17. Bridget
CHAPTER 17
Bridget
Over the next few days, Ethan stays no matter how hard I try to kick him out. And I try. Nothing deters this man, and I can’t decide if it’s annoying or endearing. He’s constantly underfoot. I’ve never felt like my apartment was small before, but now he’s everywhere I turn, his presence larger than life. It’s like I can’t escape him or his twenty-two-year-old energy. Seriously, how does he have so much energy all the time? I must have been high off that orgasm when I agreed to let him stay.
I’ve never lived with anyone aside from my parents and a roommate my freshman year of college, and even then I spent so much time in the library and in study groups around campus, I never really felt like I lived with anyone. Hell, I don’t even remember her name. As soon as possible, I moved off-campus into an apartment on my own and have lived that way ever since.
So, having Ethan here every day for the past week has been… a lot. I mean, it hasn’t been terrible having someone take care of my laundry and heavy lifting, while handing me coffee every morning. And he has my ice idiosyncrasies down pat.
It’s harder to remain Ethan’s friend when, for the first time in my adult life, I think I want more from a man. But I’m not sure if it’s actually him that I want, or if it’s the forced proximity that’s making him seem more attractive. I’m not saying I want to be in a serious relationship with him today, but if I’m going to do more than fuck someone for the first time in over eighteen years, he could be a good candidate. Letting someone in is scary, though. But carrying all this baggage is so fucking exhausting too.
We’re compatible physically, but is he someone I can trust with my heart? And does he want the same things I do? I’m not about to let someone in only to find out they want different things out of life. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take. I need to look out for myself, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no one will ever put me first, so I have to.
But isn’t that exactly what Ethan’s been doing for the past week? Putting me first? It seems to come naturally to him. How long will it really last? Sure, we’re in a post-op bubble now, but once we go back to our normal lives, he’s sure to move on.
To someone younger.
To someone with more free time.
To someone who can give him more than I can.
It’s early evening, we’re watching something mindless and bingeable on a streaming service. I’m reclining on the couch, propped up by pillows, while he sits across from me on the loveseat.
“You mentioned something to Nurse Maggie that surprised me, and I wanted to know more about it.”
“Okaaay,” I draw out, confused about what he could be referring to since it’s been a week since I’ve had surgery, and his question seems to come out of nowhere.
“Did you mean what you said before you were discharged? About not wanting to have kids?”
He’s been sitting on this for a week? Unsure where he’s going with this, I look into his emerald-green eyes. Is he disappointed? Do I want him to be? Does he think I’ll change my mind? Regardless of his answer now, will he change his mind?
“I meant it. Having kids isn’t something I’ve pictured in my future. Especially now that I only have one working ovary. I’m thirty-eight years old. If I wanted kids, I should’ve started before now. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a lot of people in my life. No support system to help me raise a family. And I’m not sure I’m capable of taking care of another person when some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together. But I think it’s good for us to get this out in the open now so you can move on from this and find someone that wants to make a family with you.”
“You make a lot of assumptions about me based on my age. You know that?”
“You’ll want kids, Ethan. You’re young. You have so many years ahead of you to find someone your age that can give you the family you’re going to want. Even if you don’t want it now, there’s plenty of time for you to change your mind.”
“Did you change your mind?”
My brows knit together as the realization hits that my argument is falling apart. “No, I didn’t.”
“For someone who recently went off on a nurse for assuming she’d want kids, you sure are doing the same thing to me because of my age.”
I open my mouth to speak and close it again when I realize he’s right. Fuck.
“I came from a big, blended family. My dad and bio mom had me when they were young. Dad wanted lots of kids, which wasn’t in the cards for them. He met Ashley when I was four. She’d escaped an abusive marriage with her one-year-old daughter, Emma. After they married, they had four more girls: Ella, Elizabeth, Erin, and Evie. They thought it was a sign that both of their kids had E names, so they kept the trend for all of us,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“So you don’t want kids?”
“Nope. I grew up in a house full of kids. I’m okay never having my own.” His eyes meet mine. “Truly, I am. Most of my sisters are still kids. The youngest is five. I’d be happy being the fun uncle. Our house was loud and chaotic. There are so many other things I want to do with my life, and having kids would complicate that.”
