Chapter 37
Ethan
For a long moment Blake and I look at one another across the table, me willing her to understand, to see my point of view.
The green of her eyes seems to deepen. “There’s literally nothing to talk about. You handle your business, and I’ll handle mine. End of discussion.”
Each dismissive response from her is like slamming into a brick wall. Part of me knows I’m letting my emotions get the better of me, but she’s not even willing to talk about this. At all. And it’s driving me insane.
I try to keep my voice level, to not let my frustration show: “You really need to stop and think. You don’t know that you’re definitely going to be safe. You’re always jumping in headfirst without worrying about possible danger or repercussions.”
“Excuse me?”
My voice rises despite my efforts to keep it in check, and it’s like I’m watching myself from a distance, unable to stop myself, unable to stop the worry and the deep, primal need to keep the woman I love safe.
“That mess with David was only a few days ago—who knows how that would have ended if I hadn’t turned up—and now you’re running off again without even considering what could go wrong.” I’m being an ass but I can’t help it. This is her safety we’re talking about.
She leans forward, looking at me across the table, eyes narrowed. “I won’t let anyone—even you—dictate how I live my life. And let’s not talk about what happened with David.”
“Why not? Because you know I’m right?” Jeebus. What the hell, mouth? Do you want this relationship to go pear-shaped?
A look of disbelief crosses her beautiful face. “Here I was thinking you apologized and meant it.”
“I did mean it! I’m sorry I hurt you. I’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you.”
“So why are you trying to stop me from helping this woman?”
“I want you to help her. Just let me come, too. I’ll sit in the car, and won't show my face at all. At least then if things turn bad, I’ll be there.” Could I be any more reasonable? Surely she can see this is the smart answer.
“You already told me you’re going to respect my boundaries, but clearly you’re incapable of that. You’re not coming—end of story. I can take care of myself.” Her gaze hardens. “Just to be clear, this is my decision, and I’m not going to back out of helping this woman just because you’re worried and being a control freak.”
The words hit me right in the chest—am I not fighting for her hard enough? Can she not see this isn’t about control, I just want to keep her safe?
I lean forward over my empty plate, shrinking the space between us further, willing her to listen and really understand: “I am worried, yes, but it’s only because I care about you more than anything. I’ve never felt this way before, and the thought of something happening to you—especially when I could have stopped it—makes me crazy. I can’t just sit by and watch you put yourself at risk over and over.”
She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing as she looks at me. “You’re not my keeper. You can’t protect me from everything, and you definitely can’t control me.”
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my emotions, but the words spill out before I can stop them. “This isn’t about control! I’ve thought non-stop about what happened on the boardwalk. What if David tries to hurt you and I’m not around to save you? I can’t let that happen. You need to stop seeing him. And you need to stop putting yourself in risky situations.”
She pushes her chair back, standing. “You say this isn’t about control, and then you give me an ultimatum! That’s not how real relationships work. I’ve been given ultimatums my whole life. Do this, or else. Be this, or else. You’re literally making my stomach turn—you have no idea the times I’ve had to fight just to be myself, to live on my own terms.”
Suddenly I’m standing too. “You’re talking about how real relationships work. Well, real relationships take work! But you seem unwilling or incapable of seeing that. Before I met you, I was afraid of being in a serious relationship. I watched my parents tear each other apart, and I swore I’d never let that happen to me. Relationships bring out the worst in people. But you’re different. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. And I can’t lose you because you’re too stubborn to keep yourself safe! Too focused on being independent to compromise!”
Her gaze takes on a wild glint and it’s like she’s not even hearing me, like we’re speaking different languages. “You’ll never be in a serious relationship if you keep trying to control the people you’re with. I won’t let you dictate my life, Ethan. I won’t!”
We lock eyes, the emotions between us rising to a crescendo, a gathering storm. Her green eyes burn, our conflicting needs tearing us apart, the lines between love and anger blurring in the charged atmosphere.
My body tenses and heat radiates from her, filling the space between us. It’s a moment where anything can happen, the room suddenly too small, a pressure-cooker about to explode, and our silence is at once deafening and far, far too quiet.
The seconds stretch endlessly, neither of us wanting to back down or give in. But then, something shifts in her eyes—a flicker of doubt, of pain, and it hits me. What if this is the point in time where everything breaks beyond repair?
