11. All The Ruin （Hattie） #2
How could I hate a man who keeps insisting I’m beautiful?
How could I hate a man who wants me more than tomorrow’s sunrise, and every cutting glance proves he’s not faking it?
How is this unholy man even real ?
Unholy or not, he brings me close enough to heaven to taste it.
My thighs clench around his hand, trembling, and I open my throat, inviting him to thrust harder, deeper.
I’m trying not to gag but I swear it’s so worth it.
Something I’ve never done with other guys.
Oh, this isn’t me.
It’s rough and dirty and transformative.
I don’t regret him using me one bit.
Every time his groan becomes a snarl, he just brings my orgasm barreling down faster.
I’m almost in a trance until I feel him stroke my hair.
“Are you going to come for me?” When I nod, he pushes deeper, quickening his thrusts. “Fireworks, Pages. Blow the fuck up and wow me.”
And I do.
It’s like he’s put a spell on my flesh.
A second later, my orgasm hits full force.
So relentless my eyes roll back in my head and my vision whites.
And then I’m lost to the world, given to the stars, the only thing grounding me the feeling of his hands in my hair and his cock in my mouth.
“Beautiful. Motherfucking magnificent,” he whispers as I’m gliding down, pulling his cock out, saliva dangling from my mouth. He wipes it away with his thumb.
Then he looks at me and asks bluntly, “Birth control? You use it?”
I shake my head.
“I have an IUD, but the first time I don’t usually—”
He doesn’t show a flicker of annoyance, crossing to the nightstand and pulling out a condom. Of course, he has a stash.
I lick my lips.
This isn’t the sort of thing I usually do.
Casual sex outside normal dating has never been on my radar—but then again, neither has Ethan Blackthorn since the day he fake proposed.
And now…
Now, I’m technically his fiancée, planning a freaking wedding and picking out dresses.
Fantasy or not, that changes things.
It also makes me regret not telling him to forget the condom.
If Ethan cares at all, he doesn’t show it.
He just tilts my head back when he returns and kisses me with pure hunger, not caring where my mouth has just been.
I like that—I like it a lot.
The kiss also feels like a question.
Oddly careful at first, like he wants to know if I’m still on board with this and not drowning in second thoughts.
There’s an ache between my legs, despite the recent mind-splitting O.
I take the condom from his hands, ripping open the little foil packet and sliding it on him carefully, making sure to massage up and down his length.
To make sure it’s in place.
His next growl vibrates my bones as his mouth finds mine and he pushes me back on the bed, his body eclipsing mine.
What we’ve started feels inevitable now.
And I love it.
Nothing will stop this now.
I spread my legs, wrapping around him, and with one quick thrust, he’s in me.
All the way in.
His lips seal our union, and he swallows my gasp.
Holy shit , he’s big!
Thankfully, I’m wet enough so he slides right in.
But holy Mother of Dick, he fills me to the brim, almost to the point of discomfort.
Almost.
I roll my hips, shifting to find new angles, and he catches my hip.
“Wait,” he clips. His eyes are almost black. The hunger in them scares me. “Give it a second. Let yourself get used to me.”
He isn’t wrong.
It feels better already. Easier.
The friction, glorious.
I catch my breath as I shift again.
“Hattie?”
“Feels good,” I whisper against his mouth.
He shudders and starts moving again.
Gently at first, then when it’s obvious I really am enjoying it as much as I claim, his strokes get rougher.
In no time, I’m riding a human wave, tossing me up and down like a ship he wants to wreck.
His hips fall like boulders, almost bruising, making me feel every vein in his cock.
Holy flaming shit!
He grabs my breasts, pinching my nipples hard enough to send a little sting to my core.
Pleasure consumes me, and hovering over me, Ethan’s face is tight with it.
This carnal delight that sharpens every feature and gives his shadows depth.
God, does all sex with him always feel like this?
It’s like I’ve spent my life in a cave and I’ve just stepped into the sunlight.
Sex has never been great.
Never anything remarkable or worth going crazy for beyond the heat of the moment.
I’ve chased intimacy more than raw, blind pleasure.
But with Ethan, it’s like chocolate and peanut butter, two perfect complements.
Two delicious halves of one whole.
I’m so deep in the zone I reach down to touch myself, but he catches my hand and pushes it away.
“No.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, gently biting it. “You’ll come when I tell you, Pages.”
Not fair!
But it’s also strangely reasonable because I’ve already come once.
Still, I wiggle under him, biting my lip so he can’t see me panting.
I think he notices anyway, though, and he gives me a rare smile.
