19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Natalie
“ P lease tell me she didn’t quit her job?” I slip into a pair of indoor slippers when I hear the knock on the door and drag my feet from my bedroom, holding the juice carton closer to my body.
I’m wearing a large shirt with a pair of cotton shorts—not covering anything—underneath. But it’s Danielle, so it doesn’t matter.
“I don’t think I have enough money to take care of two people,” I grumble under my breath. Determined to be a supportive friend no matter what, I stop to take a chug of orange juice.
I’ve been drinking it nonstop for three days in an attempt to convince my mind that it has enough serotonin to be happy. It hasn’t worked well, though.
A single slipper slides free, but I ignore it—and the sight of my living room in disarray to open the door. The carton falls from my hand, and the juice spills to the floor. None of it matters, though, because my mouth is hanging agape.
“Natalie.” He says my name first.
I still can’t believe he’s standing outside my apartment, so nothing forms in my head or on my tongue.
“Natalie?” Ethan’s next word is more in worry and he glances at the spilled juice. “Are you alright? Do you—do you need me to get that?”
“Why?” I find a word. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t ask, “How did you find my apartment?” even though I’ve never told Anthony where I lived, and it wasn’t a requirement of our contract. Ethan is the type of person who gets whatever he wants—I already know that.
He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
I squint in confusion. “Sorry? Why?”
“For what happened. I’ve been away for the longest time, so I had no idea… it—” Ethan exhales in a quick burst like speaking has become difficult for him, then drags his hand over his face. “I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m sorry, Natalie.”
Oh.
Oh.
He’s talking about the kitchen incident.
The one where I was made to feel like a party favor, passed around for everyone to enjoy. I did my best to put it behind me after I quit, shoving it down my gut every time it propped up.
Listening to him say it feels like a sharp kick to my chest, and I bite down hard on my lip. “It’s fine,” my voice comes out as a near whisper. “You weren’t supposed to protect me. It’s not you who hired me or anything.”
Something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by regret. “No,” Ethan shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t have happened anyway. I’m sorry—I’m sorry I left for a long time.”
Why? I want to ask.
Why did you go? Did I suddenly become someone unimportant? Anyone would assume that having sex a couple of times and stealing moments behind closed doors would mean something.
It probably didn’t mean much to Ethan because he’s not telling me why he left. He’s just sorry that he did.
But it mattered to me. And the realization that I actually cared, that I waited a week to hear from him—settles in my gut like a heavy stone. Embarrassment mixes with frustration, twisting into something sharp.
I’m not just angry at him for leaving. I’m angry at myself for letting it affect me.
“It’s fine,” I shrug, even though the words refuse to settle. “I accept your apology. I… I was attending to something when you knocked, so I should probably get back to it.”
“Natalie.” The sound of my name on his lips, drawn out like a strangled plea, stops me from turning. I look at him, searching through his soft eyes as they gaze at me. “Natalie…” He reaches out but doesn’t take my hand.
It’s almost as if he’s respecting my boundaries.
“I would never do that to you,” he says in a low voice. “I would never let another man touch you or treat you like a commodity. When I found out what happened, I went after them. I—” He glances down at his hands, and I see the scrapes on his knuckles.
Where did he get them from?
Ethan’s face is hardened when he looks at me again. “Let’s just say I made sure they’d never look at you again. ”
What is he talking about? Thoughts run through my mind, and the endless possibilities of things he could’ve inflicted on them are so graphic they make me gasp.
“What did you do?”
His eyes darken, not with anger at me, but with something raw and unrelenting. A storm barely contained beneath the surface. His jaw tics, muscles tightening as his hands flex at his sides.
“I did what needed to be done,” he says, his voice low and edged with steel.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for me, but his entire body is taut, from his squared shoulders to his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
Like he’s forcing himself to stay composed. Like the rage still lingers just beneath his skin, begging to be unleashed again.
I swallow hard. “Ethan…”
His gaze locks onto mine, sharp and unyielding. “They won’t touch you again. They won’t even look at you again.”
The weight of his words sends a shiver down my spine. My mind races, piecing together the brutal possibilities. The violence he’s capable of. The lengths he’d go to—for me.
I inhale sharply. I can only imagine, but I need to know. “What did you do?”
He takes a step forward, and his expression turns gentle once more. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here to apologize. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, Natalie.”
Knowing that he’d go to lengths to amend a wrong done to me should be enough. Knowing that he has that same look in his eyes—as though he wants me in ways only actions can show.
Yet, I’m hesitant to let my guard down .
“Come inside,” I say, stepping back. “Might as well sit down since you came all this way. Mind your step,” I add, pointing to the spilled juice.
