Chapter Twenty
ASH
Every nerve in my body was awake, coiled too tight beneath my skin.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this—though it was probably with him.
But not like this.
There were no walls this time. No pressure. No lies. Nothing holding us back.
Would people be upset about it? Sure. I was guessing his parents would drag my name through the dirt again. But who the fuck cared?
The exhaustion in my limbs—in my mind—felt good. Not the bone-deep strain of holding everything up—just the clean release of finally letting go. It held me there, awake inside the moment instead of letting it slip through my fingers.
I’d probably let him sleep after the shower. But we could indulge in this a little longer. Maybe another round before we had to leave for the hospital again. And who could blame me for wanting him this much? For needing him?
Four fucking years of dreaming about him. Not just being with him like this—fucking him—but actually having him. I knew there were still conversations to be had, decisions to be made. But I’d told him I loved him, and he’d come to me so willingly. That had to mean something. Right?
The water washed away the sweat and the grime—and some of my doubt, especially when he stepped in and molded his perfect body to mine.
I hummed softly as his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me there with him under the spray.
His lips slid across my back, his tongue a warm caress as he caught the rivulets trailing down my skin.
I reached for the body wash, squirting some into my hands before turning in his grasp and taking a step back. Our eyes met as I worked up a lather, my palms sliding over his shoulder, his chest. Warm water traced the lines of his body, carrying the soap downward in lazy streams.
When I finished rinsing him, I tipped my head toward the shelf and reached for the shampoo. Ethan’s hair had gotten so long—longer than before, falling into loose, golden curls that clung to his neck. I fucking loved it. And he knew that.
“Come here,” I murmured.
He stepped closer without question, turning so his back was to me.
I poured a small amount of shampoo into my palm and worked it gently into his scalp, massaging with my fingertips.
The curls loosened beneath my hands, slipping between my fingers as I washed him.
I combed through them slowly, more reverent than necessary, savoring every second of it.
I could’ve stayed there forever just doing this.
Just knowing I was allowed to touch him again—without fear, without distance, without losing him afterward.
Listening to those little hums of approval through the rush of the water.
He tilted his head slightly, giving me better access, and I smiled despite myself.
“Almost done,” I said, my hands stilling for a moment before I rinsed the soap away, careful not to tug, letting the water run clear.
I smoothed his hair back from his face when I was finished, my thumbs brushing his temples.
When he turned again, I expected to see fatigue. Some hint that the night had caught up with him. Instead, Ethan was watching me intently—eyes clear, focused, intense. Something warm and steady settled in me at the sight of it.
“My turn,” he whispered.
Ethan picked up the body wash, his fingers brushing mine as he poured some into his hands.
My gaze caught on the gold bands circling his fingers, the way they flashed softly under the light, right where they belonged.
They always had. Ethan was made to wear things like that—meant to be looked at, worshipped when he did.
He stepped in closer, close enough that the warmth of him pressed into me, and then his hands settled on my shoulders, washing me with the same care I’d given him. Slow passes over my chest, my arms. His touch wasn’t tentative, but it was thoughtful, like he was checking in with my body as he went.
I closed my eyes, water pounding against my back, his thumbs dragging unhurried circles that made me breathe a little deeper.
When I opened them again, he was still watching me, a small curve at the edge of his lips.
Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees.
He didn’t take his eyes off me as his hands came down with him, washing the backs of my thighs, my calves.
He leaned forward, placing a kiss on my hip before his attention returned to the task.
I braced one hand against the glass in front of me, Ethan trapped between it and my body. My cock—which should have been more than satisfied for the night—started filling slowly at his attention. At his position.
His hands slid along the inside of my thighs, over the swell of my ass, fingertips just barely dipping into the crease. Then, bold and assured, he wrapped his fist around my cock and stroked.
I moaned softly, drawing his gaze back to mine.
He grinned, nudging me under the stream of water to rinse away the soap before guiding me forward again with a hand hooked under my thigh. As soon as I was close enough, he stuck out his tongue and let the head of my cock brush over it—softly at first, then with more pressure.
