by Lily Baldwin
He twirled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger while he pulled her close and kissed her hard, his tongue delving, teasing, savoring, his hands both gentle and biting, his breaths ragged, feeding her own hunger.
He unzipped her jeans and eased them down her hips. He dropped to his knees and ran his fingers along the waist of her white, cotton panties.
“Oh God,” she whispered. The ache was so strong. Her body yearned to be touched, kissed—she wanted it, needed it. She had never known such hunger. It filled her and starved her all at once.
Kissing her stomach, he eased her panties down, and pressed soft, full-lipped kisses on her newly uncovered skin. Cool air and his warm breath touched the heat of her. She gasped, gripping his shoulders for balance. Her knees trembled.
She stood in front of him, naked, her jeans and panties around her ankles, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to open her legs. Need for his touch consumed her. He freed her legs from her pants. She threw her head back as he gripped her ass and pulled her hips forward, opening her to the sensual magic of his intimate kiss. Her knees quaked. Heat surged through her, building where he lips and tongue caressed.
“Oh God,” she cried.
“You taste so good.” He stood and lifted her into his arms, then laid her down on the bed. His eyes roved over her, hungry and demanding. He stood next to the bed, his eyes now locked with hers as he undid the top button of his jeans. She squeezed her legs tight against the ever-building ache and gripped the blankets in fistfuls as she dropped her gaze to his zipper. Slowly, he eased his pants down. She gasped when he slid off his briefs and his full length spilled out.
His lips upturned in a sexy smile as he climbed onto the bed, his eyes like a predator that had zeroed-in on its prey. Instinctively, she scooted backward, away from his hungry gaze.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He grabbed her ankles. “Come back here.” He pulled her back to the foot of the bed until her bottom was off the edge. Then he spread her legs wide. She was completely exposed. He ran his fingertips lightly down her inner thighs. Increasing the pressure, he caressed her thighs and hips with his strong hands, then grasped her ass. Lowering his lips between her legs, he blew softly, sending her almost over the edge.
“Ethan,” she moaned, his name a desperate plea as she lifted her hips, wanting so much more.
“Has anyone ever tasted you before me?” he asked, his voice low. He lightly circled her sensitive skin with his tongue.
“No,” she breathed, her heart racing. Her body throbbing.
The tip of his finger entered her. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”
Her hips fluttered up and down on his finger. “No,” she cried.
He slowly slid his finger all the way inside her. He groaned. “You’re so tight.”
He pulled his finger slowly out, then slid it back inside, stretching her, stroking her, growing the ache that gripped her body.
“Yes,” she breathed, straining to take more of his finger, but then he took it away.
He shifted and slid his hands under her, lifting her hips. “I want to taste more of your sweetness.” His tongue went straight to the heat of her. Slowing he tasted her, delving his tongue inside her.
“Yes,” she cried out. “Please.”
“Not yet.” He smacked her bum. Then rubbed the spot, the light sting morphing into a wonderful sensation.
“You’ve got such a gorgeous ass.” He smacked the other cheek, also rubbing the sting away.
She groaned.
“Did you like that?”
“Yes,” she cried.
“Every inch of you is beautiful,” he rasped before returning his attention to her wet, throbbing heat, stretching her again with his finger, readying her for his first thrust. Sliding her up on the bed, she reached for him as he knelt between her legs and stretched over her. The weight of his body, his strength, his scent, surrounded her. She clung to him, pressing her hips into him. Her body hurt with desperate need, fueling her frantic, hungry kisses.
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her. Holding her gaze, he slowly guided his hard length inside her.
“Oh God,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
He pushed himself deeper inside her. She cried out as a sharp pain pierced her euphoria. Wincing, she pushed him away.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, his brow pinched with concern.
Pain shot through her, but she nodded. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, catching the tear she felt fall. He held still, his body taut beneath her gripping fingers.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow of his throat. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes against the pain as he pushed deeper.
He slid out a little, before filling her even more. The pain of being penetrated combined with her burning hunger. She wanted to cry, to scream, to beg for relief, but more than anything, she wanted the release her body craved. The sweet ache surfaced, overpowering the pain. Her hips thrust into him as if of their own accord
“You’re so tight,” Ethan rasped again. His whole body tensed. Every muscle flexed as he strained to move slowly. Hunger consumed him with a need he had never known, but he didn’t want to hurt her—at least any more than he had to.
He lowered his lips to hers. She clung to him. Her nails carved into his shoulders, down his back. He worried that she might crumble to pieces in his arms. But she didn’t tell him to stop or wait. She began to arch into him, meeting his thrusts, inviting him to keep going, little by little, stretching her tight sheath open until finally all of him was buried deep inside her. He strained to remain still, allowing her body to adjust to his. Then her arms came back around his neck and her legs encircled his waist. Her tongue grazed his lips.
