14. ETHAN
CHAPTER 14
ETHAN
I scroll through the latest comments on our WeTube account, my thumb lazily flicking up the screen. The engagement is off the charts. Fans are practically foaming at the mouth for more content, and thanks to Charlie Green’s dramatic public breakdown, our channel hit over 200k subscribers in just three weeks. It's ridiculous, really.
I tap on the app’s story feature and post a quick video of myself grinning like an idiot. “Hey, Love Lab fam! Thanks for all the love! We see you, we appreciate you, and we’ve got more coming your way. Stay tuned for some big updates. And yes,” I add, winking at the camera, “we’ve seen the ship names. Keep ’em coming.”
I end the story and toss my phone onto the couch. The fans want a live session. Soon. I should be excited—hell, I am—but the last few days have been... distracting. Olivia. Always Olivia. Her date with Jax. Her date with Marcus. I shouldn’t care. It’s just for the channel.
But I do care.
The last episode, the one at the bar, has been playing on a loop in my head. Marcus and Olivia sneaking off together after the fan incident didn’t help. I haven’t seen her since, and it’s been eating at me. I finally caved this morning and sent her a text, asking her to come over. Now I’m waiting, restless. What am I even going to say?
A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Before I can even stand, the door swings open. Olivia steps in, her hair loose around her shoulders and a grin on her face like nothing is amiss. And for her, nothing is.
“Who’s hungry?” she announces, kicking the door shut behind her.
My stomach flips—not from hunger. “You really need to work on your knocking etiquette,” I say, leaning back on the couch, trying to look unfazed.
She plops the bag down on the coffee table and flops onto the couch beside me, completely at ease. “If you didn’t want me barging in, you wouldn’t have texted me to come over.”
“Fair point.” I gesture to the bag. “What’s in there?”
“Snacks. Obviously.” She starts pulling out an assortment—chips, candy, even a tub of cookies. “Figured you’d be too busy obsessing over the channel to eat.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Obsessing? That’s a strong word.”
She smirks. “You posted three stories today. Strong word or accurate?”
I open my mouth to argue but stop myself. “Fine. Accurate.”
As she opens a bag of chips, I take the chance to really look at her. She’s wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, but she looks... radiant. Relaxed. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering why the thought of her with Jax or Marcus makes me feel like a damn idiot.
“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “what’s so urgent that I had to bring snacks and save you from starvation?”
I scratch the back of my neck, unsure how to ease into this. “I wanted to talk about the channel.”
She raises an eyebrow, popping a chip into her mouth. “The channel? Or something else?”
My jaw tightens. She’s too perceptive for her own good. “The channel,” I insist, though my voice sounds less convincing than I’d like. “Things have been crazy since the restaurant fiasco. The fans are eating it up, but we’ve got to be careful. It’s a lot of pressure to keep the momentum going.”
She nods, crunching on another chip. “Yeah, it’s been a wild ride. But it’s working, right? The subs, the views—it’s all going up.”
“Exactly,” I say, leaning forward. “But it’s not just about numbers. It’s about—” I stop, realizing I’m circling the real issue. I take a breath. “It’s about us. The dates. The dynamic. People are shipping you and Jax. You and Marcus. Hell, they’ve even started shipping you with me.”
Her face freezes mid-chew, and she quickly swallows. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Seriously. It’s getting... complicated.”
She sets the bag down, her expression guarded. “Are you saying you want me to quit?”
“No!” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just—” I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t want things to get messy.”
Her lips twitch, and for a second, it looks like she might laugh. “Ethan, it’s already messy.”
She’s right. It is. And yet, I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. Not the channel. Not the chaos. And definitely not her.
“Yeah,” I admit, meeting her eyes. “It is.”
The air between us feels charged for a moment, like something unspoken is hanging there, just waiting to be said. But before I can figure out what that something is, she leans back, grabs the bag of chips, and changes the subject.
“So,” she says, grinning, “what’s the plan for our next episode?”
I exhale, both relieved and disappointed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need help figuring out our next episode.”
She glances up at me, her lips twitching with a mischievous smile. “You’re asking me for ideas? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I tease, though I’m genuinely curious. “I figure you’ve got a lot of pent-up brilliance waiting to blow my mind.”
Olivia laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay, Mr. Sarcasm. What do you have in mind?”
