by Tracy Wolff
His arms come around me instantly and then he’s pulling me into his lap, my knees falling wide as I straddle him.
Ethan kisses like he does everything, with a single-minded, predatory determination that takes me over. That turns my body liquid and my brain to mush. And when his hands come up to stroke soft, insistent circles around my nipples, it’s a miracle I can remember my own name.
Still, as the limo pulls into traffic, I force myself to wrench my mouth from his. He makes an unhappy sound, slides a hand around to the back of my neck and tries to pull me forward again, but I use every ounce of willpower I have to resist.
My determination gets through to Ethan pretty quickly, and he leans back, his hands dropping to the seat on either side of my legs. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, eyes wary as he waits for me to speak.
“What about dinner?” I ask, because it has only just occurred to me that we left more than two dozen people back at the Marine Room, at a party that Ethan was supposed to be hosting.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, concerned. “I’ll have Michael stop and get something. Would you like Greek food? Or Thai? We could—”
“Not for me, you idiot! For everybody else. You just walked out on the celebration dinner for the biggest merger in Frost Industries’ history.”
“Oh, right. That dinner.” He relaxes immediately. “It’s fine. They won’t miss us.”
“No, they won’t miss me. You, Mr. Frost, they will definitely miss.” I press kisses against his face to punctuate the point.
“There’s good food and plentiful drinks. What else could they want?”
“You, Ethan. They’ll want you.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t have me. Not tonight. Tonight I want to be with you. Only you.”
I melt. I can’t help it, my whole body going soft and gooey at the warmth in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. Though I know it’s a bad move for him not to show up—half the party probably saw Ethan come onto the beach after me, guaranteeing new office gossip in the morning—for right now, I don’t give a damn. Not about work, not about Brandon, not about anything that might take me out of Ethan’s arms.
There are a million problems lurking right below the surface, waiting to drag us under as soon as we acknowledge them. Tonight I want to pretend they don’t exist. Tonight I want it to be just the two of us and the feelings we just can’t get away from.
“That sounds really nice,” I tell him, licking my way down his neck to his still rain-slicked collarbone.
He groans, tilting his head back to give me better access. “It does, doesn’t it?”
I’m too busy kissing him to answer, trailing my lips from his broad shoulders and heavy biceps to his lean neck and well-muscled chest.
I take my time with him, tasting him, touching him, savoring every inch of his beautiful body that I can reach.
He smells like the ocean, tastes like the rain. Dark and sweet and wild, so wild. After the days and weeks I’ve spent without him, I can’t get enough.
I’ll never get enough.
If I’ve learned anything these past couple of weeks, I’ve learned that.
Ethan Frost is my addiction. He’s the itch just below my skin. The fire that skates along my every nerve ending. He’s the craving I just can’t shake.
The knowledge burns deep inside me, turns me on, takes me over until all I can smell or see or feel is him. I don’t want to shake this feeling, don’t want it to go away.
His hand comes up to cup my jaw and I turn my face into his touch, press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his palm. He growls, deep in his throat, but I just shift against him, reveling in the way he responds to me. So openly. So freely.
He’s guarded with everyone else in his life. Reserved. Careful. I’ve watched him for weeks, have seen the way he keeps a distance between himself and everyone else—business associates, friends, staff. Everyone except me.
With me, he’s always right here in the moment, his body and mind and soul mine for the taking. It’s only fair, since I’m the same way for him and have been practically since the day we met. Laid open. Laid bare.
“Chloe,” he whispers, his head moving back and forth against the seat. “I need—”
“I know, love. I know.”
I slide off his lap slowly and he groans, his strong, calloused fingers reaching for me in an effort to keep me in place. I twist my hips, do a little shimmy that has me slipping through his hands. And then I’m kneeling in front of him, my long blond hair hiding my face while his suit jacket gapes open to reveal my naked body.
It’s a strange dichotomy, to be so covered and yet so revealed at the same time. It turns me on, has my nipples peaking and my breath catching in my throat. I don’t know what it is that does it for me, but Ethan notices—of course he notices—and he brings his hand up to tangle in my hair, rubbing the strands roughly over my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth.
I nip at him then, sinking my teeth into his fingertips before pulling his index finger deep into my mouth.
“Fuck, Chloe,” he grinds out, free hand clenching against my scalp as I stroke my tongue down and around his finger.
I don’t answer him. I’m too busy sucking his finger deep, licking and sucking and stroking it until Ethan is yanking at my hair and ordering me to “Do it!” in a voice made harsh with desire.
I’m nearly as turned on as he is now and I reach up, fumble with his belt and the fastenings on his suit pants. He’s thrusting against me, lifting and lowering his hips in a desperate attempt to feel my hand against his cock.
I tease him for a few moments, lightly skimming my fingers over his flat stomach, around his belly button, down the light dusting of hair that stretches from his navel to his groin.
“Stop playing,” he grounds out, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his dick.
“Stop?” I whisper, slowly pulling my mouth off his long, slick finger. “Baby, I’m just getting started.” I lower my mouth to his hip bone, nuzzle the sharp line of his Y-cut.