Ethan goes to the living room while I linger at the door to catch my breath and process everything. I don’t know what comes next, either.
Do we go back to acting like two people who are inexplicably drawn to each other while ignoring the unspoken? Or is it going to end here, with an apology and a logical goodbye?
Exhaling, I ignore the spill, heading down to face things.
I find Ethan engrossed in a painting hung beside the window in my living room. I was so caught up in the shock of his presence that I didn’t take note of his appearance.
Now that he’s standing with his back to me, I let myself indulge.
The way his broad shoulders stretch beneath the fabric of his dress shirt, the way the muscles shift subtly when he moves. Strength, barely restrained. Power, coiled and ready.
I shouldn’t be looking. I shouldn’t be thinking about how easy it would be to step forward, to press my palm against the solid expanse of his back.
But I do.
Sensing my gaze, he turns.
I’m taken aback at the reaction that floods my body and invades my brain. It’s like a burst of dopamine and adrenaline, the kind that hits you with enough kick that you have to take a minute to breathe.
Sandalwood fills the air, and the intoxicating scent, coupled with his sheer gaze, is enough to leave me disoriented.
“It’s a beautiful painting,” Ethan comments. “Where did you get it?”
“Ah—” I shake my head to clear a path for my thoughts. “Danielle gave it to me as a gift. ”
“Oh,” he nods thoughtfully. “Your best friend. It’s a beautiful painting. I have something of the same artist in my house. If you’d like, I could have it delivered to you.”
So this isn’t goodbye?
He tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Who said anything about goodbyes?”
How did he—wait? I smack my forehead. “Did I say that aloud?”
Ethan chuckles. “Maybe? But I’d like to know what you’re thinking, Natalie. I like to listen to you.”
“Nope,” I shake my head, making a line for the couch. “You definitely don’t want to know what I’m thinking. Half the time, it’s stuff about work, and we’re two completely different people.”
He walks over to me and sits down, keeping some distance between us. “That’s not true. We’re alike in some ways.”
I give him a pointed stare with a disbelieving snort that jumps out. “In some ways? Please,” I roll my eyes. “You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, an elusive figure, and someone who I can’t, for the life of me, figure out.”
“What do you want to know about me, Natalie?” Ethan’s voice dips, taking on a velvety, almost teasing edge. His eyes hold a challenge, an invitation. “Ask me anything.”
For a second, I’m tempted. The words sit at the tip of my tongue, questions I’ve held back for so long, but I push them down.
I shake my head. “No.”
He doesn’t accept that answer.
Slowly, he moves closer, bridging the small gap between us. My breath catches as his fingers find mine, his grip gentle yet firm. Without a word, he guides my hand up, pressing my palm against my cheek.
The warmth, the weight of it—it shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. Even though it’s my hand, it feels like his .
A slow seduction. A caress meant to spark. Ignite. My eyelids flutter, and my lips part slightly, but Ethan watches me.
He doesn’t touch me.
Not with his own hands.
Instead, he glides my hand down my throat, slowly wrapping my fingers around until I can feel the light pressure. Then he leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my face.
“I want to know everything about you, Natalie. Everything . But I want to see it through your eyes. I often wonder how you see yourself because there’s so much light in you that it’s blinding.”
I inhale sharply when my hand settles on my collarbone, and Ethan leans back, studying my reaction. He moves it lower, just over my breasts, and I feel the tingles there… the sensation mingled with anticipation.
“You have no idea,” he rasps, “how incredible it feels to touch you. To have you pressed against my desk, straddling my thighs. Your skin is soft and warm, and… god. I want you to know.”
He lifts my shirt with his fingertips, careful not to let his fingers brush my skin and guide my hand underneath. I whimper softly as I cup my breast, throwing my head back when he makes me tease my nipple with my fingers.
“I spent nights,” he continues, “thinking about touching you again. So when I heard that they… I could’ve killed them. I would’ve torn their heads off with my hands.
My shirt goes over my head, and Ethan lets go of my hand as he groans.
“Hell. You’re gorgeous, woman. You’re—” The rest goes unspoken as he pulls me flush against him, his palm cradling the back of my head.
His lips find mine in a possessive, searing kiss, his teeth grazing my bottom lip just enough to make me gasp. The momentary sting melts into something deeper—an onslaught of pleasure as he finally touches me.
He moves deliberately, his touch confident yet reverent, as if he’s committing every inch of me to memory. My breath hitches when his hand drifts lower, his fingers trailing along my skin with a purpose that sends a slow, delicious shiver up my spine.
