Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHLOE
I am so freaking late.
I should’ve called Ethan to reschedule the moment the dang pipe started leaking, but I was a little preoccupied.
Thankfully, Dad offered to stick around and fix it.
Otherwise, I would’ve had to call and cancel altogether, which would have delayed our rendezvous even longer since Lola has declared tomorrow an official girls’ night.
You don’t cross Lola.
Plus, it’ll be good to have a bit of space between me and my neighbor. With his departure looming on the horizon, I need my girls to keep me grounded.
When I first invited Ethan to dinner, I had this great plan to swing by the grocery store, grab a couple of steaks, a bottle of red, and fire up the grill on my back deck.
Now we’re going to have to settle for the burgers I bribed Willow into picking up for me.
Sitting in her passenger seat, my stomach groans with hunger.
If I wasn’t expecting a guest, I’d totally have these fries swallowed by now, but I’m not going to do that after Ethan was good enough to wait for me.
Willow flicks the blinker to turn down my street and shoots me a knowing side-eye. We’ve been so busy today, there hasn’t been much time for chatting. I’ve caught her giving me more than one meaningful look since a certain neighbor showed up at Mugs today.
“Don’t start,” I warn, biting back a grin.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Am I not allowed to notice how you’re glowing?”
“That’s the sweat from spending the last hour wrestling with pipes.”
“You’ve been wrestling with pipes, all right,” she sniggers.
I press my hands to my cheeks, certain they’re red as the polish on my nails. “Is it that obvious?”
“Obvious to every single person who sees the two of you in the same room.”
Warmth spreads through me. Being in the same room with Ethan is quickly becoming my new favorite thing.
“I like him, Wills.” Probably a little too much considering he’s going to be heading back to Pennsylvania soon.
“I could see that from the way you were attacking each other’s faces.”
I snort. Not to self: no more making out during business hours. Save all that pent-up sexual energy for after work. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” She shoots me a sideways smirk. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. Although, Lola is going to be pissed that she’s the last to know. Tomorrow night, we’re gonna expect all the dirty details.”
The tires crunch on the gravel driveway as she pulls in beside my little VW. Old Tom said Ethan’s truck should be finished by the weekend if the new windshield arrives. Only time will tell.
“Thanks for the ride.” I unhook my seatbelt and throw open the door.
“No problem. Tell Thor I said hi,” she sing-songs as I climb out, the brown paper bag of greasy goodness clutched in my arms.
“Bye, Wills.”
I bump the door closed with my hip and jog over to my stairs. As much as I need a shower, Ethan’s going to have to deal with sweaty Chloe because, right now, I need food even more. Shifting the bag to my other arm, I drag my phone from my purse to text Ethan, only to notice my lights are on.
Weird—I’m ninety-nine percent sure I turned them off before leaving this morning. Rick got to Mugs before I did, so it couldn’t have been him.
“Hello?” I call out, stepping inside. I toe off my shoes and startle when Ethan pops out of the kitchen.
“Holy crap.” My hand flies to my thundering heart. “You scared me half to death.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he grumbles. “Although, maybe now you’ll start locking your door.” He offers a tight smile and takes the bag from me, setting it on the coffee table.
Oops. I meant to lock the door this morning, but must’ve forgotten when Willow texted that she was waiting downstairs.
Huffing a sigh, Ethan’s head falls forward with a little shake. “What would you have done if someone else had broken in?”
That’s easy. “I would’ve given them your share of the fries.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “This isn’t a joke, Chloe. You’re a single woman living on her own, and a shitload of strangers just drove into town. You don’t know what kind of weirdo could be renting a house just down the road.”
“Who hurt you, Ethan?” I say, only half teasing. I appreciate him trying to protect me, but I’ve spent the last ten years taking care of myself and I’ve done just fine.
“Not me.” He glances away. “It was my brother.”
The smile slips from my face. “What do you mean? What happened to your brother?”
Ethan wanders over to the couch and sinks onto the cushions, his brow furrowing.
“Wyatt’s a lot like you… happy all the time, trusts everyone until they give him a reason not to.
A little while back, he met a girl at a gig, brought her back to his place, thought nothing of it.