Ethan’s breath catches in his throat, his hand falls away from mine. I take advantage of his lapse of attention to take my hand away and he groans. “Chloe, fuck, you’re killing me. I need … I need …”
I press my mouth to him then, soft little kisses and long, leisurely licks that have his cock twitching and his hips arching off the seat in an effort to get more.
“Shit, damn, fuck!” Ethan’s hands are in my hair again, pulling, twisting, tugging hard enough to cause little frissons of pain to shoot through my scalp.
It’s the roughest he’s ever been with me and a sign of just how far gone he is at the moment. I love it. Love the little shocks of pain, love even more what they signify. That I’ve managed to drive this gorgeous, disciplined man to the brink of his control.
Usually, it’s the other way around—he’s in control and I’m the recipient of all his hot, sexy attention. I’m the one who’s begging and pleading for more as he drives me completely around the bend.
I don’t know why, but tonight I need it to be the opposite. Maybe it’s because of Brandon, and how powerless I felt when I opened the door to find him on Ethan’s doorstep. Maybe it’s because of the two weeks I spent without Ethan, feeling empty and out of control.
Or maybe it’s just because I have this beautiful, amazing man in my arms, so filled with remorse and regret that he’s willing to let me do anything I want to him.
I want to do a lot, starting with making him lose that indomitable control of his. I want to take him outside of himself, to make him forget—even for a moment—all the strikes we have against us.
With that thought in mind, I shift my hands, slide them under him to cup his ass and hold him in place. And then slowly, so slowly that I can feel every clench of his muscles, every shudder of his strong, powerful body, I take him deep.
He’s huge, hot, hard, and I love it. Love the feel of his body trembling against mine, love the sound of his broken breaths as he gasps for air. Love e
ven more the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth.
I relax my throat, take him even deeper as my tongue swirls around him. He tastes like the ocean even here—sweet and salty and storm-tossed—and I can’t get enough of him. Can’t get enough of the sounds that he makes or the curses that he mutters.
The closer he gets to the edge, the more intense the need that thrums through me, making me hot and wet and desperate for the feel of him inside me. But for that, I’d have to let him go and I’m not ready to do that, not ready to relinquish the pleasure that comes from taking Ethan apart, one jagged piece at a time.
Desperate to give him as much pleasure as he always gives me, I move my fingers behind his balls, stroke the sweet spot there. He stiffens, gasps, calls my name as he frantically tries to pull out of my mouth.
But I don’t let him go. I keep him deep, savoring the tangy drop of pre-cum he can’t hold back and the response he doesn’t even try to hide. He’s on the brink now, about to lose control, and I can’t wait to drive him over. To watch him as orgasm takes him and he’s consumed by the same need, the same addiction, that has sunk its talons so deeply into me.
“Chloe, baby,” he gasps out, his fingers stroking along my jaw, my neck. “Stop. Please. I want to be inside you when I come.”
I shake my head just a little, then take him deeper, my tongue running up and down his cock in the rhythm he taught me weeks ago. He’s thrusting frantically now, low, animalistic sounds coming from deep in his chest and I know—I know—it’s only a matter of time until he shatters.
Desperate to send him careening over that edge, I lean back for a second, leave him hanging halfway between heaven and hell.
Sitting back on my heels, I lick my lips, once, twice, following his response as I do. His eyes are dark and dazed, but he watches the move like a parched man watches water. Carefully. Completely.
When I’m sure I have his attention, I stroke a finger over the tip of his cock, gather the drops of pre-cum resting there. Then I bring my finger to my mouth and suck gently, thoroughly.
Ethan makes a tortured sound deep in his throat and I lean forward then, press my breasts to his chest and my lips to his. “I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I love you.”
“Chloe—fuck—I love—I love you—so much—baby, please—I love you so—”
He’s all but incoherent with need now and it’s what I want, what I’ve been waiting for. Sinking back down, I run my tongue over his balls and whisper, “Come for me, Ethan. Come now.”
He groans, tries to pull away, but I hold him tight, swallow him down. Then I stroke my tongue along the underside of his cock, dig my nails into the sensitive skin of his hips. When he’s gasping for air, trembling and shaking and calling my name, I hum low in my throat.
The vibrations carry him over the edge and with a curse that is more like a prayer, he comes, emptying himself inside of me with long, pulsing jets that bring me back to myself even as he loses himself.
That ground me even as they smash through the walls I’ve tried so painstakingly to build.
Chapter Eleven
“Can we talk?”
It’s hours later and we’re curled up in Ethan’s bed after taking a long bath and raiding his refrigerator for the makings of an omelet. The whole thing is kind of ridiculous, now that I think about it. Ethan spent at least ten grand on dinner tonight at the Marine Room and after all that, we still ended up standing in the middle of his kitchen eating a cheese omelet.
Three months ago I would have been horrified at the thought. Then again, three months ago I never would have imagined being here, with Ethan, like this.
