I pressed my lips together tightly.
My fingers twisted anxiously in my sleeves.
The sensation was strange and unsettling.
His hands felt like they held some kind of magic.
My cheeks grew hotter and hotter.
The thought that it was Ethan filled me with a strange sense of transgression.
This is so weird!
We weren't really doing anything wrong.
So why did it feel like we were?
That peculiar, stimulating feeling stayed with me throughout the abdominal massage.
I had to admit, postpartum recovery was quite painful.
The occasional brush of his skin against mine sent subtle currents shooting up my spine.
It was almost addictive.
I kept telling myself this was just normal postpartum therapy.
Ethan hadn't shown any odd expression the entire time.
How could I let my mind wander like this?
But whenever I saw those prominent veins on his hands, my thoughts strayed.
The comfort those rough, large hands provided was simply irresistible.
It even stirred up old memories.
Back when we first became neighbors, Ethan was always so good to me.
I relied on him heavily.
One afternoon, when my parents were out, he brought two ice creams.
He pretended he wasn't going to give me one.
We playfully fought over it.
I lost my balance and tumbled forward, knocking him to the ground.
My hands landed on his burning hot chest.
In that moment, I heard our heartbeads, loud and frantic.
The ice cream fell onto his chest.
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly.
The heat from his body seeped into mine through our skin.
The atmosphere grew thick and charged.
I don't know where I found the courage.
I stared at his thin lips.
I lowered my head and licked the ice cream off his chest.
The action felt intensely sensual.
The creamy white ice cream began to melt on my tongue.
My tongue traced his tightly sealed lips before slipping inside.
His entire body went rigid.
My voice was sweet and syrupy.
My smile was innocent, as if I knew no better.
"Ethan, the ice cream tastes pretty good."
His eyes darkened.
He grabbed my hand.
In one swift motion, he flipped us over.
The ice cream on his chest smeared, sliding down.
Sticky, cold droplets dripped onto my blouse.
The icy sensation made me gasp.
One drop, then another, soaking into the fabric.
Our thighs pressed together unconsciously.
A restless, heated energy filled the room, bold yet cautious.
His dark, intense eyes locked on me.
His warm breath ghosted across the tip of my nose.
Even in the dim light, I could see the fire in his gaze.
His voice was rough and husky.
His eyes dropped to the mess the ice cream had made on my clothes.
"Isabella, let me clean you up."
Ethan's long, slender fingers began slowly unbuttoning my blouse.