Page 46 of Tastes Like Summer

“Oh my god!” But this time, I’m not moaning it in pleasure. The house. The girls. “Get off,” I yell, pushing against his chest. “Get off, get off!”

Michael doesn’t hesitate, immediately sitting up and giving me enough space to think a bit. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His chest rises and falls almost as quickly as mine does, his cheeks are bright red, pupils blown with the same hunger I feel, and his hair is a mess from how aggressively I must’ve run my fingers through it. Adorable and absolutely edible.

I try not to look at his jeans because I must’ve been imagining what I felt between my legs, but then my gaze slips down and⁠—

Nope. Didn’t imagine anything at all. There it is. And...

Want. Want so bad.

“We need to stop.”

“Why?” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Sorry. I mean, if that’s what you want, then⁠—”

“No, it’s not what I want! Or… Actually, I don’t know what I want. That was amazing, and you’re amazing, and we’re gonna need to talk about this eventually. But the girls. They’re in there and they could come out any second and we were just dangerously close to… something.”

He exhales deeply and rubs both hands down his face, nodding. “No, you’re right. Holy shit, you’re right. Like, what if they’d walked out and…”

“Exactly.” My cheeks are sensitive from beard burn, but I don’t hate it. I shiver, part of me ashamed from the pleasure I feel in knowing I’ve been marked, even if it’s accidentally.

“Right.” He scratches the back of his head before looking back up at me with a dimpled, bashful grin. “Bummer. I was… I was really enjoying myself.”

“Yeah.” A slow smile grows across my face. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” He raises his brows.

“Duh. Did me moaning your name not give it away?”

Michael laughs. “Not really. Maybe you dry humping my leg did, though.”

“Oh, god.” I pull a towel from the table beside the chair and cover my face with it.

“C’mon.” Michael gently pries the towel from my hands. “Don’t be embarrassed—dry humping is severely underrated. That was amazing. But you’re right. We should probably get inside.”

“Right.” I get to my feet and readjust my shirt, tie my hair up in a ponytail and take a deep breath.

I slide the door open, but Michael stops me with a hand around my wrist.

“Wait,” he pleads. “We’re going to talk about this later, though, right? We’re not just gonna… I don’t know, forget about it?”

I swallow, because part of me suddenly wants to forget about it. I mean, where can this even go? But the other side wants to have that talk. It wants to ask him why I’m feeling this way because maybe he knows.

“Like I said before, I promise we’ll talk about it later.”

He blows out a puff of air and nods, relieved. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Inside, the girls chatter away on the couch, watching YouTube makeup tutorials. They’re not even teenagers yet, and I already have to worry about this.

“Hey, girls. I’m home.” I smile, and reach for the remote, pausing their video.

“Mami!” My heart warms in my chest when my girls get to their feet and hug me just as I crouch in front of them, their affection a bit unexpected but very well-received. I hug them extra tight.

“How was your day? Emi, I heard you had a bit of a hard time.”

Emi glances furtively at Rachel, and I realize that Michael was right. “Um, yeah. But I’m fine now.”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it later, if you’d like,” I whisper to her.

Emi nods gratefully.