A couple of days later, her asshole ex waltzed right through Wyatt’s unlocked door and beat the shit out of him. ”
A sharp breath cuts through my lips. Great. Now I feel like a jerk for making light of this when he’s genuinely scared for my safety. Between that and what happened to his friend Leo, it’s no wonder Ethan is wound so tightly.
He drags his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “I’m not always going to be here, Chloe. Please promise me you’ll start locking your door.”
I watch him for a moment, taking in how serious he seems. Is this what it’s like to have someone looking out for you? Worrying over your wellbeing? Protecting you? I never had that with Rick, and my mom was always too busy hating her ex-husband to be too concerned with me.
Warmth curls through my chest. It’s kind of nice.
Shadows from the setting sun stretch across the floor as I walk over to the couch. Ethan leans back, an unreadable expression on his face and his gaze fixed on me as I climb onto his lap and drape my arms over his broad shoulders.
“I’m sorry that happened to your brother,” I say. His eyes darken, tracking my every move as I ease forward to whisper against his lips, “I will start locking my door. I promise.”
Calloused hands cup my backside, long fingers kneading. “Thank you,” he whispers gruffly. “I just want you to be safe.”
My hips rock against his, the bulge in his jeans thickening with each needy movement. “I feel safe with you.”
Our breaths mingle, passing between us as our mouths graze.
“Do you?” he asks.
I hum a yes against his lips, holding my breath as his hands slide to my waist, slipping beneath my tank top on their northward journey, taking the fabric with them.
“Good. Arms up,” he commands.
I lift my hands over my head, my breaths becoming labored as he pulls off the shirt, tossing it next to our forgotten dinner.
Ethan catches my bra straps in his fingers, dragging them down my shoulders and pressing hot, open-mouth kisses to my scar while his hands trace my mermaid tattoo before finding the clasp at my back.
“I probably taste like sweat,” I murmur. Thank goodness for the emergency deodorant and perfume in my office.
His hair tickles my cheek when he shakes his head. “You taste fucking incredible.” As if reiterating his point, his tongue traces down the swell of my breast, dipping beneath the cups of my white lace bra.
I roll my hips, earning a groan from Ethan, his breath panting against my skin. With a flick of his wrist, my bra falls away, and he captures my nipple between his lips.
I rock harder, seeking more friction, but it’s still not enough. I need the heat of his body melting against mine. I give his shoulders a little push and he falls back against the couch, his brow tight with frustration.
I snag the bottom of his T-shirt and tug upward, exposing the tanned expanse of his abdomen.
“Arms up,” I say with a smirk, watching him comply with the same order he threw my way.
His shirt lands on top of mine, and when he leans forward, my stiff nipples drag against the light dusting of hair on his muscled chest.
With one hand braced on my hip, Ethan urges me to rock back and forth, finding a steady rhythm while he cups my breast, bringing the stiff peak back to his waiting lips. “So good, baby,” he groans against my skin. “Just like that. Roll those hips.”
I feel like a goddess as he worships me, his gruff praise sending sparks of lust shooting down my spine. “More,” I gasp.
“Greedy, girl, aren’t you?”
When it comes to him? “Always.”
“Should I take these off?” He hooks a finger through my belt loop.
“Yes.” Apparently, I’m down to one-word answers.
“Stand up.”
I pop off his lap and reach for the button on my shorts. Ethan’s fingers find my wrist. “Let me.”
Far be it for me to get in his way. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, almost dying with anticipation as he unfastens the clasp and peels down my shorts and cotton panties at the same time.
With a groan of approval, Ethan leans back and spreads his legs wider, adjusting his thick cock inside his jeans.
Before I can lunge for his button and zipper, he twirls his index finger in the air. “Turn around.”
I feel like one of those little ballerinas in the jewelry boxes as I spin on my heel, offering him my back. Large hands bracket my waist, gliding down to knead my backside.
“Fuck, Chloe. This ass haunts my dreams.”
“Good.”
His dark chuckle makes my stomach flip over. “You like teasing me, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
One hand vanishes, and I hear the tell-tale sound of a zipper sliding down and the rustle of denim. When I glance over my shoulder, I find Ethan’s fist gripping his erection, pumping slowly as his heavy gaze drinks me in.
His eyes find mine, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Come here.”
I could. Or… My tongue trails along my lips as I stare down at him.