I gasp when he presses his fingers between my thighs, rubbing me hard until the friction feels like being ignited and consumed endlessly.
“Ethan,” I moan into the kiss, tilting my hips as his hand slides into my shorts and his thumb presses against my clit, rubbing, circling, teasing… heavens. He breaks the kiss as his head lowers, and his tongue—the tip, grazes my nipple.
I exhale in shaky gasps and spasms, clinging to him for sanity.
My fingers thread through his hair, pulling hard when he uses his mouth, closing and sucking hard. I’m being pulled in all directions, and it feels too much and too fucking good.
Ethan guides me on the couch with his mouth still on my chest, and his hands work on my shorts, pulling them down and away. I wrap my legs around his waist, holding on—wordlessly begging him for some semblance of release.
For more. For everything.
“Do you have protection?” he breathes in my ear.
I have a moment of clarity there, although it’s not preceded by logic, because I shake my head and mutter, “You didn’t need it the other time.”
He gives me a wicked grin. “You’re devious, woman. I thought you were all light, but you have the feistiness in you.”
I never did, but Ethan makes me feel like all the bad and risky things are filled with pleasure and happy endings. He kisses me again, and my brain turns into a cloudy fog once more, with my fingers sinking down his back.
Everything else comes off, and it’s just him and me, with bodies pressed against each other. I can feel every inch of Ethan, more than I’ve ever felt, and it feels like a drug poured into my system.
“Natalie?” He cups my chin. “Natalie. Look at me.”
I lift my head and drown in his gaze just as he sinks into me slowly, inch by inch. I shudder audibly, feeling my body stretch, feeling perfectly used. His eyes are praising, and he brushes my hair back until he’s completely inside me.
“You’ve been in my head,” he whispers with every thrust—steady and deep, “in my mind, in places where nobody else goes. I don’t think I could ever get you out, Natalie.”
I don’t think I could ever get him out , either.
Ethan leans down to kiss me as his pace increases, and he swallows my scream when he raises my leg and moves slightly, altering the angle so each stroke feels like he’s touching every part of my body.
My fingers dig into his back, clutching at him desperately as the ache for release coils tighter in my belly, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. He pushes my legs up, pressing them close to my chest and an explosion of stars goes off in my head.
Hell.
fuck.
Shit.
Every expletive I’ve ever learned rushes through my head as the world tumbles from underneath me, plunging deep as it wounds even tighter. I pant and buckle and cling until I snap.
My body seizes, back arching, thighs trembling as the end rips through me in waves, consuming every inch of me. Ethan groans low and deep, kissing me hard as he relentlessly finds his release.
** *
“Natalie?”
I’m in the bathroom, gazing at the mirror and figuring out thoughts I can’t put words to when he knocks. “Natalie, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say hurriedly. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you here.”
In the bedroom? I didn’t know what I thought was going to happen after we had sex, and I had an instant flood of uncertainty and despair.
So I scrambled off the couch and mumbled something along the lines of having a spare bathroom before running to my room. But if he’s still here, that means something, right?
Taking a deep breath for courage, I pull the door handle and step out.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asks before I can form words.
“I know it’s short notice, but I’d really like to take you out.” He pauses, then adds with a small, knowing smile, “And no, this isn’t an apology. I want to give you an evening of good food and the best ambiance possible.” His gaze softens. “I think you’ve been cooped up here for too long.”
It was supposed to be romantic, but he ruined it at the end.
I thrust my hands on my hips, feigning annoyance. “How do you know I’ve been cooped up? For your information, I’m a freelancer, which means that I work for various people, not just your cousin. He happened to be my employer at that point.”
Ethan folds his arms, giving me a knowing look. “I see. When was the last time you left your apartment? ”
The night Danielle and I were at the club?
“Yesterday,” I lie. It doesn’t make sense for him to know that much about me. Then again, he’s always made me feel like he could see right through my thoughts. Except for the one time, he thought I was a spy.
“I was doing things and keeping busy. I’m sure you know a thing or two about that,” I throw in with a pinch of sass and a lip curl.
“I’m teasing,” he chuckles like he’s made the best joke ever and I shake my head. “Dinner,” he continues. “Tonight.”
I glance at the door of my tiny walk-in closet and mentally go through the types of dresses I have there. Then I turn to him. “As long as you can wait.”
He tucks his hand into his pocket and takes a step backward. “I’ll wait for as long as you want me to, Natalie Monroe.”
Then he turns and walks away, closing the door softly behind him.
As long as I want him to.
How long do I really want him to wait?
The answer is already there, buried in the short time it takes for me to pick a dress for the evening.