With a groan, he deepened their kiss and rocked into her. Still kissing her, he slowly pulled out and gently filled her again, then again. Slowly out. Gently in. Slow and gentle until she gripped his shoulders harder. Her breathing quickened in his ear. He thrust deeper, harder. She threw her head back and arched to meet him, driving the pace faster, his full length clearly no longer causing her any pain. He thrust faster, harder. Her nails bit into his shoulders. He watched her sweet agony continue to build. She spread her legs wider, taking him deeper.
“Oh God,” she cried out. “Please.” She clung to him, shaking. Her muscles tightened around him, her thighs quivered. Her head rocked from side to side as she cried out, her body erupting. Her honeyed warmth clenched around his hard length, forcing him over the edge. He took her hands over her head and thrust deep and then again and then again and then his body seized. He cried out as he poured himself into her.
Chapter Twelve
Angel opened her eyes and was greeted by beams of morning sunlight slicing through Ethan’s bedroom, alighting warmly on her face. For a moment, she panicked, thinking about work, but then she remembered she had already talked to Suzi and got the day off. The next two days were her regular days off, which meant she was taking her first ever mini-vacation.
She snuggled beneath the soft, thick duvet. Dancing flames crackled in the fireplace. She could not have imagined a more idyllic moment; the only thing missing was the one thing that could tempt her to leave her warm cocoon—Ethan. She pushed the covers back and rose, crossing to his closet. She stepped inside and found one of his crisp, white shirts that she pulled on and buttoned. The edge of the hem skimmed above her knees, and she cuffed the sleeves several times to find her hands.
Leaving his room behind, she started toward the stairwell, but then she stopped, curious about the other doors down the hallway. She opened the first door and gasped at the sight of the spacious bathroom, complete with soaking tub and sauna. Promising the dreamy dry heat that she would return later, she continued her exploration. It was the door at the end of the hall that drew her interest. She opened it and found herself in a breezeway. Again, she was surrounded by windows that revealed mountains and c
lear blue skies. She continued through to the next door. Smooth, white canvases were piled in a corner, waiting to become something greater. Full cans of paint were stacked and scattered throughout the room, many with colorful dried streaks running down their sides, showing their use.
“Here you are.”
Angel didn’t look at Ethan when he entered the room. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the paintings leaning against the walls or resting on easels, awaiting his finishing touch.
She slowly shook her head in wonder. “You painted all these?”
He nodded, his eyes watching her intently.
“They’re incredible.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, reaching for her. “Particularly in my shirt.”
She smiled. “Ethan, I’m being serious. These are so beautiful. How do you do it? Where do your ideas come from?”
He shrugged. “I never paint with a preconceived idea in mind. Each piece begins in the same way. I just start throwing colors around, and I follow what feels right.”
She noticed a canvas set up near the window. She circled around to view the subject and gasped.
It was her.
Still unfinished, the lines of her jaw were yet undefined, the length of her hair only partially painted. But it was her. She stepped closer and looked into her eyes. They were perfect. It was clearly where he had put most of his focus. She stared, unable to tear her gaze away. She saw her soul in his painting. In her eyes, she saw it all—her strength, her heartache, her fear. She saw herself through his eyes and it mesmerized her—she was damaged, but beautiful.
He came up behind her. “I told you. I only paint what feels right.” He turned her around to face him and slowly undid the buttons on her shirt and eased it off her shoulders. She stood in front of him, naked, but then she glanced once more at her eyes in the painting and knew her very soul was laid bare to his gaze. He bent his head and kissed her. His fingers grazed her nipples, setting her heart to race and her body to tingle. Then he pulled away and laid a white sheet on the floor. “Lie down so I can finish the painting.”
She started to kneel, but then she stopped and smiled wickedly. Taking his hands, she turned them so that his palms were facing up. Then she reached for one of his brushes and dipped it in the open color, a deep blue, and painted his hands. Replacing the brush, she raised his hands in front of her. “Spread your fingers wide,” she said. Then she pressed his hands onto her breasts. When she stepped back, his blue handprints remained.
“My body is for your hands only,” she said.
His eyes darkened with hunger. He licked his lips. “Turn around,” he rasped. He grabbed her bum, leaving behind his mark. “That’s my ass.”
She laid down on the sheet and spread her legs. “I am all yours.”
His eyes narrowed on her, hot and hungry. He tore his shirt over her head and yanked down his jeans. Then he stretched over her and eased his full length inside her. He flicked the lid off a nearby paint can and dipped his fingers. Slowly, he stroked down her neck and over her breasts and waist. She looked down at herself. Dark, blood-red mingled with the blue, creating purple streaks. He swirled the colors erotically around her nipples. She spread her legs wider, lifting her hips to take more of him in. His fingers painted down her cheek and throat. Then he gripped her face and kissed her hard, thrusting his body into hers, deeper, faster. His lips tore away. He dipped his hand in the blue and splayed his fingers wide before caressing down her torso. She arched her back into his touch, running her own fingers over her breasts, spreading streaks of color over her body.
Her legs squeezed his waist. Paint dripped down her thighs as she lifted her hips to meet each thrust. She dragged her hands down his chest. Seeing her fingerprints on his skin shot a tremor of excitement and hunger throughout her whole body, fueling her touch and her kiss to frantic heights. The higher she rose, the greater the ache that fought so hard for release. Grabbing his shoulders, squeezing her eyes tight, her body seized. Trembling, she cried out against the relief that tore through her.