“See something you want?” he asks.
He has no idea how much. Good thing I know the perfect way to show him. I drop to my knees, flatten my palms against his thick thighs, and lean forward with my mouth open in invitation.
Ethan’s bicep bulges with each unhurried stroke of his hand. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, remember?”
“Maybe I want to take care of you first.”
He bites down hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You want me between those pretty lips?”
I nod.
“Say please then, like a good girl.”
“Please.”
He adjusts his hold on himself, captures my ponytail with his other hand, and urges me forward.
I take him as deep as I can, loving the way he knocks against the back of my throat and still has a few inches to go.
His grip on my hair sets the pace, giving me time to adjust. I may be the one on my knees, but there’s no mistaking who’s in control when his head falls back with a groan, the column of his throat bouncing when he swallows.
“Fuck, baby. You’re so good at that. Look at you. So beautiful with my cock in your mouth.”
His praise makes me feel powerful and capable of turning this strong man to mush.
After a few more bobs of my head, his hold on my hair tightens, and he lifts me off himself.
“Stand up,” he rasps, dragging me forward until I practically fall onto his lap. He finds my center with his fingers, dipping in and out. “That’s my girl. So wet for me.”
My brain short-circuits from being called his. It means nothing—only a quiet endearment muttered in the throes of passion—but damn, I love it anyway. What would it be like to be his, not just for a few weeks, but for longer? Maybe even forever…
Chloe, don’t go there.
Bracing my knees on either side of his hips, I lower myself onto his shaft, forcing breath into my lungs as my body stretches to accommodate his size.
He murmurs words of encouragement as I begin to ride him, his hips thrusting up to meet mine. He slips a hand between our bodies, finding my clit with his thumb, making soft circles. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Ethan’s teeth skate along my collarbone, his head dipping to flick his tongue across my nipple.
“I’m close…” I tell him. If he keeps going, I’m going to break. “Yes… Ethan—”
He lets go of my nipple with a pop and stills his fingers.
“What the hell?” I gasp. The pleasure I’ve been chasing is right there, just out of reach.
His lips curl into a handsome smile. “What’s wrong, Chloe? Is there something you want?”
Obviously!
“I thought you liked a little teasing,” he croons.
I blink at him, his words taking a moment to register. I like teasing him, not the other way around. As if to reiterate his point, he gently presses his thumb to my clit, and I collapse against his neck.
I shift my hips, searching for more of his touch, but he pulls away once again.
“Please…” I moan. I may be a strong, independent woman, but being kept on the edge like this is torture. If he leaves me hanging, I might burn his house down. Which would be a shame, because he’s worked so hard on it.
“Look at me,” he demands.
Somehow, I manage to lift my head.
“Good girl.” He rubs his thumb in a lazy circle, taunting, giving me barely any pressure at all. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” Desperately.
He lifts his hips at the same time he resumes stroking me, and I’m right back there—only this time the pleasure coiling low in my stomach feels stronger. Even more overwhelming.
I fall apart in his arms, Ethan uttering quiet reassurances against my temple, and then my boneless body is lifted off his and dropped onto the cushions. He grips himself in his fist, pumping a few more times before coming with a violent growl on my stomach.
We both bask in bliss for a few moments, until our breaths slow and smiles find our lips.
With a shake of his head, Ethan drags a hand down his stubbled jaw, still drinking me in.
“Are you going to keep staring or go get me a towel?” I tease.
“Give a man a minute to admire his handwork, won’t you?”
Eventually, he pushes to his feet and drags his jeans back on, meandering through my house, then returning with the hand towel from the bathroom.
I expect him to toss it to me, but instead, he cleans me off himself, fully embracing his caretaker role.
Even though he’s done an admirable job, I could do with a shower.
When I tell him I’ll be right back, a look of disappointment crosses his face.
“There’s no need to frown.” I nod toward our abandoned takeout. “I’ll be finished before you get that heated up.”
He collects the bag, his smile growing as he roots around inside. “This smells delicious. I don’t suppose you have any hot sauce?”
As if I’d invite him to dinner and not stock up on spicy shit. “Check the cupboard next to the fridge.”
As I pad quietly through the house to the soundtrack of Ethan Davis moving around my kitchen, I can’t help wishing we had more time.