Then she gives voice to every worry coursing through me: “What are we doing? I can’t keep doing this. Fighting like this.”
Her words slice through everything else like a knife. For a moment, I’m frozen, the reality of what she’s saying hitting me hard. The fear of losing her—of this being the moment where everything unravels—comes roaring to the surface, raw and unrelenting, crashing over the anger, drowning it out.
The thought of her walking out that door and never coming back is too much. I can’t let that happen. I walk around the table, the wrap of my arms holding her like if I let go I’m going to lose her forever.
She stiffens, turning her head to the side.
“Blake, please.”
She finally turns to look at me, her eyes green and perfect like new growth in spring.
We stand there, inches apart, the air between us thick with everything we’re not saying. Her eyes search mine, and for a brief second, I see the same fear that’s clawing at me: she loves me, she does, and she doesn’t want to lose me.
Everything twists, morphing into something fierce, something desperate.
Cupping her face in my hands, I kiss her hard, pouring every ounce of my love into it. My lips press against hers, trying to remind her that this is us , that we’re stronger together, that we don’t have to break.
At first, she stays stiff, unyielding, her body a wall of resistance against mine, but then something shifts. It’s like a dam breaking, all the emotions she’s been holding back crashing over us both.
She starts kissing me back, but it’s not a surrender, just a fierce, desperate need to feel something other than the anger roiling between us. The kiss deepens, her hands clutching at my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her afloat, but the truth is, I think we’re both being pulled under.
Her nails dig into my skin, the sting of it only fueling the fire between us. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a fight, a desperate battle to keep hold of something we’re both terrified of losing.
At this moment, nothing else exists. Just her, just us, and this fierce, raw passion that could burn the whole world down. All I can think about is making her feel how much I need her, how much I love her. Even if everything is falling apart around us, right here, at this moment, I’m not letting go.
My hands roam over her body, desperate to memorize every inch of her, while she grabs hold of me like she needs me, too. My hand moves over the hard pebbles of her nipples, fingers teasing, pinching, and she moans, then to the button of her jeans, fumbling with it until it finally gives way. Yanking them down, along with her panties, revealing her bare flesh to my starving gaze.
She kicks off her jeans then gasps as I shove her plate away and lift her onto the table, before working at my belt, my jeans pooling at my feet. My cock springs free, throbbing, aching for release. I reach down, fingers exploring her folds and finding them slick and wet.
She moans softly, her hips sliding toward me, thighs spread wide, and I tease her clit until she groans my name. I’m so hard for her I’m about to fucking explode.
We’re kissing again, and I’m guiding myself inside her, greedy hands grabbing her hips as I push all the way in, bottoming out. With a growl, I pull out and then thrust inside her again with one fluid motion. She cries out, nails scraping through my shirt down my chest as I fill her completely.
“Fuck me, Ethan,” she says, the green of her eyes closing, head tossed back, red hair cascading down the black tank top she wore to work which still smells of other people’s spilled drinks.
I start moving faster, hips pistoning as I drive deeper and deeper. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, along with our ragged breaths and moans.
The plate falls to the ground, smashing in two, but we don’t stop. We’re not making love. There’s nothing tender about this, about the way her fingers grip my clothes, the way she closes her eyes, begging me again to fuck her.
Tension builds inside, tightening like a coil ready to snap. Reaching down, thumb finding her clit, applying pressure, my cock slamming into her. She lets out a cry, eyes squeezed shut as she comes, her muscles clenching around me.
With one final thrust, release tears through me, and I pulse deep inside, shoulders rounding as my body curves around her, breathing hard.
But as the cloud of pleasure begins to clear, cold dread settles over me, and I pull back to look at her face. Her eyes are still closed, her expression unreadable. A thought tears through me: what if this was the last time ?
I pull out of her, gently lifting her chin until she looks at me. There’s hurt in her eyes, and stubborn determination, too. She stares at me, not looking away.
“I’m going to the shelter. You can either support me or not, but I’m going. Alone .”
The ground shudders beneath me, the control I’ve always clung to slipping all the way through my fingers. I want to tell her she really needs to stay or let me come too, that I’m scared of something happening to her, because my life would fucking end if she wasn’t in it, but the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I watch her walk to the bathroom and return a moment later. She gets dressed, grabs her bag and heads for the door without another word. It closes behind her with a thud, leaving me feeling more out of control than ever.