“Something that doesn’t involve us getting kicked out of another restaurant, preferably.”
Olivia smirks, brushing crumbs off her hands. “You mean something low-key? Chill? Something that doesn’t make me want to throttle you mid-scene?”
“Exactly,” I deadpan. “You’re catching on.”
She laughs, and for a moment, it’s easy between us. Comfortable. But then her eyes light up with that spark—the one that usually means trouble. “What if we play a game?”
I squint at her. “A gaming challenge?” I repeat, leaning forward. “That’s your idea of a date?”
Olivia raises an eyebrow, unfazed by my skepticism. “Not just any game, Ethan. Death Crunch . My game.”
Of course, her game. I should’ve seen that coming.
“Look, I’m all for promoting your project, but are you sure a video game date is going to land with the audience?” I ask. “It’s not exactly candlelight and wine.”
“That’s the point,” she shoots back. “It’s unique. And it’ll show off the game. Besides…” She pauses, her green eyes gleaming. “You afraid I’ll beat you?”
I scoff, leaning back in mock offense. “Me? Afraid of you? Please.”
“You should be,” she says, her grin widening. “Death Crunch is a test of strategy, reflexes, and sheer guts. I’ll destroy you. We’ll play together—see who survives the longest. The fans will love it.”
I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. “And by ‘fans,’ you mean you? Because this sounds suspiciously like a setup for you to embarrass me on camera.”
Olivia gasps, putting a hand to her chest like I’ve mortally offended her. “Ethan, I would never.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on,” she presses, sitting up straighter. “It’s perfect. It’s interactive, it’s fun, and it’s free because I already own the game.”
“That’s... not the worst idea,” I admit begrudgingly. “But where would we even do it? We can’t exactly take a gaming console to a coffee shop.”
She shrugs. “Why not here?”
“Here?” I glance around my apartment, which is definitely not what I’d call camera-ready. There’s a stack of laundry on the chair, my desk is a mess of wires and notebooks, and the lighting is about as flattering as a DMV photo booth. “This isn’t exactly a ‘date night’ vibe, Chase.”
“Think of it as... intimate,” she says, her grin turning sly. “Low-key. Authentic.”
“Intimate,” I repeat the word slowly as if trying it out. “You mean cramped and poorly lit.”
“You’re such a buzzkill,” she groans, tossing a pillow at me. “You can fix the lighting. You’re the tech guy, remember?”
I catch the pillow and toss it back. “Fine. But if we do this, I’m running a test shoot first. I’m not having our audience think I live in a cave.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of victory in them. “Deal. I’ll grab my console.”
Before I can argue further, she’s up and out the door. I sigh and rub my temples, wondering how I let her talk me into these things.
Olivia returns a few minutes later, carrying a sleek portable gaming console under her arm. She breezes past me, completely at home in my apartment, and sets it up on my system like she’s done it a hundred times before.
“Alright,” she says, her fingers flying over the controller as she boots up the game. “Ready to get your butt kicked?”
I smirk and sit beside her on the couch, close enough to catch a faint hint of her perfume. “Please. I’ve been gaming since I was a kid. You’re about to witness greatness.”
She snorts. “We’ll see about that.”
The screen lights up, displaying the Death Crunch logo in bold, fiery letters. A dramatic soundtrack blares through the speakers, all pounding drums and ominous violins. The game itself is a mix of survival horror and strategy—a post-apocalyptic world where players must gather resources, fend off zombie-like creatures, and outsmart rival factions. It’s dark, gritty, and surprisingly fun.
“Alright,” Olivia says, handing me a controller. “Here’s how it works. You’ve got to find food, water, and shelter while avoiding the undead. Oh, and don’t trust anyone. They’ll stab you in the back for a can of beans.”
“Sounds cheerful,” I deadpan. “Perfect for a first date.”
She grins, her competitive streak already shining through. “Ready?”
“Bring it on, Chase.”
Within minutes, chaos erupts on the screen. My character is desperately scavenging for supplies while Olivia’s is already armed to the teeth and hunting down rival players.
“You’re supposed to survive, not pick fights with everyone,” I tell her as I watch her ambush another player and loot their backpack.
“This is surviving,” she counters, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Besides, it’s fun.”
“You’re terrifying,” I mutter, but I can’t help laughing. She’s clearly in her element, and it’s infectious.
