Chapter 16
Ethan
Blake and I sit at the bar, our hands intertwined. Her mention of Danny casts a shadow over our conversation, and I sit with my grief for a moment, letting it wash over me, and it hurts like hell.
My grief is like a living thing, pulsing and throbbing with every beat of my heart, impossible to ignore or escape when it hits. So I let it consume me for just a moment, memories of Danny flooding my mind. He used to be a firefighter alongside Patrick, and he died after going back into a house fire to rescue the family dog.
He went in without a second thought. That’s just who he was. Always putting others first, always so damn brave. The dog survived, but the firefighter didn’t make it. Life’s a bitch that way.
Another memory of Danny surfaces—those afternoons after school when we’d head straight to the field with a couple of gloves, a bat and a ball. We’d play until the sun dipped low, laughing, trash-talking, just two kids out on that field, all my other worries gone.
For me, it was an escape from my two homes, a break from the tension that always hung in the air, but for Danny, it was everything. He was obsessed with baseball, knew stats for every player, collected cards like they were rare treasures. I can still see the way his face lit up when he’d pull a signed ball out of his collection.
The memory is bittersweet. Danny loved baseball like nothing else, and somehow the memory of him feels just as alive as ever.
His integrity, his heroism, his quirked smile, and that endless positivity. He was a good person, one of the best, and he didn’t deserve to die the way he did. Life is just fucking unfair sometimes.
Blake’s grip tightens on my hand. “Are you okay?” Her eyes search mine.
I hesitate briefly, the prickly weight of my words lodging in my throat. But I know that Blake, out of everyone, will understand. She lost Danny too.
“I miss him. He was such a good guy. The best.”
Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Me too.”
“I haven’t always dealt with his death in the best way. I guess I haven’t... I haven’t grieved the way people expected me to.”
She nods like she gets it, and I keep talking, saying out loud the words that have never been spoken before. “It’s driven a wedge between me and some of the guys. Especially Patrick. He thinks I don’t care as much as him, but it’s just, I’ve never been one of those people who has all my emotions out there in the open.”
Her eyes soften, the understanding in her gaze pulling at something deep inside me. “I get it. After Danny died, I didn’t know if I’d even survive those first few months. I was on autopilot, just going through the motions. People probably thought I was coping pretty well, but inside, my soul was dying.”
Her words hit me hard, and I turn to face her fully, our knees pressed together. The connection feels grounding, essential. “How did you get through it?”
She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my skin, the gesture both soothing and intimate. “It was just time. One day I woke up, and it didn’t hurt to take every breath. And it got a little better the next day. Sometimes I went backward, felt like I’d just stop breathing all together and I’d never wake up, stuck in this sticky, awful darkness, but eventually I started to heal.”
“I had no idea. I knew you were hurting, but you always seemed so resilient.”
Blake’s gaze drops again. “We all wear masks. Some of us are just better at hiding the cracks when they appear.”
I tighten my grip on her hand, hoping that I can give her as much comfort as her touch alone gives me, and wait until she looks up. When she does, I hold her gaze, looking into the deep perfect of her eyes. I could get lost in those eyes, searching for all the answers to my questions, clear pools of emerald water reflecting the beauty of the world.
“I don’t want you to think you need to wear a mask around me, or hide anything, ever.”
She starts to pull back, like maybe she thinks she revealed too much, that I’m seeing too much, her eyes darting away.
“Don’t shut me out. Not now. I’m not trying to rescue you or cross any boundaries.”
Her eyes meet mine again, conflicted. The air between us is charged, every moment elongating, stretching out as if time itself is holding its breath. Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in and kiss her. There’s almost a desperation in the kiss, and it’s filled with all the longing and pain we’ve both been holding back.
Her mouth is soft, and after a brief hesitation, she opens her lips, welcoming me. For a moment, there’s only us, connected by our shared grief and the undeniable chemistry that’s been building between us.
She tastes so sweet, and she’s kissing me back with equal intensity, her hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer, and the world outside the bar ceases to exist. All I can think about is the way she feels against me, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body.
She slides off her stool, coming to stand between my legs, and something shifts as her hands skim my belt, tugging, loosening. As her delicate fingers trace the contours of my buckle, a primal urge surges through me.
Our eyes lock, and the realization hits me: I’m not going to be able to stop myself this time.
It’s like we’re both possessed as we pull each other’s clothes off. She unbuttons my shirt, yanking at the material in her impatience, while I pull off her tank top, lifting it over her head, her arms, before throwing it on the bar.
Standing, I get the buckle undone and my jeans fall. Both our hands are yanking down her jeans, leaving her in nothing but a matching pair of pale blue cotton panties and a bra. Her body is perfection, slim and strong, flawless sun-kissed skin.
Forcing myself to slow, hooking my fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them slowly down her legs until she steps out of them, then I reach around and unclip her bra. It joins the panties in a soft pile on the floor. The red of her hair cascades over her shoulders. Her breasts are what dreams are made of. She’s beautiful, every inch of her.
