Every part of me feels flushed and hot, like I’ve run a race and I’m out of breath but exhilarated from the effort. Maybe it was that stupid spider scaring me out of my wits a little while ago. Or how tender Ethan’s been with me tonight, coming to my rescue and listening to what happened to me as a child. Not laughing at me. Only wanting to comfort me.

Or maybe it’s knowing we’re about to do this for real.

Even though I’ve been with other guys, even though I’ve carelessly shared things about myself with men who didn’t deserve them, I know Ethan does, and being here with him right now feels important. It feels like a first. Like I’m handing him the parts of myself I’ve protected as I’ve waited for him to come into my life.

He leans into the shower and twists knobs until a rhythmic pulsing of water hits the tiles and steam begins to rise.

A quick pulse of expectation fires in my veins when he returns to me, finding my lips with his, and I groan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against mine.

When I pull back, I paint his mouth with my finger, wanting to memorize the feel of his skin and hue of his full lips. “I hadn’t planned on you this summer.”

He bites my finger, and I yelp and laugh.

“You know what they say. The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Handsome and smart. I have no clue who he quoted, but I don’t really care. “Then you’re my favorite mistake.”

Smiling, I step back just enough to slide my hand down his t-shirt, so I can yank the offending material off his body. He laughs at my eagerness, reaching back to his collar to help me with that one-handed shirt removal guys do that looks effortlessly sexy.

He shakes out his thick, dirty-blond hair, the shirt relegated to the cold tile, and I bite my lower lip to keep myself from grinning when I’m treated to all six-foot-something of muscled man. Of broad shoulders painted with ink and shadow and shapes that contour his powerful physique.

Pushing up on my toes, I press a kiss to his sternum and run my fingers through his smattering of chest hair. Like I’m following a treasure map, I let the trail lead me lower. He smells so good—like soap and leather and man. His hair is still damp and curling at the ends from a shower he took earlier this evening, but I don’t remind him that he’s already clean.

His gunmetal-blue eyes stay pinned on mine as I unbutton his jeans and shove off the denim. I look down to find his bulge straining against his boxer briefs.

And what a beautiful bulge it is.

With a held breath, I skate my finger along the thick curve, but before I make it to the tip, he catches my wrist in his big palm.

“No dessert before dinner,” he chides.

I laugh and dart into the shower, letting out a squeal when he smacks my ass.

Why is he so much fun? He works tirelessly every day, his brow furrowed as he slaves in the barn, only to be this flirty, sweet guy when he comes home.

Home.

My heart warms at that word and how I’ve come to associate it with Ethan and his family.

He joins me a moment later—stark naked—and my girly parts spasm at the sight. The man is built like one of his horses. Sleek, smooth, strong.

And very hung.

He wraps me in his arms, my back to his chest. Like this, his impressive erection thumps against my rear, and I expect him to ravish me, but instead, he nibbles my neck.

“Let’s wash your hair.”

And he does. Working in the shampoo until I’m covered in bubbles and a lovely grapefruit scent.

The feeling of his strong hands massaging my scalp has me wanting to purr and curl up at his feet like his pet.

After rinsing it out, he repeats the motions with conditioner.

I’m a wrung-out mass of relaxed muscle by the time he’s done. My eyelids droop, my breath is a slow, labored effort, and my entire body feels boneless.

“How are you so good at this?” I cringe at my question, because do I really want to know about his experiences with his ex-wife or former girlfriends? Yeah, no.

The thought of him with other women is enough to send a sharp shard of jealousy through me. Even though that’s ridiculous. We’re only starting out. Barely becoming a we. I can’t become a crazy jealous lover if we’re hardly even lovers.

I brace myself, just in case, but the effort is unnecessary.

“I have two kids, remember?” But then he kisses my neck and murmurs, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, though, because I’ve never washed a woman’s hair before.”

All that anxiety melts away like a thunderstorm dissolving into the horizon.

