40. Ethan #2
“Sophie—fuck—” I’m losing my mind. Her hands are in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, her hips rocking against me, and every movement sends a bolt of heat straight through my body and into the base of my spine.
I carry her to the desk and lower her onto the edge, stepping between her thighs, and she pulls me closer by my tie. We’re in the same position we were in the archive room except this time there’s no hesitation in her eyes.
I kiss her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts above her bra, my mouth moving greedily over her skin, and I can feel her pulse everywhere I touch.
“Sophie,” I whisper hoarsely, my cock so hard it hurts, straining against my trousers where I’m pressed between her thighs.
“Eth, I need—”
“Tell me what you need, sweet girl.” My fingers trace along the waistband of her underwear, barely brushing the soaked fabric, and she moans against my mouth, her hips jerking toward my hand.
“Please touch me. I need to feel you.”
I don’t hesitate. I move her underwear aside and slide a finger through her folds and the sound that comes out of both of us fills the quiet office. She’s so wet my finger glides through her, swollen and gripping me, and her legs are shaking on either side of my hips.
“God, you feel so hot and tight around my finger.” I push deeper and the wet sound it makes is obscene and beautiful and her head falls back, her mouth open, her hands gripping the edge of the desk.
“Jesus Christ, Sophie. You’re so wet.” I add another finger and she cries out, her hands flying to my hair. I curl both fingers inside her and her whole body clenches around me.
“Ethan, please—” she whispers, and I still for a moment and look her in the eyes.
“I need to see you, Sophie.” My voice is rough, barely holding together. “I need to taste you. I need to know.”
She knows what I mean. Every word I said to her in the archive room—what you’d taste like, what you’d look like, what you’d feel like—hanging in the air between us like a promise I’m finally being allowed to keep.
“Yes,” she breathes.
I’m on my knees the next moment.
I’ve thought about this so many times. Built elaborate models in my head late at night with my hand around my cock and her name in my mouth. And now I’m here, on my knees in my own office, and Sophie is looking down at me with her lips parted and I want to worship every inch of her.
I press my mouth to her stomach, kissing the soft skin, then lower—the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh, her muscles trembling under my lips. Her hands slide into my hair, her fingers curling against my scalp, and her legs fall open wider.
There’s a wet patch on the front of her underwear, and the sight of it pulls a growl out of me. The alpha in me, the part I’ve spent my whole life overriding with intellect and discipline, is fully awake and it wants her with a ferocity that would normally terrify me, but right now it doesn’t.
I trace her through the fabric, pressing my thumb against her clit through the wet cotton, and watch her face. Her mouth falls open. Her hips jerk. She’s writhing, her heels pressing into my shoulders, and the sounds coming out of her are getting louder and more desperate.
Then I hook my fingers into the sides of her underwear and slide them down her legs and off.
I stare at her, letting myself look.
She’s pink and glistening and swollen, her clit flushed, and the sight of her alone punches the air out of my lungs. I lean closer and inhale. Her scent is slipping through—just a hint of rain and crushed rose petals and something deeper, muskier—and my hands tighten on her thighs.
A bead of slick gathers at her entrance and starts to slide down, and I lean in and lick it up in one slow, flat stroke.
Her hips jerk. “Oh my God—”
And then my brain goes somewhere primitive and ancient and beyond the reach of reason.
I devour her. My mouth is on her, tongue flat and wide, lapping at her pussy, circling her clit, pushing inside her, and the sweet, musky taste of her is so overwhelmingly perfect that a growl rumbles through my chest. I grab her thighs with both hands and pull her harder against my face.
She’s making helpless, breathless sounds now, and I need more of it—her slick on my tongue and the way she trembles against my mouth.
Her thighs start shaking around my shoulders. I suck her clit into my mouth and slide two fingers back inside her, curling them against the spot that makes her whole body seize.
“Ethan—oh God, I’m going to—”
“I need you to come against my tongue, sweet girl.” I press the words into her, my mouth still on her. “I need to taste all of you.”
I seal my lips around her clit and suck, my tongue flicking against her, and she shatters.
Her thighs clamp around my head and her back arches off the desk and she comes with a cry that breaks into my name—Eth, Eth, oh God, Ethan—her body pulsing against my mouth in waves, flooding my tongue with warmth, and I don’t stop.
I work her through it, my tongue gentle now, drawing every last tremor out of her until her legs stop shaking and her hands go slack in my hair and she’s sitting on my desk, her head tipped back, breathing like she’s just run a marathon.
I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then I slide her underwear back up her legs, my fingers trailing along her skin as I go. She lifts her hips to let me.
I stand and lean over her and kiss her, my tongue sliding against hers, letting her taste herself.
She makes a startled sound against my mouth.
I pull back and look at her. Her lips are wet, her hair a mess around her face, and she looks thoroughly dazed.
“I was right,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You are a sweet girl.”
She laughs, breathless. I pull her into me, and she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face into my chest. I can feel her heart pounding against me.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods. “I just—no one has ever—”
She doesn’t have to finish for me to understand what she’s saying. No one has ever done this for her. No one has ever put their mouth on her and made her come.
I tighten my arms around her and press my lips to her temple.
“Well,” I tell her. “I can do that for you any time you want. Any time, anywhere, you just say the word, sweet girl.”
The thought alone makes my already hard cock press painfully against my trousers, and when I kiss her again I push between her thighs and she gasps against my mouth and rolls her hips into me and the friction makes my vision blur.
Her hands are in my hair again, pulling me closer. Her legs wrap around my waist, and she’s wet and warm against me through the thin fabric. I can feel her starting to build again, her breathing shallow, her body rocking into mine.
I break the kiss and press my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“Sophie, we’re never getting out of here if we don’t stop.”
“I know,” she whispers, her lips swollen. “We should go back.”
I kiss her again. I can’t help it. Her mouth is right there and she tastes like herself and champagne and I’m addicted. Her hands slide up my chest and her tongue finds mine and we’re right back where we were, her hips grinding against me, my hands gripping her thighs.
She pulls back this time, laughing, her head tipping back as one hand presses against my chest.
“Ethan. Leave. Go. Now.”
“Fine.” I kiss her one last time on the mouth and make myself step back. She’s sitting on my desk in her bra and underwear, her hair a mess, laughing up at me, and the sight of her like that—happy, flushed, laughing—is going to stay with me for a very long time.
I adjust my glasses, straighten my tie, and walk out of the office without looking back, because if I look back I’m not leaving. When I walk back into the gala, Max and Finn find me within minutes.
“Everything okay?” Max asks, his eyes scanning my face. “You disappeared for a while.”
“Sophie and I—” I adjust my glasses. “Something happened.”
Finn opens his mouth to say something, and then he stops. His nostrils flare. He looks at me and his blue eyes widen slightly.
Max goes still beside him. I watch him breathe in, and I see the exact moment it registers. His green eyes meet mine and hold.
Nobody says a word.