Chapter 10
Annabelle
When I wake, Ethan isn’t next to me. It’s growing light, but it’s still too early to be normal waking hours.
I push up out of bed and stumble to the bathroom to try to get my eyes to open properly by splashing cold water on my face.
The woman in the mirror looks exhausted.
My hair is a mess. My eyes are puffy. There is a tiny cut near my temple from the glass.
I stare at myself for a second, hand braced on the sink, and feel yesterday slam back into me in full.
My stomach drops.
“Ethan?” I rasp.
No answer.
Panic wakes me up properly then. I leave the bathroom and head into the bedroom. The duvet is thrown back on his side. The room is empty. The door is ajar.
My pulse starts kicking harder as I step into the hallway.
The penthouse is quiet in a way I don’t trust. Not peaceful. Alert. Waiting.
Then I hear a voice from the kitchen.
I walk faster.
The second I come into the open-plan room, Ethan’s head turns. He is at the island, coffee mug in one hand, gun within reach on the counter. He’s on the phone. “Call me dickface,” he grits out and hangs up.
“Where are they?” I ask slowly.
“Around,” he says casually.
“Missing,” I correct. “Right? Missing. You can’t get hold of either of them, can you?”
His jaw hardens for a second before he smooths it out. “They’re not missing.”
I stare at him until my chest starts feeling tight again.
The broken window is boarded up now. Someone has cleaned every trace of last night out of sight.
The room looks almost normal if I ignore the gun on the counter and the fact that Aidan and Callan vanished into the dark with a man I still want dead.
“How long have you been up?”
“A while.”
“And they haven’t called.”
He takes a sip of coffee like this is a discussion about train times. “No.”
“Fuck.” I shove my hands into my hair. “We need to go and find them.”
“No, we need to stay here.”
“How can we just sit here knowing they’re out there?”
“Because sitting here keeps you safe.”
“Go and find them.”
“No.”
“They could be bleeding out somewhere. Hell, Aidan, already is!”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I will stay here, keep the doors locked. Lock the lift, if that’s a thing. But you need to go out there and find your brothers.”
He stands then, towering over me, and I resist the urge to flinch. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you alone?”
“You have to. I’m fine. They might not be.”
“You aren’t thinking clearly.”
It sparks a flame. Small, annoyed, but very much burning. “No, actually. I’m thinking clearly for the first time in a long time.”
“Thanks to me.”
“Maybe, but you don’t get to lord that over me anymore. We are done with that. I will stay here like a good little girl, and you will go and find your brothers. Isn’t that what you want? For me to be a good little girl?”
His gaze heats up. He grips my hips and pulls me flush against him. He is already getting hard. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Even if I want you to?”
“If something happened to you while I was gone—”
“Nothing will happen.”
“Says every horror movie idiot who thinks splitting up is the best idea.”
I smile at that. “I see your point, but I’m not afraid of being alone. Not anymore. You did that. Now respect what you did and go and find your brothers.”
“You aren’t going to stop with it, are you?”
“No.”
His hands tighten, and he lifts me up suddenly, placing me on the kitchen island. His hands are pulling my leggings down before I take my next breath.
“Ethan,” I gasp, catching at his wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Making a point.” His voice is low, steady, dangerous. He steps in between my knees and drags me to the edge of the island. “You want to push me first thing in the morning, Tinks, that is your choice.”
My breath turns shallow. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He looks down at me, blue eyes hard and hot. “You think because you’re less scared now, I’m suddenly going to leave you unguarded in a penthouse a psycho has already taken a shot at?”
“I think your brothers matter too.”
His hand slides up my thigh, pushing my top up with the other until cool air brushes my skin. “They do.”
“Then go.”
“No.”
He spreads me wider, and the look on his face sends heat straight through me despite the fear still twisting in my gut.
“This is manipulative,” I whisper.
“Probably.” He kisses the side of my neck. “Still not leaving.”
My pulse jumps. “You can’t just distract me every time we disagree.”
He looks down at me. “Watch me.”
I hate how much that does for me.
His fingers push my knickers aside and drags them down my thighs.
I suck in a breath as his fingers brush through the slick heat that is already there for him. It is hot enough to make my toes curl against the cupboard doors.
His thumb presses over my clit once, slow and firm. “You’re so fucking wet.”
My head falls back for half a second before I force it up again. “That doesn’t mean you win.”
