Page 59 of Yours, Unexpectedly

“Oh—I… Sorry, I should go.”

Anders is standing at the bathroom sink, shirtless, brushing his teeth. His sweatpants are slung low across his hips, and I can’t help but stare.

He pulls his toothbrush from his mouth. “Stay, Baby Bardot. I won’t bite.”

His eyebrow lifts in challenge.

“I… uh… I really should—”

My toothbrush is now in front of me with a dollop of wintergreen toothpaste across the top.

And that’s how I end up brushing my teeth next to Anders fucking Olsson.

Tonight was a dream. Anders apparently has an ultra-romantic side that he’s decided to show me now that we aren’t “just friends.” I felt so seen and… loved tonight. Which I refuse to think about too much because it’s too soon for any of that.

Anders and I are silent on the cab ride back to The Plaza. I would worry that the driver could sense the sexual tension that seems to be radiating off of us, but he’s too busy strumming his ukelele while he navigates the streets of New York at 2 a.m. It’s slightly terrifying and so absurd that Anders’ face is scrunched up in an effort not to outright laugh. The driver continues to play, singing at the top of his lungs, the entire drive from the Carlyle to our hotel. Apparently, the only song he knows is “Hey There, Delilah,” because he plays it on repeat, while driving, without once acknowledging our presence.

By the time we get back to the hotel, Anders’ face is red and tears are streaming down his cheeks. We spill out of the cab and he doubles over laughing, barely able to catch his breath. I think we must be slap happy at this point because his giggles are contagious and before I know it, there are tears streaming down my face too.

He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers and kissing each one, while he catches his breath. We make it to the elevator, trying and failing to hold it together. Stumbling in, we both take a deep breath as Anders pulls out the keycard allowing us access to our floor.

As soon as he turns back toward me, it’s like a switch has flipped. His eyes that were just filled with mirth are now looking at me like I’m his next meal and he plans on enjoying every last bite. I feel the heat of his gaze on every piece of exposed skin, causing a delicious pulsing throughout my body.

He stalks toward me, pinning me in place with those deep emerald eyes before his hands take over. His body weight pushes me back until I’m flat against the mirrored elevator wall. Wordlessly, he ghosts his lips over my collarbone, kissing across where his fingers traced earlier tonight.

I can see our reflection in the mirror across from me, and I’m struck by the erotic picture we paint. Dressed to the nines, slightly disheveled, lips parted as he sucks a spot on my neck, right below my earlobe.

“Anders,” I breathe. “I need you.”

“I know, baby,” he replies, right before his lips cover mine.

I throw my arms around his neck, yanking his body impossibly closer. Our movements are frantic, tugging and sucking like our lives depend on that next touch. We’re full on dry humping in the elevator, and if anyone is watching the security cameras, they’re getting quite the show.

Too soon and not soon enough, we arrive at our floor. As the doors slide open, Anders pulls back, his chest heaving. He looks like sex personified with one rogue strand of hair hanging in front of his face. He shakes out of his stupor and gives me one last, slow kiss before walking us both out of the elevator and down the hall to our room.

We don’t speak as he opens the door and ushers me inside. Once the door closes, I’m immediately pressed up against it.

“You have a thing for doors, don’t you?” I tease.

“Doors, walls, beds—don’t really care as long as my body is pressed against yours,” he murmurs, planting kisses across my face and neck.

He slides his hand up my exposed thigh, higher and higher until—“Wait.” He feels around a little bit more. “You don’t have anything under this,” he bites out. “Fuck me, baby. Have you been like this all night?”

I bite my lip and nod.

“And how wet will you be for me if I move my hand just a little… bit… more.”

“Anders, please. I need you to touch me,” I whine, leaning my head back against the door.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

Good God, the mouth on this man. I’m about to retort when he finally parts my legs, swiftly pressing a finger into me. My moan is so loud that I am fully convinced all of Manhattan hears me.

“Please, Anders. I want more.”

His movements grow faster as he pushes another finger into me, curling them so they hit exactly where I need him. He works me, continuing to kiss up the column of my throat until his lips meet mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth and mimics the push and pull of his fingers. Within minutes I can feel myself getting close.

Apparently, Anders can feel it too, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, and I feel unbearably empty.

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