Chapter 26
Ethan
Her mouth is still on mine when the world tilts.
Lucky isn’t cautious or calculated—she moves with her whole heart, like she’s been drowning and I’m the first breath she’s had in years. And Christ… I feel it. Every trembling ounce of her pressed against me. Her hands fisted in my shirt. Her breath mixing with mine.
I haven’t been kissed like this in a very long time.
Her lips are warm, soft, desperate. Mine answer before my brain catches up.
I slide my hand deeper into her damp hair, keeping her close because I can feel—actually feel—her shaking. She leans more of her weight on me, chest against my ribs, like she’s terrified I’ll pull away.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Her small body fits against mine as though it’s been waiting for the right place to fall apart. The oversized t-shirt she threw on brushes my forearms, and I swear I can feel every frantic beat of her heart through it.
She shifts closer, climbing into my lap, and a low sound escapes me—half restraint, half surrender. My hand finds her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of the garment unintentionally, meeting the bare heat of her skin.
She gasps.
I go still.
For a second, neither of us moves.
The air thickens, charged, dangerous.
Her forehead rests against mine, breath quick and uneven, her lips parting like she wants more—more contact, more anchoring, more me. And God help me, I want to give it to her.
Her breath is shaking against my mouth, her fingers curled in my shirt like she’s terrified I’ll disappear if she lets go.
I can’t look at her like this—wet hair, tears still drying on her cheeks, her body completely open against mine—and pretend I’m capable of restraint.
Not tonight. Not after everything.
“Lucky…” I mean it as a warning, but it comes out low. Rough. A sound pulled from the center of me.
She looks up at me like I’m the only safe thing she’s ever seen.
That’s what breaks me.
I crush my mouth back to hers.
She gasps into the kiss—surprised, relieved—and her whole body melts forward, pressing flush against me. My hand tightens in her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss, take her mouth properly this time.
Christ, she tastes like tears and coffee and something unbearably soft.
My other hand skims up her thigh, finding bare skin where there should’ve been shorts. She shivers violently, but she doesn’t pull back. She makes a small sound—one that hits me straight in the spine—and straddles me like instinct brought her there.
Her shirt slides up my arms. Her thighs are warm against my hips. Her heartbeat is a frantic, stuttering rhythm against my chest.
I hold her tighter, one hand flattening at the small of her back, urging her closer until there’s no space left at all.
She kisses me like she’s trying to carve her apology into me. I kiss her like I’m trying to undo every terrible thing she’s ever believed about herself.
Her hands slide up my neck, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss—not giving me a second to breathe, not wanting one.
I break just enough to drag my mouth down her jaw, to her throat. She arches—soft, helpless—her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Ethan…” Her voice cracks on my name.
That does something to me.
Something primal.
Possessive.
Unavoidable.
I grip her waist and pull her tighter against me, my voice unsteady when I manage words at all.
“I’ve got you,” I breathe against her skin. “I’ve bloody got you.”
She shudders like that sentence alone is enough to unravel her.
Her forehead drops to mine again, breath trembling, lips brushing mine between panting little kisses.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. Those nasty things I said back at mine. I just— I was scared and stupid, and I pushed and—”
I silence her with another kiss—slow this time, deep enough to anchor both of us.
She sighs into it, her whole body softening against me, trusting me with all that helpless emotion spilling out of her.
Her fingers trace my jaw.
My chest.
My collar.
Every touch is a confession.
And I take all of it.
Because right now, with her straddling me in nothing but a T-shirt, shaking and crying and kissing me like I’m the only solid thing in her world.
I don’t have the discipline to stop.
Not now.
Not with her clinging to me like this.
I grip her waist and pull her tighter against me, my voice unsteady when I manage words at all.
"Lucky," I murmur against her skin, the name rough in my throat. She's trembling, her body soft and yielding under my hands, but I can sense the fragility in every hitch of her breath. I won't rush this. Not with her like this.
My mouth finds hers again, slower this time, but deeper.
I lick into her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears mixed with the sweetness of her.
She whimpers, her hips shifting on my lap, grinding down instinctively.
