Chapter 19
Ethan
Tonight. It’s our third night together and I want it to be different. Not because I want to prove something. I already know what we have is real, even if we’re faking the rest of the world. No, I want this night to be the one she remembers the most.
We barely make it through dinner. Harper sits across from me in a soft sweater, sleeves bunched at the elbows, her hair falling in loose, messy curls that make my hands ache to touch it.
She’s not wearing much makeup — she never does — but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide, catching the gold light like it’s her personal element.
When she smiles at something dumb I say, I feel it in places that have nothing to do with tenderness and everything to do with wanting her under me again.
When we get back to the suite, I watch her cross the room toward the window.
She stares at the snow, then at her own reflection, then down at her hands.
I want to walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and tell her I’m never letting her go.
I don’t. Not yet. I just watch, hands in my pockets, letting the need build and burn until it’s almost too much.
She is the only thing I want to look at, and I’m not going to be subtle about it tonight.
She turns and catches my gaze in the glass. “You’re staring.”
“I am,” I admit.
She bites her lip. “Why?”
“Because I want to remember this,” I tell her exactly like this.”
Harper doesn’t say anything right away. Her arms cross, hugging herself, but she’s smiling as she does it.
“Is that so?”
I walk toward her. Slow, steady. She’s not backing away, but I can smell the nerves on her. On me, too. When I reach her, I stop with only a few inches between us. She’s still hugging herself. I gently guide her arms down, then lace my fingers through hers. Her skin is cold, but not for long.
“I mean it,” I say, voice steady. “If I think about this week ten years from now, this moment is going to be the one that comes to mind first. Not the fake wedding, not the photos, not any of the other bullshit. Just you, here, with me.”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “Is this your way of seducing me?”
“It’s my way of telling the truth,” I say, pinning her with a look that I hope leaves no doubts. “I don’t do lines, Harper. I do facts.”
She blushes, eyes darting away before she can hold my stare. I bend so I can see her face again, closer, and she laughs again, letting her head tip back just a little. It’s not a nervous sound this time. It’s pure, bright, and punctures something tight inside my chest.
“You’re supposed to be the strong, silent type,” she accuses, but her voice is soft, not a hint of gruff.”
I lower my voice so she’ll have to lean in.
“You bring it out in me.” She does. I’m pretty sure if Harper asked, I’d open up my chest and let her see every secret I ever kept buried.
Instead, I let go of her hands, trail my fingers up her jawline, then cup her cheek, loving the way she melts into the touch.
She’s trembling, but it’s not fear. It’s anticipation, or maybe relief, like she’s just realized there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.
I thumb the corner of her mouth. Harper’s smiling and I want to taste her even more than I want to kiss her. But I do that, too.
I lower my head and brush her lips, soft, slow, nothing like the wildness from before.
I want to savor this, so I do. Her lips part, soft and ready, and I press into her, one kiss, then another, then a third, until she’s breathing my name between them.
Her hands find their way to my chest, then up to my neck, fingers curling at the base of my skull.
Every single point of contact is a jolt of pure need.
I coax her backward until her shoulders hit the glass, cool behind her, and she gasps, arching into me.
I cage her in with an arm on either side of her, and she meets my eyes, unguarded and hungry.
I want to see her come apart, not just on the bed, but starting right here.
I want to memorize the exact pitch of her moan, the catch in her breath, the way she shudders and clings to me when I touch her.
I don’t rush. I don’t have to. I want Harper desperate for it, for me, for the next second and the next.
So I kiss her again, deeper, until her hands are clutching fistfuls of my shirt, until she’s practically climbing me, greedy for more.
That’s when I lift her and her legs instantly wrap around me.
Her hips grind into mine, small but insistent, and I know she can feel exactly what she does to me. I want her to feel it.
“Easy, huh?” I growl, pinning her to the glass. She shivers in my arms—maybe from the cold glass, maybe from the want.
“You’re a menace,” she whispers, but she’s breathless, grinning, legs locked tight around my hips. I roll my hips slow, letting her feel the thick heat of my cock through both our clothes. Her head drops back and she moans, so soft only I get to hear it.
“Should take you to bed,” I murmur against her throat.
She lifts her head, eyes wild blue and shining. “Should?” she echoes.
“Should,” I confirm, and when I carry her toward the bed she clings to my shoulders, trusting me to hold her up—maybe trusting me with more than that.
I set her on the edge of the king-sized bed but don’t let go.
Not yet. I kiss her again, this time letting the hunger show.
I’m starving for her. I want her taste in my mouth, the shape of her body under my hands.
I want to fuck her slow, then rough, then slow again.
I want to ruin her for every other man, ever. If she’ll let me.
I strip her sweater up and off, tossing it somewhere I’ll never care to find again.
She’s wearing nothing underneath, just the bare line of her collarbone and the sweet curve of her breasts in a pale pink bra.
I groan, low and guttural, and run my hands over her arms, her sides, her ribs -- so soft and so alive I half expect her to break under my touch.
She doesn’t. She leans into it, arching her chest into my palms with a confidence that undoes me.
I fall to my knees in front of her. Press my mouth to her stomach, then lower, tracing the edge of the waistband on her jeans with my tongue.