How was he married and yet this is the first time? Isn’t this something a husband does for his wife from time to time?

Because, yeah, if Ethan were my husband, I’d want the deluxe package. Hair-washing, conditioning, and steamy shower sex. On the regular.

My heart does a happy skip in my chest at the thought of Ethan being mine in a permanent kind of way.

Calm down, crazy. He hasn’t asked you to pick out wedding invitations.

His big hands land on my hips and slowly turn me, and I’m smiling from all of his attention. From knowing I’m the first woman he’s touched like this.

Standing in the shower, with water pulsing down and warm, amber lights shimmering from above, I’m overwhelmed by him. By the stubble across his strong jaw. By the electricity in his eyes. By the sleek strength of his body.

“I’ve never had a guy wash my hair.” I’m not sure why, but I feel shy and stare at his chest when I say this. “You’re going to spoil me.”

I swallow. The barest parts of me just beneath my skin feel so thirsty, like I’ve survived a long drought waiting for the rain. Waiting for him.

With one finger, he tilts my head so I have to look up at his beautiful face.

He smiles and leans down to brush his lips against mine. “Good. Because thinking about some other guy touching you like this makes me insane.” One more kiss, this time to my shoulder. “And I’d gladly wash your hair every day, sweetness.”

This is too fast. Too crazy. Too soon, a voice in my head screams, my limbs going weak.

Closing my eyes, I try not to get overwhelmed.

No, I want this. I’ve wanted this all summer, if I’m being honest with myself.

Aren’t the best things in life about taking chances? At least that’s how I used to feel when I was younger. It’s not fair to deny Ethan my full heart because I’ve made mistakes in the past. Carpe the fucking diem and all that, right?

I’m doing this, I decide. I’m all in. Because I don’t want to look back on my life and realize I screwed this up or lost out on a great man because I was too chickenshit to try.

His hot breath is in my ear when I pull his body closer, wrapping my arms around his neck, his sizable erection thumping against my stomach.

We slide together, and the moment our mouths connect again, we both groan. Those rough hands move down to my ass. Stroke along my thighs. Squeeze my breasts.

“You sure about this, baby?” he asks between deep, drugging kisses.

I’m over my internal crisis. Everything in me is slanted toward him like a field of wheat pointed toward the sun. “Fuck, yes.”

I grip his wet hair and hold his mouth to mine, which gets me another groan rumbling from his chest.

A moment later, and my back is against the wall. Wedged against the corner, where he picks me up by the back of my legs like I weigh nothing and settles me on his thick thighs so that my core is nestled perfectly against his erection.

We both look down at how he spears my flesh, the sight obscenely beautiful.

My thighs tighten and I try to move, but he won’t let me. For a second, his rough hands merely smooth over me, over my back and breasts and stomach until I’m a writhing mess. Slick and swollen and ready for him to fill me.

He doesn’t though. Not yet.

My heart is a heavy beat between my legs when he slides his wide cock against my skin. Quick jolts surge though me as his thick crown notches against my clit. Over and over and over again.

“You feel so good. So wet,” he murmurs against me. His shoulders and neck and forearms pull taut from holding me. From holding back and working me over.

I’m wordless. A free-fall of want and need and drive to finish.

My head falls back—mouth open, breath caught—as every part of me tenses, but then he’s sucking on my neck. Licking behind my ear. Biting my shoulder.

Unintelligible words fall from my lips, but they’re all a mixture of how good he makes me feel and how close I am and dear God, don’t stop.

But when his mouth closes around my nipple, I come apart, flailing. Flying. Shocking jolts of pleasure shuddering up my body.

I’m wrapped around him with my face pressed to his neck, panting and shivering with the euphoric surge of that orgasm.

Though he’s pressing sweet, soothing kisses to my shoulder as though we have all the time in the world to love and fuck, he’s still very hard and very thick between my legs.

The thought of that urges me out of my stupor and down to my knees. Because now it’s his turn to fall apart.