One of my hands slid into his hair, cupping his nape, holding him there as he looked up at me with that almost wicked glint, letting me sink deeper into his mouth.
Then he closed his lips around me and sucked, and my eyes practically rolled. He was careful—probably mindful that we were both oversensitized—but still took me deep and eased off again, his mouth working over my cock. Fuck—that felt incredible.
My mouth fell open as I watched him, felt the scorching heat of him, the pull of his lips.
My legs threatened to give out every time the head of my cock brushed his throat.
He kept at it for a couple of minutes, each second making it harder and harder for me to think, to stop myself from thrusting into that beautifully tempting mouth.
Until he moved back and looked up at me, licking his reddened lips and giving me a slow grin. His hand slid up my thigh, his head tilting. “Did you like that?”
I nodded, fingers twisting in his hair.
He bit down on his lip. “Why don’t you turn around for me?”
My stomach flipped.
For half a heartbeat, something in me stalled—not because I was surprised; some part of me had always known we would end up here. The way he carried himself now, the way he touched me, thrummed with that need to claim. It wasn’t bravado or recklessness. He wanted this. Needed it.
Ethan must have seen the apprehension on my face, because his grin only widened. He let go of my cock, his nails scraping lightly over my thighs. “Let me eat you out, Daddy.”
“Fuck—” My whole body tensed at the request. And that fucking pet name. “Please don’t start with that again.”
Ethan chuckled roughly. “I’ll stop.” His face softened as his eyes dragged over me. “I’ll make you feel good,” he said, voice still thick and sinful.
I hesitated, my breath catching, turning shallow and fast before I could slow it.
He kissed my hip again. “Trust me?”
My chest rose with a longer inhale as I ran my thumb along his jaw, following the line of it, focusing on the feel against my skin. This wasn’t surrender. It was choosing to feel safe with him. “You know I do.”
“Then turn around.”
Something in his tone made heat spark low. I started to move, my shoulders tightening before I allowed the tension to slip away.
“No—right here.” He took hold of my hips and turned me toward the glass, positioning himself behind me.
My hands came up without thought, palms meeting the surface, fingers spreading as my elbows locked.
I leaned forward just enough to hold myself there, breathing through the strange mix of tension and exposure settling along my spine.
His lips touched the small of my back, and instinct made me want to pull away.
Instead, I closed my eyes and let a breath leave me slowly, feeling the tightness ease as his mouth stayed there.
Ethan’s hands gripped me roughly—first my thighs, then my ass—keeping me steady while he kissed me again and again, his tongue warm as it moved over my skin.
Each pass of his mouth drew a deeper breath from me, my stance shifting wider instinctively as he spread me apart and let his kisses drift lower.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this, but my body didn’t wait for me to catch up.
It responded anyway, loosening in small, uneven increments as his tongue slid lower, a hot, wet stroke over the furrowed skin that broke my breathing completely.
I gasped when he did it again, my forehead tipping closer to the glass as he stopped teasing and pressed his mouth in fully, licking me over and over.
His fingers brushed my elbow, and I let him guide my hand back into his hair, my grip tightening as I felt the steady motion of his head.
My feet slid farther apart, my forearm coming up against the glass as my weight tipped forward, no longer braced so much as held there.
Ethan’s hand slipped between my legs, rolling my balls, and the sound that left me was loud and unguarded.
When his hand closed around my cock and began to stroke, my knees threatened to give out.
I was panting over my arm, every sensation landing harder as his mouth worked against me, firm and unrelenting.
“Ash,” he said between licks.
“Yes?” My voice came out rough, scraped raw by my breathing.
Another suck made my breath hitch.
“Look up for me.”
I lifted my head on a shaky inhale, my eyes catching my reflection in the steamed mirror ahead. The sight of myself there—flushed, open, barely holding upright—pulled a breathless laugh from my chest. “You did that on purpose.”
Ethan hummed behind me, mouth still moving, hand steady on my cock. I watched my own breathing. Watched how my body rocked back into him without thought. How I wasn’t even pretending to resist anymore.