I threw the dish towel over my shoulder, not caring where it landed. My brain went to the groceries for a hot second—Should I put them away? Are they perishable?—before I scolded myself for even thinking of doing anything but this, right now. This felt urgent, important, and, god, his wet hair felt good against my hands. Last night had felt timid and exploratory, a tentative introduction to what might come. But this was frantic, needy, desperate. I pushed him forward with my body.

“We should take off these wet clothes,” I murmured in between kisses.

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

His lips pressed against my jaw, his teeth grazing my neck, my shoulder blade.

“I don’t want you to change into anything.” I felt his teeth nip harder into my neck in response, followed by the softest of kisses. He led me toward the kitchen, guiding me until my body was up against the counter. His hands moved from my hips to the back of my thighs, and he lifted me in one fell swoop onto the edge. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he ground into me, responding to the pressure of my body against his.

“Is this okay, Francesca?” he asked, and I almost imploded right there at the way my full name rolled out of his mouth.

“It is very okay. It would be even more okay if we went to my bed.”

That was all he needed to hear. He lifted me off the counter, my arms around his neck, my mouth on it too, his body stumbling forward. “Watch your head,” he said protectively as he moved us down the short hallway.

He lowered me to the floor, and his hands grazed the edge of my tank top. Then he lifted it up and threw it off. I tried to do the same with his shirt, but it was wet and heavy, and it got stuck on his head. He reached up to help me, and we both started laughing. I grabbed at my jeans, but the rain had glued them to my body, and it was taking every muscle in my arms to pull them down. I collapsed onto my bed, pants crumpled at my knees. “Hayes,” I said, “I am going to say something incredibly unsexy to you right now, and I hope it doesn’t kill the mood.”

“Anything,” he said. His face was open and patient, and I knew in that moment that there was nothing I could say to this man that he would find uncomfortable or embarrassing. He’d seen the most raw parts of me from the first time we met, and he was still here.