Chapter 27
PIPER
He hovers above me, his weight on his forearms, eyes searching mine. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve been sure since you walked through my door with too much Thai food,” I admit, reaching up to trace his jaw. “Maybe since you wore those ridiculous leaves that didn’t hide much.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Not my finest fashion moment.”
“I don’t know,” I tease, tugging at his shirt. “I thought you pulled it off rather well. This, however...”
He gets the hint, sitting back on his heels to pull his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, the defined planes of his chest—makes me forget how to breathe.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt.
I hesitate for just a moment, suddenly self-conscious. I’m not an athlete. I don’t have Harper’s yoga-toned abs or Paige’s runway figure.
Ethan notices my pause. “Hey,” he says softly. “We can stop—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I want this. I want you. I just...”
“What?”
“I’m not exactly...” I gesture vaguely at my body.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Piper Renner,” he says, voice low and serious. “Are you suggesting I wouldn’t find every inch of you absolutely stunning?”
“Well, when you put it like that...”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. “Let me show you how beautiful you are to me.”
His hands slip under my shirt, warm against my skin as he slowly pushes the fabric up. I lift my arms, letting him remove it completely. His eyes darken as he takes me in, my plain cotton bra suddenly feeling inadequate.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
“Can’t help it.” His voice is rough.
His fingertips trace the curve of my waist, feather-light touches that make my skin prickle with goosebumps. When he reaches the band of my bra, he pauses, eyes seeking permission.
“Yes,” I whisper, arching slightly.
He reaches behind me, unhooking it with surprising dexterity. “Not my first rodeo,” he explains when I raise an eyebrow.
“Should I be jealous?” I tease, trying to cover my nervousness with humor.
“Of all the women who aren’t here right now?” He slides the straps down my arms. “Definitely not.”
When my bra falls away, I fight the urge to cover myself. But one look at Ethan’s expression—a mixture of awe and hunger—makes me feel powerful instead of exposed.
“You’re perfect,” he says, voice reverent.
“Now who’s not taking things seriously?” I deflect.
“Deadly serious.” His thumb brushes across my nipple, and I gasp at the sensation. The confident smirk that spreads across his face should be infuriating, but instead, it sends heat pooling between my thighs.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs, leaning down to replace his thumb with his mouth.
The warm, wet heat of his tongue makes me arch off the bed. “Ethan—”
“I love how you say my name,” he says against my skin. “It makes me want to touch you more. Like you’re begging for it, or demanding it.”
“It’s definitely a demand right now,” I manage, threading my fingers through his hair.
He laughs, the vibration sending shivers across my skin. “So bossy.”
His mouth moves to my other breast while his hand slides down my stomach, fingers playing at the waistband of my leggings. Every touch is deliberate, almost reverent, like he’s mapping a code he wants to memorize.
“These need to go,” he says, tugging at the fabric.
I lift my hips, helping him slide the leggings down my legs. When I’m left in just my underwear—plain black cotton, nothing special—I feel a moment of insecurity.
“You’re overdressed,” I point out, deflecting.
“Easily fixed.” He stands, unbuttoning his jeans with maddening slowness.
“Are you putting on a show right now?”
“Is it working?” He grins, shoving his jeans down.
His jeans hit the floor, revealing black boxer briefs that do nothing to hide how much he wants me. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
“Like what you see?” he asks, voice teasing but with an undercurrent of vulnerability I wasn’t expecting.
“Very much,” I admit, reaching for him. “Come here.”
He crawls back onto the bed, hovering above me. The weight of him, the heat radiating from his skin, makes everything else fall away.
“Can I?” he asks, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
I nod, lifting my hips. “Please.”
He slides them down slowly, eyes never leaving mine. When I’m completely bare beneath him, he takes a moment just to look at me, and I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“You’re staring again,” I whisper.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he says simply, like it’s an irrefutable fact. “Every part of you, especially your perfect pussy.”
I giggle.
“Ethan!”
His hand trails up my leg, from ankle to thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When his fingers finally reach where I want them most, I can’t help the sound that escapes me.
“Still adequate?” he teases, circling lightly.
“Shut up.” I laugh, the sound transforming into a gasp when he increases the pressure.
