CHAPTER 23 #3
Ethan leads me into the living room, stops in front of the fireplace, and pulls me against him. His mouth finds mine, slow, claiming, and when he pulls back, his breath is unsteady.
“Let me start the fire.” His grin appears, that devastating dimple flashing. “Wine, beer, or hot chocolate?”
“Wine,” I breathe. God, I’ll need it. Nerves, excitement, longing, everything inside me is one buzzing, trembling storm.
He hangs our coats, then rolls up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, and I swear my mouth goes bone-dry.
He catches me looking and smirks.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart, and I won’t need to light a fire. You’re settin’ me on fire just fine.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “Sorry… you just look…”
He waits, eyebrow raised.
“Edible,” I whisper.
His smirk dies.
His eyes turn hungry, dark, heated, possessive.
“I’ve been thinking about eating you all night,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “But I like to take my time with you.”
My pulse trips over itself.
He kneels, arranges logs with care, and lights the fire.
The glow spreads through the room, flickering over his face as he stands and moves to the kitchen.
A moment later, he returns with wine, cheese, and two glasses.
He taps something on his phone and soft country music hums softly through the room.
He sits beside me, close enough that his scent wraps around me.
He pours the wine and hands me a glass.
“To being the luckiest man alive because I get to have you with me tonight,” he says softly.
My heart flips. “To being the luckiest woman alive because I’m here with you.”
We clink.
A song I love comes on, “Joy of My Life”, and Ethan stands, offering his hand.
“Dance with me.”
God help me, I do.
He pulls me against him, one hand resting on my waist, the other holding mine. His breath brushes my ear as he begins to softly sing the lyrics, and warmth blooms through me like a sunrise.
His hand slides from my waist to my bare back, fingertips drawing slow circles. Every cell in me ignites.
He leans his forehead against mine, eyes molten, then kisses me, slow at first, then deeper, like he’s tasting something he’s craved for a very long time.
“You taste like strawberries and wine,” he whispers.
“Ethan…” My voice barely exists.
His mouth moves to my neck, my collarbone, drawing a soft sound from me.
“Summer,” he breathes, strained. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
Fire races through me.
Need. Longing. This wild, overwhelming pull to be closer, closer, closer.
His hand finds the zipper of my jumpsuit… then stops.
He looks at me with a question in his eyes, gentle and patient.
And a tiny, broken voice inside me, the one shaped by Kevin’s cruelty, flares to life.
“Ethan…”
I step back.
He instantly stills.
“Baby, we don’t have have to do anything.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to…”
The words won’t form.
He studies me with those steady green eyes that see far too much.
“You’re scared,” he whispers. Not a question. No judgment.
“Yes.” My voice cracks.
“Did your ex hurt you?” His jaw flexes, eyes darkening with a deadly promise.
“No, not like that. He never raised a hand. But…”
I swallow hard.
“He didn’t like my body.”
His eyes sharpen with anger, not at me, but for me.
“I have stretch marks from having Mia. I have hips, rolls…” My breath shakes.
“I don’t want you looking at me the way he did.”
The memory slices through me, Kevin staring at my postpartum stomach like it was something ruined.
Ethan’s hand cups my cheek, pulling me gently away from the memory.
“Trust me?”
I nod.
He takes my hand and leads me upstairs, stopping at a wooden door.
“I’m not taking you in here to go further,” he says softly. “You’re in control. Every step. Every second. Okay?”
I nod again.
He opens the door.
His bedroom is warm and masculine, dark wood furniture, soft amber lamps, a huge bed with a thick quilt, a rug beneath it. A large mirror leans against the wall.
He brings me to it, stands behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders.
“I want to erase the memory you just had,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “How did you know?”
“Your eyes,” he says gently. “They went from blue fire to scared. And I never want you to feel that way again.”
His hand finds my zipper again, but he waits.
“Trust me?”
“Yes.”
He pulls the zipper down slowly. His hands are reverent as he slides my sleeves off, exposing my bra.
His eyes, reflected in the mirror, show nothing but hunger and love.
He kneels, removes each boot with care, then rises and stands behind me again. His fingers slide my jumpsuit down, inch by inch.