“I love seeing you frustrated. Payback. Do you know how many damn times you’ve had me dying from blue balls?” He cups my breast and squeezes. “How many times I’ve thought about that kiss, fucking my cock with my fist and spraying come?”
No words.
I shake my head, trying not to quiver.
Now, he’s the one to reach between my legs, rubbing so sweetly right where I need him.
“I couldn’t get that shit out of my head, no matter how many times I tried.”
“I thought you regretted it…”
“Hell no. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I never regretted it for a second.” He nips my neck, then kisses the sting. “Are you close? Tell me.”
“Yes.”
The way he stares brings me to the brink, even as my face heats.
“Don’t come yet.”
I fist the sheets in my hands as I try to hold back. Impossible when he drives in harder, throwing his full power into it.
“Ethan!” My voice is a whine.
“Good girl. Make that pussy listen to me.”
“Ethan, I can’t. ”
“Two more minutes, sweetheart. Then you go to kingdom come.”
Madness.
It should be illegal, how sweet and rough he is, especially when I’m three seconds away from self-combusting.
His breathing is so harsh, sweat gleaming on his skin.
To distract myself from the demanding pleasure, I stare at him.
It’s like his body was made for attention, a sculpture breathed into life.
All rigid muscles, rippling as he thrusts with devilish intent.
All abs that could stop a semitruck.
A smattering of dark hair just above his cock—
Bad place to look.
I whimper with frustration, and he grins down at me, cruel and amused.
“Another minute,” he says.
I’m fairly sure his sense of time is arbitrary.
It’s more the idea that I come at his whim.
And I’m so ridiculously close.
Pressing my heels into his lower back, pushing him deeper inside me, I shudder.
He trembles too, his eyes heavy, glowing with focus.
There’s nothing left in his soul but thirst.
Baring his teeth, he pounds me harder, tracing another tantalizing circle around my clit.
Oh, oh, I’m barely holding on, I can’t—
“Ethan!”
Screaming. His name barely sounds coherent on my lips.
“Fucking now !” he snarls, and I break apart.
White-hot pleasure strikes so fast it’s blinding, bordering on pain.
Overwhelming.
Intense.
Too much, too much, but exactly enough.
I am disembodied.
Floating.
And I hit the ceiling and shatter into a thousand pieces as his hips piston, and with a roar, he finishes deep inside me.
Even through the latex, I swear I can feel him coming.
When it’s over an eternity later, we collapse on the bed together. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. It’s all I can do to keep breathing, feeling him, knowing he’s real.
But Ethan is so patient, and his massive shield of a body curls around mine in a way that makes me feel safe.
My last thought before I drift off to sleep is the fact that sex is ruined with anyone else.
I wish it ended there.
By the time this arrangement ends, what if he’s ruined me for love?
I wake up alone in his enormous white bed.
The sheets still smell like him—like us —and he must have draped the duvet over my naked body before he left.
I’m sore everywhere.
Good sore, I think, or what would be good if my anxiety didn’t instantly mule-kick me in the gut.
I just slept with Ethan Blackthorn.
My fake fiancé.
The man I’m going to marry purely so he can get his inheritance.
The man who bought me a bookstore and who’s paying me to marry him to shut up, look pretty, and play Cinderella for a few months.
That’s the guy I just had a whole thing with.
The best sex of my life with a mister I can’t ever have for real. Also, my best friend’s brother .
Oh my God.
What am I doing?
And he saw all of me, too.
The stretch marks on my thighs, on my breasts, on my sides.
At least I think he did, when I can still feel the phantom imprint of his hands all over me.
They were everywhere, dueling beasts hell-bent on extracting pleasure.
I sit up slowly, taking in the room. It’s definitely empty and it’s still dark outside.
I slept away the afternoon and we’re well into night.
Well, shit.
Shit, shit, shit .
Where is Ethan, though?
He said something about trying to get the kiss out of his mind when we had sex, so he’s probably busy regretting this. I wonder if he’s fled halfway across the country on that fancy jet, desperate to pretend this never happened.
Argh.
He probably didn’t even mean for it to happen.
Maybe he’s in a dry spell between girls or he’s actually honoring this engagement and staying celibate for me.
Maybe he was just horny and I was just accessible.
Maybe he’s wondering how he can ever smooth this over.
Maybe he’ll make me sign a shiny new nondisclosure agreement so no one will ever find out about the atrocity.
Or maybe he was so disgusted when he woke up and saw me that he couldn’t bear to share the same oxygen.
Maybe I’m being a ginormous idiot.
Better to face the music sooner rather than later, I guess.
The visceral regret that rips the air from your lungs.
The wedding people left a robe hanging over the back of the door.