The breath rushed from his nose when I popped the button. His fly was down an instant later, and I shoved the jeans off his hips. As they slid down, he shifted back and stepped out of them.
In nothing but his boxers, he swept me into him and kissed me again. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed my hips into his, a few thin layers of cotton separating our bodies.
He rumbled wordlessly, one hand sliding under the back of my tank top. His other palm ran up my side and over my breast. His thumb stroked me through the thin fabric of my top and sports bra, and I arched into his touch, needing more. So much more.
Tearing away from him, I grabbed my shirt and yanked it up over my head. I was still dragging it off my arms when he pulled me back into him. His mouth covered mine, his hot hands running up my sides, over my breasts, then down to my hips.
I shoved my pants down my legs, then threw them and my shirt onto the small bench. Bra and underwear followed.
Ezra watched my every motion with ravenous intensity. His hands were on me before I’d gotten my underclothes safely on the bench, his fingers sliding over my skin. He kissed me, brief and hungry, before his mouth claimed the soft spot under my jaw.
I reached between our bodies. His breath caught when I wiggled my fingers under the waistband of his boxers. I took him in both hands, stroking and caressing until he was panting for air.
Then I pushed his boxers down. As the last piece of fabric between us disappeared, he swept me up off my feet. My bare legs clamped around his waist as he stepped under the shower’s spray.
I gasped as the hot water hit us. It cascaded over our naked bodies, but its heat was nothing compared to the molten lava inside me.
I clutched Ezra. Kissing him. Touching him. My hands dragging across every muscle, every scar, every inch of his gorgeous bronze skin. His hands were occupied with holding me up, taking my weight with easy strength, but his mouth was busy—kissing down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbones.
He boosted me higher, one hand bracing my back, then his mouth was exploring my breasts with luscious, devoted attention. Lips and tongue. Tasting and sucking. I arched in his hold, quivering and breathless, hands in his hair, legs clamped tight around his waist.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I was moments from flying into a million pieces, I squirmed my legs free and slid down him.
His hard length pressed between my thighs, and I moaned as I rubbed against him. He grabbed my hips and stopped my movement, breathing hard.
We stared at each other, his eyes burning and starved for more.
I seized the bar of soap. He continued to hold my hips as I lathered up my hands and pressed them to his chest.
He leaned down. As I ran my hands over his shoulders, rubbing the soap across his skin, he kissed me, slow and hot and consuming. I soaped down his arms, caressing every muscle, and when I pressed closer to run my hands over his back, his fingers tightened.
He pulled my hips into him, then guided them away. Back and forth, back and forth, the length of him sliding between my thighs, rubbing against me. Slow, erotic, unbelievably sensual. I whimpered breathlessly against his mouth but he held the slow, torturous, mind-melting pace.
Kissing with languid, flirting tongues. Hips moving in a slow, unhurried glide. Sweet torment that bordered on agony. We moved together, mouths locked, bodies pressed tight, and the steaming water rained down on us, washing away our fears and stress, our insecurities and doubts, the pain and struggle we’d endured to get here.
Then, as the teasing pleasure ramped higher and our mouths locked with growing urgency, he lifted me off the tiled floor. My shoulders met the cold shower wall as he braced me against it and slowly lowered me again. This time, instead of sliding between my thighs, he slid inside me.
My whole body quivered, muscles clenching, lungs gasping as hot pleasure swept through every nerve. I held him, legs hooked over his hips.
“Tori,” he rumbled. His arms tightened as he pinned me against the shower wall, hands gripping my ass, fingers pressing hard into my skin. His muscles bunched, then his hips moved.
His strength supporting me, I could do nothing but hold him—and it was torture, it was bliss, it was pleasure and agony and everything I’d dreamed of and more than I’d ever imagined. Where I would’ve rushed with frenzied lust, he moved slow and steady and strong. So damn strong. Every thrust sent me spiraling, and I clung to him, pleasure building at a delicious pace.
Building higher. And higher. His mouth dragged at my throat as I panted and moaned. My legs shook. I couldn’t take it.
“Ezra,” I gasped.
His fingers dug into my ass—and he thrust hard into me. Faster. Stronger. I grabbed his hair, and then our mouths were locked, breath rushing, chests heaving. I was rising and falling and spinning out of control, my whole being consumed by the feel of him inside me.
A groan rasped from his throat, and he drove into me. Pleasure rose through me in a wave, sweeping out from my center and overtaking my entire body. I quaked, gasping, moaning, no idea what sort of noise I was making because I couldn’t think, drowning in the tides of bliss flooding through me.
Finally, the waves of pleasure softened into a shivery warmth. Ezra leaned into me, half holding me, half pinning me to the wall as he caught his breath, his face pressed against the side of my neck.
I combed my fingers through his drenched hair. My hands were trembling.
“Holy shit,” I gasped almost soundlessly.
He must’ve heard
