Chapter 19 - Margot
Margot
Methodical. Analytical. Scrupulous. People have used all three words to describe me. But right now, I’m feeling wild and reckless with a resounding Yes! to Ethan’s proposition burning on the tip of my tongue.
Is it smart to sleep with my boss? Probably not.
Could it potentially lead to a whole lot of trouble? Definitely.
Am I likely to catch feelings for a man who will never truly be mine? Yes, but let’s be honest, those feelings are already there.
No matter how much I try to tell myself otherwise, feelings that are far more than friendly have already taken root deep in my chest. But because I’m still a sensible person, I keep them unfed, unwatered, and strictly out of direct sunlight so they don’t grow.
How much could this one little ray of sunshine really hurt?
Potentially a lot, you idiot! Methodical, analytical Margot screams from the depths of my brain. But I’m working on banishing negative self-talk, so I ignore her completely.
The heavy thud of Ethan’s footsteps follows me up the stairs to my apartment.
My pulse is racing, and my hands are shaking as we reach the landing.
I fish around in my purse, through a pile of small stuffed animals that Ethan won for me, to find my keys.
He lingers behind me as I slide my key into the lock.
I draw this process out as much as possible, trying to gather the courage to say the words out loud.
Yes, I would like to sleep with you. Preferably right now.
When I turn to face Ethan, my courage wilts.
The words are lodged stubbornly in my throat.
We haven’t spoken of Ethan’s proposition since the pedal boats.
The walk out of the park and the drive home were filled with our usual jokes and laughter.
It was almost as if that conversation hadn’t happened at all.
Except that his words have been echoing in my head ever since.
The low timbre of his voice rattles through me every time my mind replays the words, shaking loose my flimsy resolve.
All I can think about is Ethan’s hands on my bare skin.
His lips on my neck. His fingers slipping between my legs.
“We should have sex,” I blurt out unceremoniously.
Ethan would probably look less surprised if I pulled a raccoon out of a hat and threw it directly at his face.
Thankfully, he recovers quickly and smiles gently. “Margot, you don’t have to decide tonight. Take some time if you need to.”
“I don’t need any time. I’m sure. I want to do this.”
I’m afraid I’ll overthink it and chicken out if we don’t do it now. Plus, amazing birthday sex sounds like a great way to cap off this day.
“Now?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
I nod with the cool confidence of a woman who hasn’t spent the last several weeks completely neglecting her bikini line.
Ethan is quiet for a moment, studying my expression, then he nods towards the door. “Alright, lead the way then.”
We step inside my living room, illuminated only by shreds of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Ethan lingers a few steps from the door while I walk across the room and set my purse on the table.
By no coincidence, it lands on top of my boss romance book with a riding crop on the cover.
Then I slowly turn back to face Ethan, sucking in a trembling breath.
We’re about to cross a huge line—one that we can’t easily come back from. The thought has me panicking a little but not second-guessing my decision.
“So, should I just…?” I make a weird sweeping motion down my body with my hand. It’s meant to silently inquire if I should take off my clothes, but lands more like an infomercial host showing off all the special features he’s about to enjoy.
Across the room, Ethan regards me with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
“Should you what?” he smirks.
“I don’t know. You’re the expert.” Rather than sarcastic, my tone is a little frantic. “Should I get undressed or something?”
I have had sex before. I consider telling him this, just in case there’s any doubt. It’s just been a very long time since I had anything but the most mechanical, predictable sex imaginable.
Ethan laughs quietly, shaking his head at me. “No, I think maybe we should talk first… with our clothes on.”
I brace myself, knowing that I am about to become the newest recipient of Ethan North’s patented one-night stand speech.
It’s a speech he’s probably given to more women than I care to know, which is why it surprises me when Ethan hesitates, runs a hand through his hair, then genuinely stumbles over the words.
“It’s just—I want to make sure you understand that this is a one-time thing.” A look flashes in his eyes, apologetic and regretful. He clears his throat lightly. “Just for tonight.”
I nod, careful to keep my voice steady. “I understand.”
Because I do understand. I know what this is—one night, no strings.
Even though part of me wishes it could be more, I know it never will be, and I’m prepared to live with that.