I slide a hand between her legs, and she moans. She’s so wet, hot and slick against my fingers. I slide a finger inside her, and she gasps, her walls tight around me.
Adding another finger, pumping them in and out, tracing her clit before sliding back in, a steady rhythm that makes her hips buck and her breath hitch. She reached up, hand around the back of my neck, her mouth finding mine, pulling me down toward her.
Our lips meet in a searing kiss as I continued to work her with my fingers. My other hand guides her back gently until she’s leaning against the bar, then I grab her right thigh, lifting it so it presses against the outside of my leg, opening her to me. My thumb moves to her clit, rubbing in small circles as her body tenses, her muscles coiling as she inches closer and closer to release.
My mouth hovering beside her ear: “Come for me, princess.”
One hand still on her sensitive bud, I moved down to her neck, nipping and sucking at the spot just below her ear. She moans and arches her back, giving me better access to her breasts. Letting go of her thigh, I cup one, thumbing her nipple until it’s hard and peaked.
The wet heat of my mouth moves to her other breast, taking the pebbled nipple between my lips and sucking hard, the other hand still working between the slick heat of her.
She cries out, leaning back against the bar as she gets closer to the edge. There’s nothing hotter than the sight of Blake Summerton coming undone under my hands, my mouth. My cock is straining against my boxers, but I keep going, my mouth moving between her breasts, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clutches at my shoulders.
“Oh my God, Ethan.”
She pushes up on the balls of her feet, nails digging into my skin. Then her walls tighten around my fingers, pulsing as she comes, her head tossed back exposing the soft skin at her throat, a cry of pleasure that hits me right in the chest. I’m so desperate to be inside her, I don’t think I can hold back anymore.
I quickly shed my boxers, my cock springing free. There’s hunger in her eyes as she looks at me, and I know she wants me just as bad. Picking her up, her legs wrapping around me, our hungry mouths lashing against one another. I take a few steps and lay her on one of the round black tables behind us, stepping back and drinking in the sight of her.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She grins at me. “Less talking.”
Grabbing at my jeans on the floor, searching for my wallet before ripping open a foil packet, moving to stand between her legs and sliding on a condom. I’m so fucking hard for her.
“Are you ready, princess?”
“Yes,” she replies, her voice husky, opening her legs and tilting her hips toward me. “God, yes.”
I guide myself into her, going slow, giving her time to adjust to me. The sensation is indescribable. I can feel her body yielding to mine until I’m buried deep inside her.
Taking a moment just to look at her in the dim light, my hands skimming the peaks of her perfect breasts, thumbs grazing her nipples, before grabbing her slender hips, the wrap of her legs tight around my thighs. Is this even real life?
We start to move together. I go slow at first, savoring the sensation of being inside her, but soon our movements become more frantic as we both chase our release.
“I love the way you feel, princess. I want to fuck you hard and make you scream.”
She responds with moans of pleasure, urging me on as I pound into her, my thumb applying pressure and friction to her clit.
Time ceases to exist. It’s just the two of us, how hard I am, how wet she is. My hand goes to her breasts, her perfect pebbled nipples, rolling and pinching one, and then the other between my fingers while I fill her over and over.
Our gazes meet. There’s a look in her eyes, something wild and untamable, and even though I’m the one driving into her, filling her totally, in that moment I know I’m completely at her whim.
“Ethan! I’m close!”
She closes her eyes, shutting me out, and her muscles clench around me, her body trembling as she reaches her climax. Everything is wet and tight and red and tan and I’m losing control, losing my grasp on reality.
I’m nothing but the movement of our joined bodies and I keep pumping deeper and deeper inside her until I follow, breaking into jagged pieces, intense pleasure rushing into all the cracks. I’m emptying myself inside her, legs locked.
A final, pulsing shudder. Then I’m leaning down, kissing her lips, running a finger down the length of her taut body, between her breasts and over the curve of her stomach. I pull out slowly, disposing of the condom before returning to her side.
I’m walking but actually I’m flying.
She’s still lying on the table, staring at the ceiling, a satisfied smile on her face, a languid arm casually pressed against her breasts, the other hanging down over the edge of the black table alongside the red cascade of her hair.
“You’re perfect,” I say to her, searing the image into my mind.
I pull on my boxers before scooping her up, carrying her in my arms back to the bar, where I perch on one of the stools and lower my mouth to hers, kissing her slowly, savoring her, before gently setting her feet on the ground.
Picking up her panties and bra, handing them to her, then passing her tank top and jeans. We both get dressed, before I close the distance between us, pulling her against me, the pulse of her heart steady against the cage of my ribs.
As we embrace, whatever this is between us makes every nerve in my body come alive. The way she fits against me, her warmth seeping into my skin, it’s overwhelming. I’m falling too deep and too fast.
But honestly, nothing has ever felt this incredible. There’s freedom in this, a chaotic wildness I only feel when I jump.
It’s a little frightening, sure. This intensity, this need. But as I hold her, it’s impossible to deny that I want more.
I tighten my arms around her, grounding myself in the feel of her.
Not only do I want more. I want all of her.