“But you could change your mind. You’re young.” I’m grasping at straws here, unsure how to convince him and not sure why I’m trying so hard.
Ethan moves to sit next to me. I pull my legs closer to me as he reaches out and clasps my hands in his, looking directly into my eyes when he speaks.
“I’m twenty-two, and I know what I want out of life. Kids aren’t part of that. I’ve seen how my parents struggled to make ends meet. My dad works so much he’s hardly around. Plumbers make decent money, and yet he still picks up extra work where he can. I see how it wears him out, and money is still tight for them. That’s not the kind of life I want.”
“What do you want?”
“Would it be cheesy to say I want you?”
I drop my head so I can avoid that perfect fucking dimple and its magical powers. One of his hands cups my cheek and lifts my face up, forcing our eyes to connect. His eyes darken, and the look he gives me is penetrating, as though he wants me to understand his truth.
“I’m not really sure what I want to do with my life, but I do know this. I want to get to know you in whatever way you’ll let me. I want you to be part of my life moving forward. I’ve never felt this way about someone, and I cannot ignore all the signs the universe is giving me when it comes to you. Something is drawing us together. Can you honestly say you don’t feel it?”
I hesitate, dropping my eyes briefly. “I… I don’t think…” My words trail off, and all rational thought leaves my brain as he leans into me and pulls my face close to his, resting his forehead against mine. Our lips are a whisper apart. All I’d have to do is push them out in a pucker and we’d be kissing.
“Don’t think. Be in the moment with me.” His lips graze mine as he speaks. The air between us feels charged. I’ve never felt this kind of energy with anyone before. It’s just sexual chemistry, though, right?
Short, warm breaths heat my skin as his breathing picks up. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. Arousal pools deep in my core, awakening part of my body that only he seems to control lately. His fingertips pull on the back of my neck as his thumb makes slow swipes along my cheekbone.
“Bridget, I want you so fucking bad it hurts.” His words are a desperate plea against my skin that matches the desire gathering in my core. How does he have this effect on me? The tip of his nose rubs against mine as his words continue to pierce my shell. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
The words tumble out of my mouth without thought. “Kiss me.”
Before I can take my next breath, his lips are on mine, nipping and teasing. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles between kisses. His other hand lets go of mine and slowly glides up my arm until it’s on my neck, fingers threading in my hair, holding me firmly in place. As if there is anywhere else I’d want to be right now. Something about the press of his lips on mine just feels right. There’s no urge to run—in fact, I need him closer. I reach for him, unfolding my legs from against my body and laying them over his lap as he smooths my arms up his chest before wrapping them around his neck as he leans into me. The little moans that escape my throat should be embarrassing, but I can’t be bothered to care.
Our tongues tangle together, desire building between us as our hands grope and grip each other tighter. It’s intoxicating, casting a spell over my senses. Right when I think I can’t take one more minute without him inside me, he pulls back, pressing his forehead against mine. A few seconds pass as his touch continues lighting up my skin, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high.
“Why did you stop?” The plea is out before I can contain it.
“I’d love nothing more than to lay you out and feast on every inch of your delicious body.” A moan bubbles in my throat at the thought of his tongue against my clit. No one’s ever commanded my body like he has. “But I’m pretty sure your paperwork mentioned no sex for four to six weeks. You might feel great now, but if yesterday was any indication, that pain pill will wear off here in a couple of hours, and you’ll need to rest.”
“Fuck the paperwork. I thought you said you’d do anything I ask?”
“Not if it means hurting you.” His green eyes bore into mine. “I’ll do anything, but I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Placing a gentle kiss on my lips, he hoists me into his lap, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he stands and walks us back to the bedroom. “But I’ll take care of you tonight.”
He gently deposits me on the bed, standing between my legs as I sit on the edge. “Arms up.” His tone is firm—a command, not a request. I lift my arms, and he carefully drags my shirt up without tugging too hard on my shoulders. His eyes drop to my chest as his gaze lingers on my puckered nipples. “Dammit, Bridget. You’re making this really hard.”
Chuckling, I lean back on my arms and wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him flush with my hips. I should feel self-conscious about the bandages covering my incisions. I should kick him out before things get messier than they already are. But right now, I’m pulled to him like a magnet. “Kiss me,” I plead again, but there’s a challenge in my tone, testing his word and resolve.
