Chapter 19 #4
“Oh, that wasn’t meant to be nice,” I tease, feeling a thrill that he’s actually responding like this.
“Good,” he mutters, voice low and dry. “I prefer my compliments strategic. And you… you’re the most distracting thing I’ve had to control in years.”
Before I can respond, he scoops me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing.
The lake breeze cools my overheated skin as he carries me toward the patio door, the wooden planks creaking under his bare feet.
"Inside," he murmurs. "Table's fine for a taste, but I want you properly spread out. "
The door slides open, and he steps into the dimly lit living room, the scent of pine and faint cologne filling the air.
He doesn't head for the couch—instead, he makes for the kitchen island, a wide marble slab that gleams under the overhead lights.
With a sweep of his arm, he clears a space, pushing aside an iron fruit bowl that clatters to the floor.
Then he sets me down on the cool surface, my bare ass contrasting sharply with the stone.
"On your back," he commands, voice low and authoritative. I comply, stretching out as he positions my legs over the edge, feet dangling. He stands between them, his hands roaming up my calves, knees, thighs—teasing, possessive. "Look at you, all flushed and ready for round two. Impressed yet?"
I prop myself on my elbows, meeting his gaze with a challenging grin. "A little. But don't get cocky—though that thing of yours definitely is." My eyes flick to his hardening shaft, and he chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
"Cheeky woman," he teases, but there's heat in it.
He drops to his knees again, this time right there on the kitchen floor, his broad shoulders forcing my thighs wider.
Without preamble, he dives back in, his tongue lapping at the mess we made—his cum mixed with mine, cleaning me with long, deliberate strokes.
I gasp, the sensation oversensitive but electric, my hips jerking up to meet his mouth.
He pins me with one hand on my stomach, the other spreading my lips open for better access. His tongue circles my clit, flicking it before sucking gently, then harder, drawing out whimpers I can't hold back.
"Tasting us," he growls against me. "That's what you do to me." His fingers join in, two sliding into my pussy, curling to hit that spongy spot inside while his mouth works my clit relentlessly.
I arch off the counter, one hand fisting his hair, the other gripping the edge for leverage. The marble is cold against my back, but his heat consumes me.
"Ethan—fuck, yes, right there." My words tumble out, breathless, as pleasure coils tight again. He's unyielding, pumping his fingers faster, his tongue thrusting in alongside them, fucking me open.
It doesn't take long; I'm still riding the high from before, and he knows it. My orgasm hits like a wave, my pussy clenching around his digits as I cry out, juices flooding his hand. He laps it all up, humming approval, until I'm limp and panting.
Rising, he wipes his mouth on his forearm, eyes dark with need.
"Turn over. Ass up." His tone brooks no argument, that dominant edge sharpening.
I roll onto my stomach, push up onto my knees, and present myself.
The vulnerability thrills me—knowing he's in charge, his stamina showing no signs of waning.
He steps up behind me, his cock fully hard now, pressing against my entrance. But instead of sliding in, he teases, rubbing the head along my slit, coating himself in my wetness. "Beg for it," he says, voice gravelly, one hand spanking my ass lightly enough to sting and make me clench.
"Please, Ethan," I moan, pushing back. "Fuck me. I need your cock inside me again."
"Good girl." He thrusts in deep, filling me in one go, the stretch making me moan loud.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me back onto him as he sets a punishing pace—hard, deep strokes that make my breasts sway and the island shake.
Each slap of his balls against my clit builds the fire higher, his grunts mixing with my cries.
He leans over me, chest to my back, one arm banding around my waist to pinch my nipple while the other hand snakes down to rub my clit.
"You're mine tonight," he whispers in my ear, accent thick. "Every inch, every moan."
I nod frantically, lost in the rhythm, impressed all over again by how he drives into me without tiring—relentless, dominant, owning me completely.
We go like that until another climax rips through me, my walls milking him.
This time, he follows, groaning as he pumps his load deep inside, hot spurts painting my insides.
He stays buried for a moment, kissing my shoulder, before pulling out slowly. We collapse together onto the counter, tangled and spent—for now.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, that dry wit surfacing. "See? Told you the night's young. Fancy a drink, or shall we continue the tour?"
I laugh softly, curling into him. "Continue. Definitely continue."
He gives me a look—one that promises trouble—before he pushes off the counter. I hear him pad into the living room, the soft shuffle of him moving around.
Ethan comes back a moment later with two throws slung over his arm and absolutely zero intention of letting either of us get dressed. The look he gives me says precisely that.
My pulse jumps.
He walks out onto the patio with his hip and steps into the warm night, the blankets trailing behind him. The lake reflects the moon like a sheet of black glass. Crickets hum. Somewhere far off, water slaps gently against the dock.
He drops the throws onto the lounge chair, settles on his back, then holds out a hand.
“Come here.”
I go without thinking. He pulls me across his body, one blanket wrapped around us both, the other under us, and suddenly I’m lying on his chest with my bare legs tangled with his. His hands slide down my spine in slow, deliberate strokes that make my breath catch. Every nerve feels awake.
The night air is warm, but his skin is hotter.
For a few moments, we just breathe together. Then his fingers trace the curve of my hip, drifting lower before gliding back up. Not pushing, just… reminding. My body responds instantly, arching into his touch like it’s been waiting.
“You don’t have to hide your ink,” he says, voice a low rumble under my cheek. “They’re beautiful. All of them.”
I stiffen, not enough for him to pull away, but enough that his hand pauses. He lifts my chin with a fingertip so I’m looking at him.
“Hey,” he murmurs, “didn’t mean to make you lock up.”
I swallow and manage a smile. “I know. It’s fine.”
If he knew that my tattoos had been printed on millions of posters, album sleeves, and—God help me—one truly horrifying shower curtain, he’d probably drop me right off this lounger. But he doesn’t know, and tonight I want the version of me he sees, not the one the world turned into merch.
His hand moves again, slower this time, thumb gliding over my waist. Heat starts curling low in my belly. I shift on top of him, and he exhales sharply, his fingers tightening just enough to let me know he feels it too.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks. His lips graze my temple as he speaks.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “Just… you.”
He chuckles softly, the sound warm against my skin. “Dangerous answer.”
I lift my head. “Want me to take it back?”
“No.” His hand cups the back of my thigh and pulls me higher against him. “Definitely don’t take it back.”
My breath stutters. His eyes flick to my mouth like he’s already imagining all the things he could do with it.
I settle against him again, heart thundering, skin buzzing, trying to breathe through the heat curling between us. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to say much. I don’t think I’m ready for him, and yet… I want everything he’s offering.
He wraps both arms around me, anchoring me in place, and his voice drops even lower.
“I’m not ready to sleep,” he murmurs. “Not with you lying on me like this.”
A shiver runs through me, chased quickly by a slow, hungry warmth.
I tilt my mouth toward his neck, brushing a soft kiss there. “Then we won’t sleep.”
He draws in a breath sharp enough to break the night.
The lake is quiet.
The summer air is warm.
And I sink into him completely, letting the heat build again, letting the night take us wherever it wants. Damn him—and damn me. This is chaos I don’t want to survive without.