My stomach, my stretch marks, my soft curves… all of it comes into view.
Still, his gaze remains hot. Hungry. Tender.
Not a flicker of disgust.
When I close my eyes, he murmurs, “Baby, open those baby blues for me.”
I inhale and do.
He looks at me like I’m a miracle.
“My Venus,” he whispers.
His hands glide over every part of my body with reverence, neck, shoulders, chest, waist, before stopping at my stomach.
“This body is made to be worshipped.”
His voice is low, reverent, almost broken.
He presses his lips to my neck.
“Look at us, Summer,” he whispers. His hands cup my breast and hip, pulling me back into him.
“Do I look disgusted?”
I shake my head, tears slipping free.
“Do I feel uninterested?” His voice is rough, heated.
“N… no.”
He kneels in front of me. “Eyes up.”
I do as he says and look at the mirror, I see him bring his mouth to my stomach.
Then he kisses every stretch mark on my skin, whispering between each kiss,
“These brought your beautiful girl into the world.”
Kiss.
“These mean strength.”
Kiss.
“These are never ugly.”
Kiss.
“These are marks of a good mother.”
Kiss…
My knees weaken. Tears fall freely.
He rises and gathers me against him.
“I see a gorgeous, smart, strong woman who makes me burn,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Eyes like a summer sky…”
“Lips like cherries…”
“These…”
He lifts my breasts gently. “These might kill me, they’re so beautiful.”
“This heart…” His hand rests there. “This big, wild, brave heart called to mine the second I saw you.”
Tears keep streaming down my face as he kisses them away.
“And these hips…” he breathes, voice molten. “Were made for me to hold on to.”
“Oh God…” The words fall out of me.
He turns me and looks at me in the mirror.
“What do you see, Summer?”
I look.
“Me,” I whisper.
His face softens.
“Never doubt I want you,” he murmurs, kissing another tear from my cheek.
“Let me erase him. Every memory. Let me replace them with mine.”
Something inside me gives way.
“Ethan…”
I turn to him and my hands go to his shirt, trembling as I unbutton it.
His chest appears, hard muscle, warm golden skin, a sculpted stomach that makes me gasp.
“I need you,” I whisper.
He growls softly. “I love the way you look at me.”
I pull off his shirt and pull him into a kiss.
When he turns us, the mirror catches us both, and I gasp.
His back.
The tattoo.
Angel wings made of fire, spanning his whole back. A kneeling warrior in the center.
The number 343 inked over his spine.
“So beautiful,” I breathe, running my fingers over it.
“Baby…” Ethan cups my face between his hands. His thumb strokes my cheek, gentle and aching with restraint. “I want you.”
My breath shudders.
“Ethan… I…”
I don’t even finish the sentence.
He pulls me into a kiss so deep it steals every thought I’ve ever had.
His hands slide down my sides, mapping every inch of me like he’s memorizing the woman he’s about to cherish.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the heat of him, the power of him, the way he holds me like I’m something too precious for this world.
He lifts me, effortless, like I weigh nothing, and my gasp is swallowed by his mouth. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and the sound that rumbles in his chest vibrates through my entire body.
“Summer…” he groans against my throat, voice ragged. “You undo me.”
He carries me toward the bed, every step slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the anticipation as much as I am. The firelight flickers over his skin, catching the edges of his tattoo, painting him in gold and shadow.
He sets me down on the edge of the bed but doesn’t let go. His forehead rests against mine, breaths mingling, hearts racing in the same wild rhythm.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, even as his lips brush mine again and again, barely there touches that feel like promises.
“I won’t.” My voice trembles with truth. “I want you. I want this. I want… you.”
His jaw flexes, something tender and fierce crossing his face.
“Then hold on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Because I’m about to show you exactly what you deserve.”
His mouth claims mine again as the world tilts and softens around us, the warmth of his skin, the strength of his body, the way he touches me like prayer and hunger at the same time.
The room fades to firelight and breathless whispers, to hands that worship and a love that feels like coming home.
And then, I fall into him.
Into heat, into safety, into us.
And the night dissolves into everything I never knew I deserved.