“Fuuuck.” He drags out the word as his head lowers to my chest. He places gentle kisses on my breasts, nipping and sucking the fleshy parts without giving me the pressure I need in the areas I crave it. His eyes flick up to mine, and a pained look crosses his brow. “We should stop before this goes too far because if I pull one of these nipples into my mouth, I won’t be able to stop until you’re coming on my tongue.”
I can see the outline of his cock pressing into the seam of his pants as he backs away from me and walks to my dresser. A few seconds later, he’s crossing the room with a fresh pair of pajamas in hand. He takes his time putting the silky camisole on me before dropping to his knees. “Stand up and place your hands on my shoulders so I can put the bottoms on for you.”
“O-okay.” There’s a hitch in my breath as I stand and grip his shoulders. A surge of heat courses through me and his muscles flex under my touch as he slowly lowers my leggings and panties to the floor.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me, sweetheart.” His eyes rake over my pussy, bare and exposed to him. The heat of his stare becomes too much as I move a hand to cover myself.
His eyes flick up to mine. “Don’t you dare hide this from me. You are beautiful, and if all I can do is look right now, I want to bask in every glorious fucking inch of you.” He reaches out, placing my hand back on his shoulder as he continues his perusal of my body. I can feel his mouth only inches from my skin.
Every minute that his eyes are on me, I feel more aroused yet also self-conscious. Anxiety picks away at me, causing me to worry that he’s looking too closely at each wrinkle, scar, and dimple on my body.
The stretch marks that plague my hips and belly.
The cellulite that pocks my thighs and ass.
The errant hair that I inevitably missed while shaving.
I’ve never been insecure about my body, but it’s hard not to be when someone is inches away from it, examining the most intimate parts with laser focus.
Shifting on my legs, I rub my thighs together and drop my hands from his shoulders, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer. “Please stop looking at me like that. I can feel your eyes hovering over every imperfection. My body has been through a lot over the years, more so in the past week, and I?—”
“Your body is a fucking work of art.” His eyes darken, and a look of hunger crosses his features as he speaks. “Every mark on this beautiful skin tells me more about who you are and the life you’ve lived. There isn’t an inch of you that I’d change. There isn’t an inch of you that I don’t want to put my mouth on. What you see as imperfections, I see as an autobiography of your life. Each mark a word on the page of who you are. Together, they tell a story. Without them, that story wouldn’t be as interesting, nor would it be complete. And when you’re healed, I can’t wait to leave my own marks on you. I’m not here for just a chapter, Bridget. I want to fucking own the rest of your story.”
He holds out my panties so I can step into them and then shimmies them up my legs. The silky sleep shorts are next, and he makes quick work of helping me into them as well. That was a hell of a lot easier than doing it on my own.
After I’m dressed, he guides me to the bathroom so I can brush my teeth, holding back my hair for me as I spit in the sink. I’m starting to crave the feel of his hands on me, the little ways he touches me.
I follow him back into the bedroom, holding his hand as I trail behind him. “Stay with me tonight.”
He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, his brown hair whipping against his forehead. The look in his eyes is adorable. “In here? Are you sure?”
A flash of rejection washes over me. Does he not want to stay? Casting my eyes to the floor, I drop his hand.
“I’m just surprised you aren’t still trying to kick me out,” he quickly reassures me. “I’m used to begging you to let me stay, not the other way around.”
“I wasn’t begging,” I snap. When our eyes connect again, his smirk appears, and that dimple taunts me. “Fuck you.”
“That’s better. I was starting to wonder where my hellcat was hiding.”
“Get in the fucking bed before I change my mind.” I turn off the bedside lamp and climb in, pulling the covers back for him. The soft light from the moon dimly illuminates the room as he lies down, threading his arms behind his head. Inching closer to him, I lay on my side and drape an arm over his torso as I hook my thigh over his.
I never thought I’d see the day I’d willingly cuddle a man, but something about him soothes my nerves. His touch has become a balm for my soul.
The screen on my phone lights up the room briefly.
“Do you need me to hand you that?” he asks.
“That’s probably Becka,” I say into his chest. She and Robert are probably home by now, and I still haven’t replied to any of her texts or calls yet. “She’s going to freak out when she finds out I had surgery. And I don’t have the energy to explain everything to her right now.”