As the game progresses, I manage to build a decent shelter, but Olivia’s relentless attacks keep me on edge. At one point, she sneaks into my base and sets it on fire, cackling like a maniac.
“You’re the worst,” I groan, trying to salvage what’s left of my supplies.
“Admit it,” she teases. “You’re having fun.”
I glance at her, and I forget about the game for a moment. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with excitement, and there’s a smile on her face that makes my chest feel weirdly tight.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “I guess I am.”
Her gaze flicks to me briefly, and something passes between us—something unspoken but undeniable. But then she’s back to the game, and the moment is gone.
By the time we finish, she’s declared the winner (mostly because she sabotaged me at every turn), and I’m left marveling at how easily she’s taken over my evening—and, apparently, my thoughts.
“Not bad,” I admit, setting the controller down. “You’re a lot sneakier than I expected.”
“Thanks,” she says, smirking. “Years of practice.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Alright, Chase. You win this round. But don’t get too comfortable. Next time, I’m taking you down.”
Olivia leans back into the couch, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. Her movements are slow, almost deliberate. I feel the weight of her gaze on me, the tension thick and humming.
“Next time,” she repeats softly, her voice teasing, but there’s a catch to it.
Her eyes lock on mine, and for the life of me, I can’t look away.
I lean forward, just a little, my pulse quickening. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Next time.”
She doesn’t pull back. If anything, she leans in, her breath hitching, her lips parting slightly. The space between us disappears, and before I even realize what’s happening, my hand is on her knee, sliding up just a bit, the warmth of her skin sending a jolt through me.
She’s close now, so close, her face tilted up to mine. “Ethan…” she starts, but whatever she was about to say is lost as I close the distance and kiss her.
It’s not tentative, not gentle. It’s a collision—hot and heavy and unrelenting.
Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and I groan against her mouth, my own hands sliding to her waist, gripping her like she’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
She shifts, pressing into me, and I take the opportunity to pull her fully onto my lap. Her thighs straddle me, her body fitting perfectly against mine, and the sensation is almost too much. Her lips are soft but insistent, her nails scraping lightly at the back of my neck, driving me insane.
“Olivia,” I manage to gasp between kisses, but she cuts me off, her lips capturing mine again. Her tongue brushes against mine, and it’s like gasoline on a fire. I grip her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her against me in a way that leaves no room for doubt about how much I want her.
Her hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my chest, sliding under the hem of my shirt. My own hands aren’t idle either. They move up her sides, brushing against the curve of her waist, her ribs, until I’m cupping her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.
The way she moves against me, the way she moans softly into my mouth—it’s enough to drive a man crazy.
I slide my hands lower, gripping her thighs, kneading the soft flesh there, and she shivers.
I take the opportunity to trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck, nipping lightly at her collarbone. She gasps, her body arching into mine.
Her shirt rides up as my hands slide beneath it, exploring the smooth expanse of her skin. She gasps softly against my mouth when my fingers brush the curve of her waist.
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded, and her chest rises and falls with every breath.
My gaze lingers as I trail my hands up her sides, marveling at how soft she is.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, her voice teasing but a little shy.
“Can you blame me?” I reply, my voice huskier than I expect. I lower my lips to her neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. She moans softly, her fingers threading through my hair and tugging just enough to make me groan.
Her lips curve into a wicked smile. “Your turn to blush.”
Not likely. I tighten my hold on her hips, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. She gasps softly, and I capture the sound with my mouth, kissing her deeply.
Her confidence seems to grow as she shifts back slightly, her hands moving to the hem of her shirt. In one swift motion, it’s gone, revealing smooth skin and curves that have my pulse hammering in my ears.
She leans in, her breath warm against my ear as she whispers, “Your move, Ethan.”
But before I can even think about making a move, she pushes me back against the couch, straddling me with a boldness that takes my breath away. My hands find her waist as she rolls her hips against mine, and the sensation sends a jolt of heat through me.
“Liv,” I manage, my voice rough, almost pleading.
“Hmm?” she teases, leaning down to kiss along my jawline.
“You’re driving me insane.”
Her laughter is low and soft, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Good.”
