My Favorite Half-Night Stand(40)

“Aww, Mills. You’re primping for me.”

“Am not.”

“You’re freaking out.” He comes up behind me, looking over my shoulder and meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m . . . no.” I turn around and face him. “Not freaking out. This is not the face of someone who is freaking out. This is the face of someone who . . .” Just realized that she’s a petty, jealous asshole and really wants to have sex but is also worried about the consequences.

“Who what?”

I blink up at him. “Wait. How did you get up here so fast?”

“I witnessed your ambush and went through the garage.” He stops short as his eyes travel down my body again, and he takes a step closer.

I cannot express how much I like intense, about-to-get-laid Reid.

Gripping my hip, he teases the elastic waistband of my underwear. “Here I was thinking I’d get to undress you.”

Even through the fabric of his clothes, I can feel the heat of his body against my stomach, where the fronts of his thighs rub against the fronts of mine. “I didn’t shave my legs.”

We’re so close; I feel his quiet laugh more than hear it. “You keep tampons in my bathroom and once used lube you found in my dresser to unstick a zipper. I don’t think a little leg hair is going to shock me.”

“I know, it’s just—that’s one of the things you do when you’re planning to have sex. Shave your legs, brush your teeth, wax your . . .”

His brows go up. “You should know that I don’t care about any of those things.” He runs his nose along the curve of my jaw before straightening again. “Okay, except the teeth brushing part. We can continue to prioritize that.”

“Noted,” I say, eyes closing when his fingers trail lower, tracing my hip bone. I feel the way he smiles against my chin, along the column of my throat. “Everyone’s downstairs.” Open mouth, breath hot against my skin. “Should we do something else until they go to bed?”

My head falls back against the wall and I very clearly identify with the phrase short-circuited. I’d like to think there’s at least one rational thought still bouncing around inside my cranium, but I’m incapable of retrieving it.

“Something else?” I say, voice a little wavery. “Like play Go Fish?”

His hands move up, dragging my shirt over my head before sliding my underwear down over my hips. He touches me like every part is worth something immeasurable.

His voice is a whisper against my shoulder. “I’ve never had sex in my parents’ house before.”

This catches my attention. “Never?”

He smiles again, moving lower, and dropping open-mouthed kisses between my breasts and over the cotton of my bra. He sucks on my nipple through the fabric and I arch into the touch. Big hands move around my ribs to my back, getting rid of the bra altogether with a casual flick.

Finally, he shakes his head in answer. “Never.”

My fingers twist in his hair. “I assume it’s the same”—I gasp in a breath as he opens his mouth against my skin, sucking—“only quieter.”

Reid looks up at me, wearing a smug, devious grin. “I’m not sure I can do quieter.”

Every single neuron in my body is firing, I swear it. “Oh.”

Reid straightens to his full height and I have to look up to meet his gaze again. I’m completely naked—bra on the floor, panties pushed down—but Reid is still dressed.

“Should we stay here? Maybe against a wall . . .” he says, bracing one hand near my head to cage me in. He nods back over his shoulder. “The bed might squeak.”

The idea of the mattress squeaking, of being able to hear what we’re doing, causes heat to explode through my body.

I stretch to kiss him, and push against his chest to send him a step back. Then another, and another, leading him to the small double bed beneath the window.

There are suddenly too many clothes between us. I slide his shirt up his torso, stopping when he gets the hint and tugs it off himself. I’ve seen his body before. We swim together and go to the gym, not to mention that Reid knows what he looks like and struts around shirtless all the time. But it was pretty dark when we had sex, and I was a little drunk. Right now the lights are on and I am mostly sober. I’m going to look and touch and enjoy every inch that I can.

“I can be quiet,” I tell him.

“That’s good,” he says, amused as I struggle with his belt. “Otherwise my dad will think it’s the pipes or something and we’ll have an audience of at least one.”

“Ugh, no dad talk right now.”

I graze a nail over his nipple and he sucks in a breath. “Okay, then my mom. Or Alex—God knows he’d probably pull up a chair and give me pointers—”

“I swear to God I will leave—”

I’m stopped by the grip of his hand on the back of my neck and the press of his smile against mine. His lips are as soft as I remember, but less frantic, more experimental as he takes his time. I shove him down to his back so I can straddle his legs, and he groans into my mouth.

“God, you feel amazing.” He chases my bottom lip, sucking a little before pulling away and searching my face. “Are we really doing this again?”