pull my shirt back down, feeling color rise on my face.
He looks over my shoulder and then back at me, eyelids heavy, his voice hoarse. “They’re gone, just passing by.”
He leans down to kiss me again, but I stop him, my chest heaving. “Wait.”
He breathes deeply as he studies me, searching my face. “Why?”
Why?
I stare at him, taking in the perfection. The broad shoulders, the roped forearms, the way his hair falls around his chiseled face, and those lips…delicious and perfect and…I want them on my body.
I swallow down a shaky breath.
He ticks all my boxes for men, but he’s too much for my already broken heart.
No matter my bravado downstairs, to me, this wouldn’t be just a hookup, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t make promises.
“Sorry.” Before he can say a word, I brush past him and dart for the exit, dashing through the media room until I’m out in the hall. Breathing as if I just ran a marathon, I hear voices coming up the staircase and act on a whim. I head to the bathroom, which is just to the right, clearly labeled with a sticker on the door.
I go into the surprisingly spacious room, lean against the wall behind the door, and play back the kiss, remembering the feel of him against me, how my body felt alive for the first time in weeks. He is…so intense and beautiful.
The door opens and I mutter a curse in my head for not locking it, but before I can reach out to stop the progress of the person entering, I see it’s Zack, and I stop. The door closes softly behind him and I freeze as I wait for him to see me, but he hasn’t. He keeps his gaze lowered as he walks to the sink, a hand deep in his hair, chest heaving as he flips on the cold water, letting it run.
He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time then tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling for several beats. He closes his eyes and bends down to splash himself with water. Grabbing a clean towel from under the cabinet—who knew they existed in a frat house—he presses it to his face and holds it there for several seconds. Then, he tosses it down and flips the water off with his head bowed, breathing in and out. There’s a red flush on his cheeks and his jeans are tented. My gaze lingers there, seeing the fullness of the denim. Shit. My body softens, picturing those jeans pulled down and him inside me.
“Zack?”
He flips around, his jaw popping as he takes me in. His hands clench. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I know.” I take a step toward him, stopping a few feet away.
Neither of us speak, that thread of tension between us building as we stare at each other. I want those powerful, muscled arms around me. I want his emotional eyes gazing into mine when—
“I should go,” he says, moving to open the door, and I put my hand on his arm.
“Wait.” I don’t know what I’m doing, but this moment, this guy—it feels right. “Don’t.” I take another step and eliminate the distance between us. With a hand that trembles, I lock the door, tilt my head back, and take him in. His hair is slightly damp from the water and I reach up and run my hands through it. It feels as good as it looks, soft and silky. I tug on the ends. “Stay.”
His lips part, a long breathy sound coming out. “Are you sure?”
Curling my fingers around his neck, I stand on my tiptoes and press my mouth against his. “Yes.”
His response is instant, an accelerant to a flame, his lips taking control, his tongue an invader as we go nuclear in a millisecond.
His hands cup my face as his mouth ravages mine. He sucks my tongue until I groan, my breaths labored and loud in the small room. He kisses down my neck, retracing his path from before, his lips hot against my collarbone, the back of my ear.
Cool air hits my skin as he eases up my sweatshirt. I help him pull it up and over my head, exposing my black lace demi bra. He throws my shirt on a shelf and stares at me with an almost hesitant look, as if I might change my mind. I won’t, my eyes tell him.