Sweat dripped from his body, spreading through the color, pooling and splashing with her sweat as he continued to penetrate her, prolonging her sweet release. Then he threw his head back and cried out the instant before he collapsed on top of her.
When their hearts ceased pounding and their breathing quieted, he turned onto his back. Her head still spinning, her body spent, she glanced down at the myriad shades of blue, red, and purple streaking their bodies. “We’ll have to make use of that amazing bathtub I saw.”
He leaned onto his side, resting his head on his elbow and swirled the paint across her stomach. “Your body is the perfect canvas.”
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can paint me anytime.”
∞∞∞
Three days passed. Angel couldn’t remember ever feeling so content—peaceful, secure, wanted. She had awoken before Ethan that morning and quietly tiptoed downstairs to make pancakes.
“Morning.”
Angel whirled around, her heart pounding. “Who are you?”
A woman with a sturdy figure, draped in a brick red flannel, flashed Angel an amused smile. “You won’t be needing that spatula. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Angel lowered her batter-covered weapon. “Right,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.”
The woman stepped forward and outstretched her hand to Angel. “My name is Sarah. I’m Ethan’s housekeeper.”
“I’m Angel. I’m Ethan’s…” Angel realized that she didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Was she Ethan’s girlfriend? “I’m Angel,” she said again and shook Sarah’s hand.
Sarah gave her an appraising look, but then the harsh lines of her weathered face softened. “So, you’re Ethan’s Angel,” Sarah said with a wink as she picked up a mop and bucket and headed down the hallway. “It’s real nice to meet you, Ethan’s Angel.”
“Ethan’s Angel,” a deep voice said behind her. Angel turned around and found Ethan leaning casually against the wall. “I like that.” With his usual ease, he crossed to stand in front of her. “It smells amazing in here. What are you making?”
Angel smiled. “Pancakes.”
“You are an Angel,” he said and kissed her long and hard. When he pulled away, he smiled. “I’ll set the table out on the porch.”
A short while later, Angel sat down next to Ethan and began buttering the full stack of pancakes on the plate in front of her. Her stomach growled. “I’m so hungry.”
Ethan smiled and picked up the small, blue ceramic pitcher from the center of the table and offered it to her. “Maple syrup?”
“Yes, please,” she said and bit her cheek to try to rein in her smile that had begun to make her cheeks ache. “It’s been so long since I had real maple syrup.” She watched the thin, deep amber liquid spread out over her pancakes. Just the sight alone made her stomach growl again. “This is going to be amazing,” she said as she brought the first bite to her lips. The pancake’s buttery sweetness made her groan with pleasure. “Mmm…so good.”
Ethan’s lips curved in a sideways smile as he watched her. “I love how much you enjoy good food. It’s sexy.”
She blushed. “Really?” She pushed a bite of pancake around with her fork. “You think I’m sexy?”
He raised his brow at her. Then he set down his fork, stood up, circled around the table, and reached for her, crushing her against him. His tongue plunged into her mouth with bold, languid strokes. She moaned, the soft noise filling him with fire.
“Never doubt how wondrous you are,” he whispered in her ear before he crushed her close once more, kissing her with all his passion.
When he pulled away, she smiled up at him. “I’ll never doubt again.”
∞∞∞
After they finished breakfast, Angel packed up her things. It was time to head back to the city. Ethan had to check on the progress of his newest design, and she had to work. Suzi had been kind enough to give h
er some time off, but she didn’t want to push her luck and miss another day.
Together, they headed toward the door. Just as Ethan was about to open it, a knock sounded. Putting Angel a little behind him as if he were shielding her, he opened the door. Standing in a crocheted beach cover-up, was a woman with thick, bleached waves and honey-tanned skin. Her beauty was undeniable. Still, she looked like she was molded from plastic and clearly some parts truly were.
Ethan wrapped his arm around Angel’s waist. “Angel, this is my new neighbor. I’m sorry,” he said to the woman. “I don’t believe I got your name the last time we met.”
The woman smiled sweetly at Ethan, but her eyes turned to daggers when she looked at Angel. “It’s Natasha.”
“Natasha, this is my Angel.”
“I see,” Natasha said. She turned on her stiletto heels and started walking down the stairs, her round, tight bum peeking out beneath her short skirt. But then she stopped and glanced back at them. “I’ll see you soon, neighbor. Angels always fall.”
After Natasha climbed into her black Hummer and drove off, Ethan crooked his thumb under Angel’s chin and tilted her head back. She met his gaze.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Believe me, Ethan—since meeting you, at no point did I think you were a virgin, too.”
He laughed. The sound was deep and rich and flooded her heart with warmth. Hand in hand, they walked toward Angel’s car. He opened the passenger-side door. She pressed a kiss to his lips, but before she slid into the seat, Angel said, “Natasha did have an incredible ass, but I have to ask, was there anything real about her?”