“It means your body likes my argument.”
I glare at him. “My body can get fucked.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. More dangerous than that. “It’s about to.”
He strokes my clit again, and my hips jerk before I can stop them. “Ethan.”
“No one’s coming through that door,” he says, voice low. “No one gets near you without going through me first. Understand?”
I do understand. That is part of the problem. He is making sense with one hand between my legs and the other braced on the island beside my hip, caging me in with heat and control until the rest of the world starts sliding out of focus.
“I still think you need to go after them,” I whisper.
His fingers slide through my folds and circle back to my clit, more deliberate this time. “Keep talking.”
A broken sound escapes me. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here you are.”
I want to argue. I want to push this whole conversation back to the part where Aidan is hurt, he and Callan vanished into the night, and I am standing here getting fingered into compliance on a kitchen island while pretending that counts as problem-solving.
My mouth opens.
Nothing useful comes out.
Ethan’s thumb keeps a steady pressure on my clit while his fingers part me, finding exactly where I’m already aching. It is disgusting how fast I give him what he wants. My legs spread wider. My hands clutch the edge of the island behind me. He watches every reaction like he owns them.
His fingers slide inside me in one smooth thrust.
I gasp.
He pumps his fingers once, slow enough to make me feel every inch of it. An inhuman sound breaks out of me. My pussy still feels tender from yesterday. Sensitive everywhere. Every stroke lands harder because of it.
“I’m not changing my mind,” I whisper.
“Neither am I.”
He curls his fingers, and my breath catches sharp in my chest. “Ethan.”
“No more talking, Tinks. I’m done with words.” He crushes his mouth to mine, releasing the counter to undo his pants. He drags me to the edge of the island, closer to his cock.
I make a helpless sound into his mouth, half protest, half surrender. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His kiss is ruthless. It steals the air from my lungs and half my ability to think. I feel the hard line of his cock against my thigh, the flex of his hand at my hip, the wet drag of his fingers still buried inside me. I moan into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips. “That’s it.”
His fingers drive deeper once, and I break, hips rocking helplessly against his hand. His body pins me in place. My hands leave the counter and clutch at his shirt instead because I need something to hold on to before I slide under this.
He withdraws his fingers, and I almost whine at the loss, but then he grips himself and pushes into me in one hard thrust that makes every thought in my head vanish.
“Oh, God.” I arch into him, stunned by the force of it, by the fullness, by the way he claims every inch of space inside me like it belongs to him. He gives me no time to adjust. His hips snap forward again, deep and brutal, setting a pace that tells me exactly how this is going to go.
It is not gentle.
It is not sweet.
It is Ethan, angry and aroused and determined to fuck his point into me until I stop arguing or forget how.
I gasp and cling to him harder, my legs locking around his waist as he drives into me again. The thick drag of his cock, the hard slap of his hips, the way he holds me open and takes exactly what he wants is what I need.
His hand slides to the back of my thigh and hikes my leg higher. The new angle makes me cry out. He goes deeper. Harder. My whole body jolts with it.
“Fuck,” he grits out, watching my face as he fucks into me. “Take it.”
I do. I take every hard thrust, every brutal snap of his hips, every punishing inch that makes my body spark and melt at the same time. His hand on my leg keeps me open for him. His other hand braces beside me, caging me in, holding me exactly where he wants me.
This works on me.
It makes me feel safer for it.
His mouth drops to my throat. His teeth scrape lightly. A sound tears out of me before I can stop it. My fingers twist in his shirt as his cock drives deep again, hitting that place inside me that makes my vision flicker.
Another thrust knocks the words apart. I’m too responsive. Too willing. Heat builds low and vicious, tightening through my belly with every hard stroke.
I know what he is doing, and it nearly breaks my heart because he is doing what he knows he should, but doesn’t want to.
He is going to leave me.
Panic hits my chest for one brief moment before my orgasm crashes over me.
“Fuck, Tinks,” he growls. “Squeeze me harder, break me.”
“Ethan,” I sob.
He catches the back of my neck and kisses me hard enough to keep me from falling apart. His thrusts turn rougher, deeper, and I feel the exact second he loses the last of his control.
“Fuck,” he bites out. “Mine.”
The word goes straight through me.
He drives into me one last time and comes with a low groan against my throat, holding me in place while my body still shakes around him. For a few seconds, neither of us moves. I can hear both of us breathing.