“And we probably shouldn’t ever mention this to anyone at work,” I add. I can live with one night, but I wouldn’t be able to live down the rumors at work.
“Of course.” The nod that Ethan returns is solemn and singular. His eyes stay locked on mine across the room for a few long seconds, then his demeanor shifts.
“Come here,” he says, voice low and laced with promise.
I walk across the room, my eyes never leaving his. When I’m standing right in front of him, he kisses me. I’m expecting to be ravaged but not at all disappointed to find myself being savored instead. Ethan’s lips drag slowly over mine while his hands move to my waist, pulling me closer.
Every second stretches and dissolves as we kiss, the world shrinking around us to the curve of his mouth against mine. His hand slides beneath my shirt, warm against my skin, but somehow still sending a shiver down my spine. Ethan smiles against my mouth then pulls back slightly.
“Up,” he commands quietly.
I raise my arms, and Ethan pulls my shirt off, hands grazing my sides.
After he deposits the shirt on the floor, his muscular arms wrap around me.
Fingertips brush my back, pulling my hair aside before unhooking my bra.
It falls away, leaving my breasts exposed and my nipples tightening against the cold air.
If I had to identify the point of no return, this would be it. The moment when Ethan—my boss, my friend—inhales a sharp breath, eyes roaming over my bare skin. Appreciating. Memorizing. Then they’re back on mine.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says.
It’s not a line. I can hear the honesty in his voice and see the reverence in his eyes.
That’s the exact moment when I know there’s no going back.
Even if we stopped right now, there would always be this new, intimate depth to our relationship.
Not because he’s seen me undressed, but because something intangible and inescapable passes between us at that moment.
An acknowledgment that we both see each other on a deeper level than anyone else does.
That’s what really makes this possible, the fact that we understand each other completely.
The fact that Ethan sees me, and I see him.
Even if it’s just as friends, our connection runs deep.
It always has, but these past few weeks have solidified it.
Ethan’s hand cups my jaw. This kiss is hungrier than the last, and I’m as much to blame for that as he is. We move together in the dark, bumping into furniture and stumbling over discarded clothing until the back of my knees find the soft velvet armchair in the corner.
All that’s left are his jeans and my panties.
My stomach flutters as Ethan hooks his fingers around the sides of my black underwear, pauses for my nod of approval, then slides them down my hips.
They fall to the floor, and Ethan’s eyes travel down, down, down all the way to the tips of my toes, lingering in a couple spots along the way.
“I would have shaved,” I blurt out, “if I had known…”
I really like the little bush that’s grown out since the breakup, but suddenly I’m feeling self-conscious about it. It’s some patriarchal bullshit, I know. Luckily, Ethan will have none of that. He takes a step forward, kissing me and cutting me off at the same time.
“You’re perfect,” he says, breath dancing across my lips. Then he slides his hand between my legs. “And I love this.”
“You do?”
He arches a wicked brow. “You don’t believe me?”
Coyly, I shake my head, if only to see what reaction it elicits. And Ethan doesn’t disappoint.
“Sit,” he commands, voice deep and rough.
I lower myself into the chair, looking up at him. Ethan regards me for a few long beats. The humor has vanished from his expression, leaving only a smoldering gaze. His eyes hold mine as he drops to his knees in front of me.
“Spread your legs for me.”
My pulse goes wild while my mouth goes dry. Frozen by the mind-blowing sexiness of this moment and the man kneeling in front of me, it takes me longer than it should to part my knees.
Ethan groans, quiet but primal, as his eyes find my center. Then his hands hook around my calves, sliding my hips forward as my shoulders land on the back of the chair. Big palms pry my thighs wide apart, hooking each leg over an arm of the chair and holding them there.
If his cocked eyebrow was wicked, then this smile of his is evil incarnate. “Good girl. Stay just like that while I prove how much I fucking love this.”
And just like that, I consider this chair ruined. There’s no way it’s surviving the absolute flood that Ethan North just sent straight to my pussy. I can feel myself dripping. Hear myself when Ethan slides one finger inside.
His head drops to my inner thigh, planting a kiss inches from where I need it the most as he adds a second finger, curling them both expertly inside of me. The involuntary noise my throat produces is half moan, half objection.