“Make me.”
I pull him down for a kiss, swallowing his laugh as his fingers work magic between my thighs. He knows exactly how to touch me now, remembers every response from last weekend, and uses that knowledge ruthlessly.
“Better than adequate?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Getting there.” I gasp, then cry out when he slides two fingers inside me.
“Just getting there?” His thumb finds that perfect spot, circling with maddening precision. “How about now?”
“Ethan, please—”
“Please what?” But his voice is strained now, his control fraying at the edges.
“I need you. All of you. I mean… let's…do it.”
Oh god. Is this hot for him? Am I totally messing this up?
“Condom?”
“Bedside drawer,” I manage.
He reaches over, fumbling through the contents until he finds what he’s looking for. I watch him tear the package open with his teeth, the simple action somehow incredibly sexy.
“Help me,” he says, and I realize he’s asking me to put it on him. My hands tremble slightly as I take the condom, rolling it down his length. He feels thick and heavy in my palm.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“Very okay,” I assure him, guiding him toward me.
He positions himself between my thighs, the tip of him pressing against my entrance. Our eyes lock, and something passes between us.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, slowly pushing forward.
The stretch burns slightly, my body adjusting to him. He moves with careful restraint, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
“You feel incredible,” he says, forehead pressed against mine. “So perfect.”
When he’s fully seated within me, we both pause, adjusting to the sensation. I feel impossibly full, connected to him in a way that transcends the physical.
“Move,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please.”
He starts slow, shallow thrusts that build gradually in intensity. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure through me, building on the foundation his fingers laid earlier. I dig my nails into his shoulders, urging him deeper.
“Piper.” He groans, pace increasing. “God, you feel—”
“I know.” I gasp, meeting his thrusts. “Me too.”
We find a rhythm together, perfect and primal.
His hand slides to my hip, gripping me tight as his thrusts become more deliberate. I can’t help the moan that escapes me when he hits that perfect spot inside.
“There?” he whispers, angling to strike it again.
“Yes—right there—don’t stop.” I am panting, my words dissolving into incoherent sounds as he maintains the rhythm.
He dips his head to my neck, trailing kisses down to my collarbone. “God, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs against my skin. “All flushed and perfect.”
I laugh breathlessly. “I’m a mess.”
“A gorgeous mess,” he corrects, nipping at my earlobe. “My gorgeous mess.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through me. I arch up, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him.
“Ethan…” I gasp as tension builds low in my belly, that familiar coiling sensation intensifying with each thrust.
“I know, Pip. I can feel you.” His voice is strained, control slipping. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
I nod frantically, beyond words now. His hand slips between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and the dual sensations make me cry out.
“That’s it,” he encourages, circling his thumb in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts.
“Come with me,” he urges, his movements growing more erratic as his own control slips. “Together, Pip—”
The tension inside me coils impossibly tight before shattering completely.
I cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me, my entire body clenching around him.
He follows immediately, his rhythm faltering as he groans against my neck, his release pulsing in perfect synchrony with the aftershocks of my own.
For several moments, we remain frozen together, trembling and breathless. His weight presses me into the mattress, but I don’t mind—I want to feel every inch of him against me, proof that what just happened was real.
Eventually, he lifts his head, looking down at me with wonder. His hair is messy from my fingers, his eyes bright, his smile almost shy.
“Fuck me…” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
“I just did,”
He snorts then shifts slightly, careful as he withdraws, then flops beside me. “You know,” he says after catching his breath, “statistically speaking, simultaneous orgasms are pretty rare.” He turns his head to look at me. “Do you know the actual numbers on that?”
I laugh, rolling to face him. “Are you seriously asking me for sexual statistics right now?”
“Just curious if your brilliant brain has filed away that particular data point.”
“Hmm…” I pretend to consider.
“Around fifteen percent of heterosexual couples report simultaneous orgasm,” I say, not entirely making it up. “But the data’s self-reported, so probably inflated.”
“Well, we just contributed to that statistic.” He pulls me closer, his arm a warm weight across my waist. “I’d call that empirical evidence of compatibility.”
“One data point isn’t statistically significant,” I argue, but I’m smiling against his chest.
“Then I guess we’ll need to collect more data.” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back