Chapter 27
Mia
Waking up in someone else’s bed really isn’t something I’m used to. Waking up with someone else in a bed that isn’t mine is an actual first. Sleepovers have never been a thing for me.
Disoriented and still half asleep, it takes a very long moment for me to realize where I am.
The first Indiana Jones movie was so good, I insisted we watch the second one as soon as it finished and when the credits rolled on Temple of Doom, it seemed dumb not to move straight into The Last Crusade.
Only, when Indi and his dad left Venice, I started to yawn and by the time they arrived in Austria, my eyelids were drooping.
I don’t know when I fell asleep but Ethan can’t have been far behind.
I twist to find him fast asleep, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his breathing even.
The TV has turned itself off and a shaft of moonlight slips in through a crack in his curtains, slicing the room in two, the bed on one side, the desk on the other.
I’d blown out the overpowering sandalwood candle on an earlier trip to the bathroom so at least we hadn’t burned the whole building down.
Way too strong in my opinion but Ethan seemed to like it, so I kept my feelings to myself.
I should leave. I should climb down from the bed and go back to my room but I don’t.
It’s so peaceful in here. Ethan’s room feels more homey than mine which makes no sense since my room is full of things from my literal home, but there’s something comforting about the way he’s put everything together.
Mostly the fact he hasn’t put anything together at all.
There’s no plan, no structure, his books aren’t colour-coded, his movies aren’t alphabetized.
If this were my room, I wouldn’t be able to sleep until the sweater tossed over the back of the desk chair was put away and the random assortment of pens and highlighters scattered across every surface was housed in an appropriate container.
Maybe that Beaufort Academy mug on the windowsill.
But since it isn’t my room, I don’t feel consumed by the urge to tidy the outside spaces to soothe my inside spaces. I’m just here.
Ethan stirs in his sleep, turning over and rolling towards me.
The bed is so narrow, there isn’t anywhere else for him to go but when his arm slips over my side and curves around my waist, I seize up.
He sighs in his sleep, a gentle exhalation that tickles the hairs at the back of my neck.
Drowsy and unaware, he draws me closer, hand splayed against my ribcage, his thumb brushing against the underside of my breast. I should leave.
But I don’t want to.
I don’t know what I’m thinking when I move against him, arching back so slightly, just enough so that I can feel the heat from his lips against my skin but I want more.
For once in my life, I’m in my body rather than my head, listening to the parts of me that crave this closeness, this warmth, this want.
The hand on my ribs is huge and I lightly trace around each finger, the glitter in my nail polish reflecting the light of the moon.
A quiet moan leaves Ethan’s lips and his hand flexes, catching my fingers in his as he pulls me closer.
I’m flush against him but all my awareness is in one place, the growing hardness pushing into my lower back. He’s hard. I’m making him hard.
‘Mia.’
He exhales my name on a single breath, barely a word but it silences any doubt that might’ve tried to ruin the moment.
Brave, so brave, I roll towards him. We’re so close together, legs entwined to anchor each other to the tiny bed, Ethan’s hand moves with me as I turn, sliding all the way up to my hair and back down again, as if he wants to make sure all of me is here.
I tilt my face up to his, our noses touching, his lashes flickering against my cheek, and everything is a blur.
Eyes hazy with drowsy desire, he’s still, simply holding me in this moment.
I make the move, a fraction of a fraction, the smallest possible movement to touch my lips to his and it’s all the confirmation he needs.
Ethan comes alive, like I’ve woken him from a spelled sleep, and the force of his presence is overwhelming in the best way.
The soft meeting of lips, tentative and testing, turns into open mouths and clashing teeth, nothing but the sound of our breathing to soundtrack what seems more like a dream than anything I’ve ever known in my waking life.
Someone laughs, I think it’s me, and I feel Ethan’s lips curve into a smile as he pushes one strong leg between mine.
My skirt is in the way, it’s all wrong, and I reach down for a handful of fabric, pulling it out of the way to let him in, bring him closer.
My thighs clench around his when they meet my body and I wonder if he knows how wet I am, his leg hot against my damp underwear and the thick fabric of his sweatpants.
One hand curls around the back of his neck to grab his thick hair and the other passes over his face, over his lips, down the strong column of his neck, finding his chest, his heartbeat, his fast, fast heartbeat.
Something shifts, me or him, I don’t know, but I’m pushing down on his leg now, my body moving in time with his.
Whimpering, I let him hold me in place, cupping the back of my head, steadying my hips as I grind against him.
It feels so good, the friction of my underwear and strength of his solid, muscled leg teasing me in a way my fingers simply cannot.
Forehead to forehead, Ethan meets my mouth with kisses as my breathing becomes heavier, faster, more necessary.
My lips, my face, my throat, he’s lavishing every available inch of skin with attention while I take what I need from him, bucking wildly now, so impatient, so impatient.
I move the hand on his chest down his body until I find his erection, hard and insistent, but he isn’t doing anything for himself, it’s all for me.
‘Mia.’
My name. Ethan Taylor is saying my name while I’m riding his thigh, in his bed, in his room, in the middle of the night.
A deeply unwelcome moment of clarity cuts like a knife, severing me from my body and thrusting me back into my mind.
What the hell am I doing? This isn’t me, I don’t want to join Ethan’s roster, even if he’s more than willing to provide the service.
But what man wouldn’t readily offer his body when he wakes up with a girl pawing at him the way I had?
Oh my God, he must think I did this on purpose, that it was my plan all along. He stops moving the exact moment I do.
‘Is everything okay?’
Is everything okay? No, not really but it’s not his fault.
It’s not easy to talk over my body and make myself heard but this is just one moment in time, what about tomorrow?
What about the day after that? What about the whole year we have to spend as neighbours?
We’re so close to calling each other friends and I don’t want to ruin that.
And so, I disengage, physically and mentally, pulling away from his leg, my underwear soaked, my skirt up around my waist.
‘I have to go.’
It’s abrupt and my body misses his at once.
My feet find the floor before my head knows where I am and I have to grab the wall to steady myself.
Common sense comes rushing back like it was out on an unsanctioned break and has to work overtime to make up for its absence.
Do I want Ethan to think he can knock on my door anytime he feels like scoring an easy lay? No. That’s not who I am.
‘You don’t have to.’ Ethan props himself up on his elbows, but I can’t bring myself to look at his face. With every passing second I’m more and more mortified.
‘No, it’s okay, I’m sorry,’ I mutter, pushing my skirt into place, pressing the back of my wrist against my pulsing lips. ‘I mean, you weren’t awake. I wasn’t awake. It’s okay, it was—’
It was what? An accident? Definitely not, I knew what I was doing. A mistake? Almost certainly, but he doesn’t want to hear that.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say more forcefully as I stand on my own two feet without an assist from Carpenter House. ‘Please can we pretend this never happened?’
He shifts on the bed, the mattress protesting, and his shadow appears on the ground, moonlight interrupted.
‘If that’s what you want.’
He doesn’t sound angry or hurt. Because this is not a big deal to Ethan Taylor. This is just another Sunday night.
‘Thank you. I’m sorry.’
‘Can you stop apologizing like you did something wrong?’
‘Sure. Sorry.’
I hear him chuckle as I open the door and slip out into the hallway. Tomorrow this will all be forgotten.
It’s just another Sunday night.