“You didn’t tell her?” he asks, not a hint of judgment in this tone.
“I didn’t want to worry her. She needed time away with Robert. If I’d told her, she would’ve tried to cut the vacation short, and Robert put a lot of time and thought into that surprise for her. Besides, she worries, and it can be exhausting to deal with a worried Becka.”
“Are you going to tell her?” I can feel his muscles tighten and I wonder what has him so tense.
“I will, but I don’t have it in me right now.”
“I can do it. So you don’t have to.” His hand strokes my back as I consider his offer. “I’ll only share what you’re comfortable with.”
“Why would you do that?” I shift to look up at him, my cheek still pressed against his chest.
“Because I want to take care of you. You need your rest, and it seems like this conversation might drain your emotional battery more than you’re willing to admit.”
How does he do that? At times, it feels as though he’s reading my thoughts, understanding who I am better than I understand myself, anticipating my needs before I’ve even made a mental checklist of what to do first.
“Okay. You can tell her everything. I may ghost her at times, but when I reemerge, I’m an open book with her. And I don’t want her to worry. She’s nothing if not persistent. I give her twenty-four hours before she’s over here unannounced.” Honestly, it’ll probably be less than that if I know Becka.
“I’ll call her for you tomorrow,” he offers, threading a hand through my hair.
My fingers move in lines up and down his stomach, pausing to examine each little groove and divot. A soft groan escapes his lips as his breathing picks up.
“You should stop,” he whispers as my fingers travel down to the waistband of his boxer briefs. My fingers graze the hard head of his cock as it stretches up his abdomen. He hisses and reaches for my hand, stilling my movements. “Bridget,” he warns in a low voice.
“I like it when you say my name like that,” I purr seductively, pulling my hand free and reaching into his boxers to stroke his hard length.
“You can’t?—”
“ I can’t have sex for six weeks,” I correct him. “But you can.”
“Fuck,” he groans as I grip his cock, collecting the pre-cum from his head before sliding it up and down his shaft. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I know you have a big dick, but it doesn’t weigh ten pounds, so it isn’t considered heavy lifting.” I continue moving my hand up and down.
“Christ, that feels good,” he groans. I try to sit up a little so I can angle toward him more, but I feel a twinge of pain in my stomach and freeze. Ethan looks up at me as I close my eyes and let out a deep breath.
“What happened?” I can hear the concern in his voice as he shifts to his side.
“Nothing. I think my pain meds are wearing off. I’ll be fine.” I let out a few more deep breaths as the pain lessens and reach for his waistband again.
“Bridget, stop. You shouldn’t be twisting your torso like that.”
“Fine.” I lay back down, facing him, still on my side. “I have an idea.”
“I’m listening,” he says, shifting to his side and staring into my eyes.
“I have some lube in the nightstand. Hand it to me, please?”
“We can’t?—”
“It’s not for me. It’s for you. If I lie still like this,” I say as I extend my hand toward him, “and hold my hand like this”—I make a circle to show him—“you can fuck my hand, and I don’t have to move.”
“Fucking hell,” he moans as he grabs the bottle of lube and hands it to me.
I pop the cap open and squirt a generous amount on my palm before setting it on the bed between us. He shifts onto his back and pulls his boxer briefs off before rolling over and facing me again. My hand connects with his cock, and I spread the lube up and down his length as a low groan escapes his lips.
“Fuck my hand like you want to fuck my mouth,” I say as he pushes his thick cock into my hand and slowly pumps in and out.
“Holy fuck, this feels amazing,” he growls as his movements quicken, his thrusts becoming hard and sloppy. When he finds a good rhythm, I start twisting my hand while he thrusts in and out. “Yes, just like that. Such a good fucking girl.”
“Look at you, fucking this hand like a needy little slut. You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”
“Yes, fuck, yes,” he moans as he turns his head into his pillow, his teeth biting into it as his muffled groans get louder and his breathing picks up. I keep pumping his cock with the same twisting motion as he grinds up into it. He pulls his face out of the pillow and looks directly in my eyes. “Non siamo solo amici,” he croaks through gritted teeth, a pleading look on his face.
I have no idea what he said, but I can see the desperation on his face. “You look so fucking good when you beg.”