My cock hardens beneath my jeans, pressing up against the thin fabric of her panties.
She feels it, freezes for a split second, then rocks forward, seeking more friction.
"Easy," I say, my hand sliding up her thigh, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
She's so damn wet already; I can feel the dampness through the cotton.
I hook my fingers under the waistband and tug gently, testing.
She lifts and shifts her hips without me asking, letting me slide them down her legs.
They pool at her ankles, and she kicks them off, bare now except for that oversized t-shirt.
Her pussy is slick against my jeans as she settles back on my lap.
I groan, the heat of her soaking through the denim.
My hands push the t-shirt up, bunching it at her waist, exposing her completely.
No bra means her breasts are free, nipples hard and begging for attention.
I cup one, thumb brushing over the peak, and she arches into my touch, a soft cry escaping her lips.
"You want this?" I ask, voice low and commanding, but I watch her eyes closely. They're wide, vulnerable, but the desire there is real. She nods, biting her lip, and that's enough for me to take control.
I unbuckle my belt with one hand, the metal clinking in the quiet kitchen. She watches, breath coming in short pants, as I free my cock from my jeans and boxers. It's thick and hard, pre-cum beading at the tip. Her eyes flick down, then back to mine, a flush spreading across her cheeks.
"Touch me," I tell her, guiding her hand to wrap around my shaft. Her fingers are tentative at first, stroking slowly, but I show her the rhythm, thrusting lightly into her grip. She's careful, like she's afraid she'll break something, but the way her thighs clench around me tells me she's aching.
I lift her slightly, positioning her over me.
"Sit on my cock, Lucky. Nice and slow." She lowers herself, the head of my dick nudging her entrance.
She's tight, wet heat enveloping me inch by inch as she sinks down.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to thrust up hard.
Instead, I hold her hips steady, letting her set the pace at first.
She gasps when I'm fully inside her, her walls clenching around me.
Her hands brace on my shoulders, nails digging in as she starts to move, rocking her hips.
I let her ride me like that for a moment, watching her face— the way her eyes flutter shut, her mouth parting in quiet moans.
But I'm the one who leads, so I take over, gripping her ass and guiding her up and down, fucking into her with controlled thrusts.
The kitchen chair creaks under us, but I don't care.
I pull her t-shirt up further, breasts bouncing with each movement.
I lean in, capturing a nipple between my lips, sucking hard.
She cries out, her pussy fluttering around my cock, pulling me deeper.
"That's it," I growl against her skin. "Take what you need. "
She's close already, her movements getting erratic, breaths turning to sobs of pleasure mixed with whatever emotions are churning inside her.
I slide a hand between us, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firm circles.
She shatters then, coming hard on my cock, her body shaking as she clenches down, milking me.
I hold her through it, thrusting slower now, drawing out her orgasm until she's limp against me.
But I'm not done. Not even close. "We're going to my room," I say, voice firm but gentle.
I lift her off me, her pussy reluctant to let go, and stand, keeping one arm around her waist. She clings to me, legs wobbly, as I scoop her up, t-shirt falling back down but doing nothing to hide how exposed she is.
The walk to my bedroom is short, but I take my time, carrying her like she's precious.
She buries her face in my neck, whispering my name like a prayer.
I kick the door open and lay her on the bed, the sheets cool against her flushed skin.
She's a vision—hair splayed out, t-shirt twisted, thighs slick with her own arousal.
I strip quickly, shedding my shirt, jeans, everything. Naked now, I climb over her, caging her in with my arms. "Tell me if it's too much," I say, searching her eyes. She shakes her head, reaching for me.
I kiss her again, hot and demanding, tongue fucking her mouth as I settle between her legs.
My cock slides against her pussy, teasing her entrance.
She bucks up, impatient now, and I give in, pushing inside her in one smooth thrust. She's even tighter here, on her back, legs wrapping around my waist.
I set a steady rhythm, domineering in how I pin her down, but every thrust is measured, watching for any sign she's overwhelmed. Her hands roam my back, urging me on, and her moans fill the room—raw, needy. I fuck her deeper, angling to hit that spot inside her that makes her arch and gasp.