“Do we have to?” I ask, rolling over to my stomach and burying my head in my arms. “It’s late. I’m tired.”
“I know. But I want to get this over with.” He leans over me, presses soft kisses across my shoulders and down my spine.
I shiver at the first brush of his lips, then arch up into him before I can stop myself. I know he wants to be serious, but it feels so good to be back here with him that I just want to relish it for a little while. Not forever—I understand he feels we have a lot to work out—but it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this to be about us. About him and me and the feelings stretched taut as a circus wire between us.
I already feel like an acrobat on that wire, precariously balanced for the crowd’s amusement without so much as a net to catch me. Is it so bad that I want to spend one night—just one night—before having to worry about the fall?
But a glance at Ethan’s face shows him looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him and I know that putting this off any longer is just torturing the both of us. Maybe if we get it done tonight, quickly, we can start tomorrow with a clean slate. Or at least as clean a slate as we can manage.
“Fine,” I tell him, rolling over and wrapping my arms around his waist with a gusty sigh and a nervous smile. Though I’ve spent the better part of the last five hours making love to Ethan, it still feels a little strange to be able to touch him again. To be in his arms again. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I figure that’s obvious.”
I shrug carelessly, find myself staring over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eye. Funny, isn’t it, that no matter how there’s five years and a ton of academic success separating me from the scared kid Brandon forced down in the front of his car, I’m still the one who’s terrified of talking about it. I’m still the one punishing herself for being raped.
He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my face down until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “What’s that shrug for?” he asks me.
“It’s nothing.”
“Chloe, this isn’t going to work if you won’t at least tell me what you’re thinking—”
“I told you what I was thinking. I told you I didn’t want to do this now. You’re the one who’s insisting on it.”
“Because it’s important. Because if we don’t talk about it now, it’s always going to be there, between us. I love you, Chloe. I don’t want anything to come between us again. I thought you’d be able to see that.” He sounds exasperated, like I’m being deliberately obtuse or difficult, and it pushes me right off that high wire I’ve been clinging to with bloody fingertips.
“I do see,” I tell him, scrambling out of bed. I yank the top sheet with me, and wrap it around my nude body. If we really are going to do this, I’m going to do it standing on my own two feet instead of lying in his bed like some kind of concubine. “Believe me, Ethan, I see more clearly than you do.
“How do you think this talk you want to have is going to end up?” I demand.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you think the end game looks like? I’m going to tell you about the rape, you’re going to tell me about your brother and how you didn’t know. I’m going to tell you about how freaked out I am that he’s related to you and that if we make a go of this, he will always be on the periphery of my life in some capacity or another. You’ll reassure me that that isn’t the case … Do I really need to go on or have I covered everything?”
Ethan’s standing now, too, though he is beautifully, gloriously naked. “Is that really how you think this discussion is going to go down?” he demands.
“Isn’t it?”
“No. Of course not. It’s—” He breaks off when he sees the expression on my face. “Okay, fine. Maybe it will sound something like that.”
“Of course it will. That’s how discussions like these go. And I don’t want to do that. We just got back together.” I pause, clutching the sheet more tightly around me as a horrifying thought strikes me. “We are back together, aren’t we?”
His face goes from determined to thunderous in a moment. “The fact that you even have to ask that is proof of just how much we have to talk about.”
“But why? If we’re together, let’s just be together for a while. The past doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy w
hat we’ve got now.”
“Enjoy what we’ve got? You make it sound like this is a temporary thing for you.”
I flush at the accusation in his tone, and the small voice inside of me that’s whispering that he’s right. That I do sound like this is temporary. Even worse, that I believe it is. “I didn’t say that, Ethan.”
“You didn’t have to say it, Chloe. Don’t worry about the past, don’t worry about the future. Just concentrate on the present. Isn’t that what you’re saying? I mean, who thinks like that? Not people who want to build a future together, that’s for sure.”
“Because that’s the only way we can have a future together!” I shout at him as I lose my tenuous hold on control. “Can’t you see that?”
“What I see is that the woman I love is working herself into a frenzy and I don’t know why. I’m trying to tell you that I love you, that I want to be with you. That we’ll find a way to get through the past together. I don’t want to hurt you, baby—”
“But you’re going to!” The words are out before I even realize I’m going to say them.
Ethan freezes, his blue eyes darkening to nearly black as the accusation slams through him. And then he’s crossing to me, trying to take me in his arms. But I don’t want him to touch me now, don’t want anything from him as all the pain and damage of the past comes flooding back.
I shove at him, push him away, stumble backward in my urgency to get away. Except my heel catches in the sheets and I go down hard, on the hard maplewood floor.
“Shit.” He’s beside me in an instant, picking me up and gathering me into his arms. Then we’re sitting on the bed, with me on his lap and my head tucked underneath his chin as he rocks me back and forth soothingly.
“I’m sorry,” he says after long minutes have passed. “I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that you think I’m going to hurt you again—”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I think it is. And you have every right to feel that way. To be afraid of me and what’s between us.”