She takes her time, her movements deliberate, her touch sending me spiraling. She leans back slightly, her hands braced on my shoulders as she rocks against me, and I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she moves, the way her head tilts back with a soft moan, the way she feels—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
My hands slide up her sides, brushing against her ribs before settling on her waist again. Her skin is soft and warm, and I can feel the rapid beat of her pulse under my fingertips. She leans forward, her lips finding mine again, and it’s a clash of need and urgency that leaves us both breathless.
When her hands move to the button of my jeans, I help her, desperate to close the gap between us. She tugs them down, her eyes darkening as she takes me in.
“Liv…” I manage again, my voice barely a whisper.
“Shh,” she murmurs, pressing a finger to my lips. “Let me.”
I take a moment, letting my hands slide over her waist, appreciating the curves I’ve been trying not to obsess over for weeks. Her hair falls around us like a curtain as she leans in, brushing her lips over my neck, my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat that makes my breath hitch.
“Tell me you’re not going to regret this,” I say against her skin, barely able to hold on to the last shred of control.
Her hand cups my cheek, forcing me to meet her gaze. “I won’t,” she says firmly.
My head falls back against the couch as she takes control, a teasing rhythm at first, grinding against me until I can’t think straight. I reach down and
Her top is the next casualty, followed by her bra, and I lose myself in the sight of her—the way her skin glows under the dim light, freckles scattering across her chest like constellations. My hands cup her breasts, my thumbs grazing her nipples, and her sharp intake of breath makes my pulse quicken.
She reaches between us and frees my cock. It practically pulsates in her hand as she runs her fingers over its length.
“Ethan,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost hesitant, and it tugs at something deep inside me.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, my hands sliding down her sides. The reassurance isn’t just for her; it’s for me too. This—her—feels too important to rush.
She smiles, her confidence growing as she takes the lead. She moves purposefully, positioning herself over me and pressing her knees into the cushions on either side.
She settles herself slowly, her body adjusting to mine, and I let out a low groan.
Her hands rest lightly on my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as she begins to move. It’s slow at first, her body finding its rhythm.
“Olivia,” I whisper, her name falling from my lips like a prayer.
Her eyes meet mine, green and full of mischief and desire, and she gives me a small, knowing smile. “Like this?” she teases, her movements growing bolder.
“Just like that,” I manage, my voice low and gravelly.
Her fingers trail down my chest, nails scratching lightly as she leans forward, her lips brushing against mine. The kiss is deep and consuming, her breath mingling with mine as she takes control. The couch creaks beneath us, but the sound barely registers in my mind.
My hands wander, sliding up her thighs, her waist, her back, until I’m cradling her, holding her close as she moves.
I can feel her body trembling slightly, and I move my hands up to her waist, guiding her with just enough pressure. When I see her eyes roll into the back of her head, I know I’m doing it right.
Her head tilts back, and a soft moan escapes her lips, sending a wave of heat through me.
“You’re amazing,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the curve of her neck, my hands exploring the soft planes of her back.
Her breath hitches, and she leans into me, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. I grip her hips tighter, my fingers pressing into her soft skin as I match her movements. She throws her head back, her hair cascading down her back as she touches herself. Her tits swing in front of my face as she continues to ride me.
Her head tilts back, exposing her throat, and I take the opportunity to press my lips to her skin, tasting the salt and warmth of her. Her breath hitches, and I know she’s close.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, and her movements grow erratic, less controlled, as the tension builds between us. I grip her waist tighter, guiding her, meeting her halfway as we both teeter on the edge.
“Oh, Ethan, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she breathes, her voice trembling, and that’s all it takes for me to lose myself. She shudders above me, her entire body tightening as she cries out, her climax washing over her in waves. The sight of her—completely undone, lost in the moment—is enough to push me over the edge.
“Yes sweetheart,” I say as I press my hands against her soft ass as leverage.
A groan escapes my lips as I follow her, every nerve in my body igniting as I hold her close, my hands pressing her hips against mine as we ride out the intensity together.
When her body finally relaxes, she collapses against me, her head resting on my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I brush her hair back from her face, pressing a kiss to her temple as my heart gradually slows.
“You’re... incredible,” I murmur, still catching my breath.
She lifts her head slightly to meet my gaze, a tired but genuine smile playing on her lips. “That was... something else.”
I chuckle softly, tightening my arms around her. “You can say that again.”
For a while, we simply hold each other, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing. And I know with surety that there’s no going back from here.