Ryan hooked his fingers into the waistband of the oversized grey sweatpants Zara wore and yanked them down.
Zara didn't try to stop him. She stepped out of the heavy cotton, kicking the fabric aside. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but the thin, cropped white tank top.
The chill of the kitchen washed over her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her thighs, but the localized heat burning between her legs was entirely suffocating.
She was dripping wet. A heavy, slick sheen of arousal glistened openly against the dark curls of her core.
Ryan gripped her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly. He set her down on the edge of the marble island, right next to the pooled, spilled Cabernet.
The cold stone bit into the back of her thighs, making her gasp sharply, her hands flying back to brace against the counter.
