And still she strokes me, her touch feather light over my biceps, lingering at the knobby bone of my wrist. Jesus. She gives my index finger a little tug and it’s like she’s grabbed my dick. I grunt, swallow a louder moan.

And Fi watches it all, her expression rapt. I’m so under her spell that when she speaks, a low murmur meant for my ears only, I nearly jump out of my skin. “I can’t stop touching you,” she says.

“You hear me complaining?”

Her pretty lips curl. But the smile dies just as quickly, and she releases a soft breath. “This is the longest car ride ever.”

I can’t help it. I have to touch her. My hand slides up her thigh. I know beneath those tight jeans she’s smoother than silk, soft and lush. She trembles under my touch, and when I cup her heat, those plump thighs clench over my hand. I give her a squeeze. She’s damp, even through the thickness of her jeans. Fuck me.

“You aching here, Cherry?” I whisper, watching her eyes glaze over, her lids fluttering down.

Little white teeth bite down on her plush bottom lip as she gives the barest nod. My chest hitches. I push just a little harder and am rewarded with the sight of her lips parting, her brow knitting as if she’s fighting a whimper.

She grips my wrist, and I think she might push me away, but she holds me fast. Slowly, I grind my fingers in a circle. “Here is the only place I want to be,” I tell her, my voice a ghost in the dark.

She slumps against me, her open lips on my shoulder, her breath, humid and panting. Beneath her soft sweater, her nipples peak, hard buds that I want to test with my teeth, suck in my mouth.

I’m drifting downward, intent on doing just that, when the car halts, snapping the spell. Gray throws the interior into harsh light when he opens his door. Fi catches my eye. Her cheeks flush pink.

We’re here. And it’s going to happen.

Fiona

I swear my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest as I take Dex by the hand and silently head up the stairs, aware of my sister’s and Gray’s stare but not caring. Dex follows me, his grip secure, his steps steady.

Truth is, I might be the one walking up those stairs first, but he’s the one leading me with that intense gaze of his, all hot and wanting. It prompts me to put one foot in front of the other. To rise higher and higher.

I tremble climbing the stairs. This is going to be Dex’s first time. And he’s giving that honor to me.

What surprises me is how much that matters. How much he matters.

When I’m with Dex, I’m not worrying if I’m good enough. Instead, I’m aware of my body, the way it feels, moves, and reacts to his. He puts me in a state of euphoria mixed with tight anticipation. He’s addicting, and I want all of him.

By the time we enter his room and close the door behind us, my knees are weak. I turn to face him, maybe to reassure him—I’m not even sure of what—and he’s on me. His mouth is hot and open, assured and taking what he wants. My pulse leaps. I suck in a breath and kiss him back, jumping up into his arms when he grabs my ass and lifts me high.

The room spins, and then I’m in Dex’s bed, straddling his thick thighs as he leans against the headboard. As if being in the bed somehow grounds him, he slows us down, caressing my shoulders, murmuring a sound of contentment.

“I love the way you kiss me,” I say against Dex’s lips. We exchange air, a gusty sigh, and he angles his head, flicks his tongue along my upper lip.

“I love the way you taste,” he murmurs before taking a slow, languid taste of me again.

I shudder, feeling it down my spine, up my legs. “You don’t kiss like a virgin, Ethan.”

He kisses me again, a little deeper, nipping my lower lip. With a grunt, he grips my ass and tugs me closer.

“And you sure don’t act like one,” I whisper breathlessly.

“Guess I forgot to read the virgin handbook.” His voice is husky against my skin. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I’d do with you once I got my chance. Vivid, detailed plans, Cherry.”

His hand cups the back of my head, completely engulfing it, and he kisses his way down my neck. I shiver in response, wrapping my arms around him, pulling myself a little closer—because there’s no way I’m moving him. He’s too big.

Had I snubbed big guys before? A mistake. There’s so much to explore. My hands coast over his shoulders, the muscles there liked honed granite.

“Take this off.” I pluck at his sleeve. I want to see him, feel his hot skin.

Dex sucks a sensitive spot at the base of my throat before pulling back. He reaches behind him, grabs hold of his shirt, and tugs it over his head in one swift motion. His hair flows wild around his face as he sits back and looks at me with eyes like smoke-quartz in the lamplight.

“Sweet hot peppers,” I say on a gasp.

He grins, even teeth flashing white in the frame of his dark beard. “Never heard that one before.”

I can’t even answer. I’m too busy just looking. Because Ethan Dexter without a shirt on is breathtaking. I knew he was built—kind of hard to hide that. But seeing him in the flesh is so much more.

There is nothing lean or sinewy about him. He’s simply solid, defined bulk. A body designed to take a hard impact and not cave. To endure. Broad shoulders like mini boulders, pecs as big as dinner plates. His abdomen is a veritable slab, a wispy little happy trail of golden brown hair starting a few inches below his navel.

Tattoo sleeves run from his wrists to the caps of his shoulders. Elegant script the width of my palm spans his collarbones.