“Please, fuck, you feel so good. Please don’t stop, please make me come.”
It’s so fucking sexy watching this man lose control and come apart for me. It makes me feel like I can do anything, like I really am a queen commanding my subject.
“You have a little praise and degradation kink too, I see,” I say as I squeeze harder on each thrust. “Are you going to be a good boy and come for me?”
“Yes, Jesus, fuck.” He thrusts into my hand a few more times before he stills with my hand gripped at the root of his cock. He shifts onto his back as he comes with a roar. “Fuck, Bridget.” Thick ropes of cum spill out of his cock, painting his chest and abdomen.
We lie there for several minutes as I lean into him, pressing kisses onto his boulder of a bicep.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before,” he says, his deep voice rough and raspy as though he just woke up. His arm snakes down off the bed, grabbing his boxers as he uses them to wipe off his stomach. “I’ll go throw these in the wash and grab something to clean you up with.” He picks the lube up off the bed, stowing it back in the drawer before leaving the room.
Fuck, that was intense. No one’s ever brought out this side of me before. I don’t usually talk this much during sex. I’ve never been afraid to ask for what I want, give directions, or moan, but this is different.
He’s slowly chipping away at my defenses, and the odd thing is that I don’t feel as scared as I did or as worried as I probably should. Maybe I should give him a chance. In the past few days, he’s proven that he cares, making more of an effort than any guy I’ve ever been with.
My phone lights up the dimly lit room, and I roll over to grab it with my hand that’s not covered in lube. Scrolling through all Becka’s messages, it’s clear that I’m going to have to reach out to her soon.
Becka
I can see you’ve read these so I assume you’re alive.
Robert and I are getting home in a few hours. We need to talk.
I check the timestamp on her last message. Shit, that was several hours ago.
Why aren’t you responding to me?
Oh shit, did something happen?
You ok?
ANSWER ME!
I swear if you’re ghosting me again…
I need to know you’re ok.
Also…
Something happened while on our trip, and I need to talk to you about it.
I hear him enter the room before I see him, his presence looming over me as he stands at the edge of the bed. Using the cloth, he carefully wipes my hand as I continue reading one-handed.
“I want to return the favor, but I think you need some rest.”
I stop scrolling and look up at him through bleary eyes. “I do, but I think something is going on with Becka and Robert,” I say, tilting the phone to him.
After placing the cloth on the nightstand, he hands me two ibuprofen and a glass of water as he bends to look at my phone. The exchange feels oddly domestic, as though we’ve gone through this routine hundreds of times, and it hits me that I’ve never felt this comfortable with another person.
“That’s a lot of messages. Are you going to answer her?”
“Tomorrow,” I reply through a yawn.
“What do you think happened?”
“There’s no telling with Becka.” I chuckle. “She has the most hilarious stories and tells them in the most dramatic way. It’s probably something like that.” I roll over and plug my phone in. Ethan moves around the room, slipping into the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush and the faucet run as he washes his hands and brushes his teeth.
“Mind if I use some of your products on my face?” he asks, popping his head out of the bathroom.
The light shines in my eyes as I cover it and squint up at him. Is he fucking with me, or is he serious? I know we went through my skincare routine a few nights ago, but I haven’t seen him do all that again. And he hasn’t asked me. “What?”
“I liked the way my skin felt after we went through your nighttime routine. And I wanted to make sure you were cool with me using some of your products.”
“Shit. I totally forgot to do all that tonight.” What is happening to me? I feel like every time I’m near this man, he throws me off-balance. I move to sit up too quickly and wince as pain lances my abdomen. “Fuck.”
He rushes to my side, “Shit, you okay?”
Tears well in my eyes as I squeeze them shut, determined not to show any more weakness in front of this man. “Fine,” I grit out.
“Not buying that, but let’s take it easy, okay? We can skip the skin care tonight. You just focus on resting. You’ve been pretty active today, twisting more than normal, and your muscles need to rest.”
“Fuck it, it’s not like I put on any makeup today. I guess it’s okay to go without washing my face for one night. I just need this ibuprofen to kick in,” I whine as I lie back against my pillow.
“I’ll help you with it in the morning,” he promises as he shuts off the bathroom light and crawls into bed beside me, pulling me against him.