fell swoop onto the edge. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he ground into me, responding to the pressure of my body against his.
“Is this okay, Francesca?” he asked, and I almost imploded right there at the way my full name rolled out of his mouth.
“It is very okay. It would be even more okay if we went to my bed.”
That was all he needed to hear. He lifted me off the counter, my arms around his neck, my mouth on it too, his body stumbling forward. “Watch your head,” he said protectively as he moved us down the short hallway.
He lowered me to the floor, and his hands grazed the edge of my tank top. Then he lifted it up and threw it off. I tried to do the same with his shirt, but it was wet and heavy, and it got stuck on his head. He reached up to help me, and we both started laughing. I grabbed at my jeans, but the rain had glued them to my body, and it was taking every muscle in my arms to pull them down. I collapsed onto my bed, pants crumpled at my knees. “Hayes,” I said, “I am going to say something incredibly unsexy to you right now, and I hope it doesn’t kill the mood.”
“Anything,” he said. His face was open and patient, and I knew in that moment that there was nothing I could say to this man that he would find uncomfortable or embarrassing. He’d seen the most raw parts of me from the first time we met, and he was still here.
Also, his chest. Holy shit, his chest. I had wondered what was underneath all those perfectly laundered, crisp button-downs. And here was my answer: tight muscle and soft dark hair, smooth skin that stretched on for days. If Hayes’s chest was already the death of me, I might not live long enough to see him fully naked.
“My pants are stuck,” I said, gesturing at my ankles. “Can you just, you know, yank them off?”
“Is this your version of dirty talk, Franny?” He smirked at me. Fuck, he was hot when he flirted.
I leaned back on the bed and lifted my legs, and Hayes pulled my jeans off in one swift motion. His pants dropped more easily to the floor, and he kicked them to the side and then climbed over me, sliding a knee next to my hip.
“Hi,” I said, gazing up at him, his damp hair falling forward and touching my forehead.
“Hey,” he said back, holding my gaze.
“Our underwear is wet too. We should probably take that off.”
He nodded gravely. “I would hate to get your bed all wet,” he said. Together, we slid back, our heads on the pillows, his hand tracing a line down my arm, across my ribs. He unhooked my bra with a flick of his fingers.
“Wow,” I said, shifting the straps off my shoulders. “One hand.”
“I’m good with my hands,” he said, a lopsided grin creeping across his face.
“Oh my god, who are you?” I laughed a kiss onto his mouth.
“You set me up with that one,” he said. “But it’s also true.”
I pushed his boxer briefs down, then let him slide them off his legs as I lifted my hips and dragged my own underwear off slowly, knowing his eyes were on every move I made.
He ran a hand down to my calf and up my thigh, planting soft kisses on my stomach.
“I have condoms in my drawer,” I said, cutting to the chase.
He looked up at me, sliding back so our faces were flush. “Is all this okay?”
“This is the most okay thing to happen to me in a long time.” I laid a hand on his cheek. “But if you want, we can slow down. Take a break. Go get some coffee from Café New York.”