She gasps. I pop the button, tug the zipper down slow, then slide the jeans off her hips, kissing every new inch of skin I uncover.
I want to devour her. I want her trembling and breathless and begging for more.
But I also want to savor every single second, like I’m engraving it onto the inside of my skull.
When I get the jeans past her knees, she kicks them off and stands in just her bra and panties, shivering a little. “It’s cold,” she says, but she’s flushed, lips parted, eyes almost black with want. I run my hands up her calves, behind her knees, along the insides of her thighs.
Harper’s so soft, so responsive—she shudders just from the heat of my palms. I nuzzle up the inside of her thigh, kissing higher, closer.
She’s already damp, I can smell it, and it makes me feral.
I want to taste her so bad my mouth goes dry.
But I wait, teasing her with the edge of my beard and the heat of my breath, until she’s shifting her hips, an unspoken plea in every movement.
“Please,” she whispers, needy, undone.
I hook my fingers in the thin band of her panties and drag them over her hips, down her legs, letting them fall to the floor.
She’s shaking now, just a little. It’s not from the cold.
I spread her knees, grip her thighs, and press a slow, wet kiss right on her clit.
She arches, gasping my name, her fists twisting in the sheets behind her.
I do it again, and again, until her breath comes in sharp, broken little moans.
I want to see how long I can keep her there, right on the edge, trembling for me.
I want her so wound up she doesn’t remember where she is.
But I’m not that cruel. I tongue her slow, then fast, licking her open, teasing, then pull away, nosing her thigh, looking up at her with a warning.
“Not yet,” I say, and it comes out more growl than words.
She whimpers — God, yes — and I lap at her, slow at first, then with purpose, tongue flattening and curling, working her up until her whole body is tight as a bowstring.
She comes undone for me, hips bucking, fists pounding the mattress, a cry that would echo off the pine if these walls weren’t thick.
I don’t stop. I ride her through it, licking and sucking, greedy for every drop.
When she collapses back, legs shaking, I press soft, slow kisses to her thighs and sit back on my heels.
She’s panting, hair wild, eyes blown wide with disbelief.
“Ethan,” she breathes, voice shredded. “I–I can’t feel my toes.”
I kiss the inside of her knee, then her stomach, then up, up, until I’m hovering over her, bracing myself on the mattress so I won’t crush her.
“You okay?” I ask. She nods, eyes dreamy, lips parted.
I want to do this for hours. Days. The rest of my life.
She pulls me down, hands at my wrists, pulling me onto the bed, and then rolls me with surprising strength until I’m on my back and she’s straddling my waist, thighs trembling and wet against my abs. She’s not timid now. Not even a little.
Harper covers my mouth with hers, messy and uncontrolled.
She can taste herself on my lips. She’s wild with it.
I let her ride me, let it build between us, all that want and noise.
She grinds against my cock, slow at first, teasing me like I teased her, then fast, chasing the friction, chasing her own pleasure again and again.
She reaches down and drags my shirt up, over my head.
My chest is bare and her hands roam all over me, hot, greedy, everywhere at once.
When Harper reaches the waistband of my jeans, she doesn’t hesitate.
She pops the button, yanks the zipper, and drags them down my legs.
My cock springs free, so hard it’s painful.
She stares at it, then at me, eyes wide and stunned.
“Jesus,” she says, and laughs, the sound breathless and a little shocked. “You’re just …” She shakes her head.
“Yeah,” I say, and kiss her again, because I’m not sure I can top it, but I try.
I flip her, easy as breathing, pinning her wrists above her head while I line my cock up and take her in one long, slow thrust. She’s so wet, so hot, I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then.
She arches up, moaning like she wants the whole mountain to hear her.
I fuck her slow at first, letting her feel every inch, every stroke.
She’s so damn responsive, her body begging for more, hips bucking, legs locking around my back pulling me deeper.
I keep her pinned with one hand, the other roaming everywhere -- her waist, her tits, her face, her hair.
I want to touch all of her at once. She’s squirming, gasping, nails digging into my forearms, and I fucking love it.
I love her like this -- lost in it, open, wild.
She claws her hands free and latches onto my shoulders, dragging me down.
“Harder,” she breathes, and I oblige, fucking her deep and steady, grinding my hips just the way she likes.
She’s so tight I have to pause, just to keep from blowing too soon, but she won’t let me.
She clamps down, begging with her whole body, and her voice gets wilder, less controlled, not worried about anything but the need.
She’s so close, I can feel it in the way she clutches me, the way her thighs quake, her breath shattering in my ear.
I want her to come with me, want to feel her lose it on my cock, and when I angle my hips just a touch, she unravels for me.
Full body, top of the lungs, shudders so hard I nearly lose my grip on her wrists.
Her pussy clamps and pulses around me, pulling my orgasm out in a rush so intense I have to bite down on my own shoulder to keep from shouting her name to the whole damn county.
We collapse side by side, both of us fucked out, grinning like idiots, the fire in the hearth the only witness to whatever hurricane just passed through this room.
I roll onto my side, pull her into my arms, and don’t let go. She’s warm, spent, her hair tangled around my chest, breathing in slow, shaky gusts. I kiss the top of her head, the side of her jaw, then her lips, never wanting to stop. I don’t. Not for a long time.