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His entire body swayed toward mine, shoulders hunching in like a shelter around me. I anchored my hands in his shirt, knowing he would keep me steady.
He did one better and held me completely.
Hands cupping my ass, he lifted. My legs wound around his waist, and our chests pressed tight. I wondered if he could feel my pounding heart. But then I realized it matched his.
His arms tightened around me as he carried me through the archway and into his room.
“I want you under me, angel. I want inside you.”
I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and nodded.
Gently, he tugged the lip free, licking over it, leaving it wet. “Tell me yes, angel.”
“Yes.”
* * *
“What. The. Fuck?”Those three words snapped me out of the memory, which made everything else fade away. Even though it was just a memory, my stomach fluttered and bounced like the first time.
Impatient. Anticipating. Nervous. I was all those things… But with that memory singing through my veins, I realized I was something else.
Fucking starved.
How did this happen? How could I have allowed it?
“Lars?”
My name on his lips snapped me completely back into the present. God, his voice. It was like instant relief.
“Ja,” I said, automatically slipping into a Swedish agreement like my default setting was all I could manage.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I tilted my head just slightly, trying to make out that tone. It wasn’t what I was used to, but even still, the urge to run to him, to plaster myself against his front, was unnerving, and again, I marveled at how starved I suddenly felt.
“Lars is Elite now,” Wes said, reminding me that we were at the pool and there was a whole bunch of men staring at us. “Isn’t that awesome?” Then he said, “Why didn’t you tell me your roommate in Sweden was a swimmer?”
Win made a noise, looking at his brother and then back at me.
His shoes squeaked over the tile, then splashed in a puddle one of the swimmers left behind. His hand curled around my wrist, my chilled skin gladly welcoming the heat he radiated.
I rushed to keep up when he started forward. No one said anything as he towed me into the locker room, the door banging loudly behind us. His grip was firm. His back remained to me as he traipsed past a couple rows of lockers before tugging me between the last one on the end.
He turned on me, hazel eyes a mask of confusion and anger.
I felt my brow furrow.
“Explain,” he said, releasing my wrist.
I automatically reached for it, curling my other hand around the place he’d just held. My fingers rubbed the warmth he left behind.
His eyes fell to the action, and he frowned. Reaching for me again, he cupped my forearm in his palm while gently brushing aside my hand. “Did I hurt you?” His voice was hushed and intimate, and my entire body prickled with goose bumps.
Resisting the urge to shiver, I rolled my eyes. “Of course not,” I said, my louder tone ruining the intimacy we’d so easily slipped into.
Impervious to my attitude, he brushed the backs of his fingers over my wrists, satisfying himself that he hadn’t left a mark.
“You’re cold.” He spoke, eyes noting the rampant bumps prickling my skin. Dropping my arm, he scrutinized me. “Where the hell are all your clothes?”
